Cleaning Up Flies
Whether it was "Bodhisattva Mingdi," Ni Mingdi, or the Five-Passes Devil Master, neither had acted in person.
These two Immortal-God-level powerhouses, the pinnacle figures of this world, were battling across time and space at this very moment. Their true bodies were either hidden in the Outer Realm, billions upon billions of miles away, or concealed within the spacetime of the Youluo Realm.
Even so, there was no questioning the weight of these two great powerhouses. Neither had descended in person, and the Five-Passes Devil Master was merely a revived strand of will.
Yet at this moment, the level of power projected into this stretch of spacetime was incomparably violent—it had long surpassed anything that could be described as using a sledgehammer to crack a nut.
Without question, this region had become a battlefield where Immortal-God powerhouses wrestled for supremacy. Violent energy flooded the void; heaven, earth, and spacetime unfurled infinitely in an instant, and every inch of minute dimensional space was steeped in pressure as deep as an abyssal sea.
"Could it be this thing?"
The five jet-black stone carvings depicted monks without eyes, without noses, without mouths, without ears, and one entirely headless monk. He Ping recognized them at once—they were all ritual anchors once used by the Mud Sect in setting up formations.
Each ritual anchor was a seal suppressing various forms of filth and corruption. Ni Mingdi reached out and grabbed at the void with one hand.
Space seemed to cave inward. Within the palm of this Ghost-Person Bodhisattva, a formless black vortex seemed to emerge. This move drove his Dharma power at full force, as though it had twisted every law and order of existence, turning heaven and earth upside down.
It produced a tremendous force capable of grinding all things to pieces.