The sky stretched clear and blue for thousands of miles. The Douluo Continent, tempered by the Dark Cataclysm, gradually shed its scars.
Broken mountains slowly fused back together, dried-up rivers and seas once more stirred with emerald waves, and withered forests grew lush again. The myriad races set aside their generations of hatred, humanity lived in harmony, Soul Beasts settled safely in the deep seas and mountain forests, and the entire land was immersed in the calm peace of surviving disaster.
The Outer Dark Envoy had fallen, chaotic darkness had dispersed, the Plane Prison had shattered completely, and layer upon layer of schemes that had spanned eternity had all been unveiled. Everyone thought the age of gods had ended, the threat of darkness had been destroyed, and Douluo World would henceforth enjoy eternal freedom—no more chessboard, no more calculations, no more manipulation of fate.
In streets and alleys, refugees rebuilt their homes; at the ruins of sects, powerful figures restored their legacies; in coastal villages, fish and shrimp multiplied without end.
In just a few months, the traces of war rapidly faded, smoke from daily life rose once more, and the deathly silence and despair that had once permeated the continent seemed as though they had never existed.
The older generation of powerful figures remembered the terror of annihilation and remained vigilant against changes in heaven and earth, not daring to relax in the slightest.
But ordinary people and the new generation of Soul Masters gradually forgot the Blood-Red Sky Screen, forgot the pressure of darkness, and forgot the apocalyptic catastrophe that had nearly wiped out the entire plane.
Peace was too gentle. It made people forget how bone-chilling darkness could be.
Just as the continent rested in tranquility and all living beings believed the years were peaceful—
Deep within