Level Seventy-Five

For an instant, the sound of rain stopped.

The rain had not actually stopped. Within thirty feet of Bai Jin, every raindrop hung suspended in midair. Each reflected an Azure Blue glow, like countless tiny mirrors breaking the ruined temple, Ghost Mask, the formation patterns, and the half-open black Gate into fragments.

Bai Jin stood before the Gate, his Silver Hair lifted by the rain-laden wind.

Seven Soul Rings rose from beneath his feet.

Yellow, purple, black, black, black, black, black.

The instant his Seventh Soul Ring lit up, his Six Eyes True Body unfolded.

Tang San felt the world suddenly fall quiet. It was not that sound had vanished. Rather, some terrifying perception had stripped every flow of Soul Power bare. Where the formation beneath the ruined temple drew blood, where it channeled poison, where it circulated back through his Blue Silver Grass—nothing could hide.

The gray-robed Soul Saint roared, and the Pale Ghost Mask pressed down from the temple roof.

The mask was half as large as the temple. Its fangs gaped, and black liquid dripped from it like rain. Wherever a drop struck the ground, it corroded a patch of blood-red patterns into being, further stabilizing the Outer Gate.

Yet Bai Jin was still smiling.

"You people have a bad habit." He raised his hand. "You always want to build your Gates on someone else's doorstep."

The Ghost Mask came crashing down.

Limitless unfolded.

The enormous Ghost Mask stopped an inch above Bai Jin's head. Its fangs shook the air until it warped, but it could descend no farther. That inch had stretched into an invisible abyss. No matter how the Soul Saint drove his Soul Power, the mask could only circle its edge.

Bai Jin crooked a finger.

Azure.

The raindrops, broken tiles, snapped incense threads,