The texture began to soften, like wax meeting heat, changing from solid to liquid. The liquid was silvery white, neither cold nor hot, like mercury.
They flowed down from the ruins, converging into tiny streams that gathered at Wu Heng's feet.
The collapsed holy temple was melting.
The pillars that had once towered into the clouds softened like candles, bending and collapsing. The carvings atop them remained, but had already distorted like melting frosting.
The dried-up pool of holy light was melting.
The Incantations on the pool walls flickered several times before going dark. The walls turned into a puddle of silvery-white liquid.
The broken corridors were melting. The stone slabs carved with the names of angels, the steps trodden by countless angels, the walls that had witnessed Heaven's rise and fall—all turned into liquid.
The newborn angels hiding at the edges watched their home dissolve.
Some fell to their knees and wept. Some covered their faces, unable to bear the sight. Some turned away, not daring to look. Wu Heng ignored them completely. His roots continued burrowing deeper, passing through the melting temple foundations, through ancient nodes, and reaching the lowest level of Heaven.
That altar remained intact. It had not melted.
The light of the Creation Trait shone upon it, yet it did not budge.
Wu Heng's roots wrapped around it and tried to crush it, but it was incomparably hard. It was not the material itself that was sturdy, but a barrier of rules.
This stone had once been touched by God himself, and retained creation-level rule protection. It was not power, but authority—rules established by God that no one else could alter.
Wu Heng did not attack it head-on. Instead, he changed methods: rather than crush it, he would bypass it.
His roots drilled through cracks