Chapter Forty: Asura Descends, Calamity of World Destruction (Part Two)

At this moment, high above, crimson suns and moons hung suspended in the firmament, casting a blood-red glare across the vast earth below.

"Clang, clang, clang... sizzle, sizzle..."

Two hundred-meter-tall monsters were locked in a fierce, chaotic battle within the void. One was a hulking, bull-headed giant with skin the color of dried blood; the other was a colossal centipede stretching hundreds of yards long, its carapace the texture of molten lava, mottled with gold and crimson and wreathed in billowing karmic flames.

Colossal in stature, the two titans traded blows—one possessed a physique of unyielding divine iron, while the other was the very incarnation of raw energy, shifting and reforming at will, immortal and indestructible. They were entangled in a deadlock of mutual slaughter.

"Sizzle, sizzle... burst, burst..."

With the violent shockwaves of their collision, torrents of crimson karmic fire rained down upon the earth. The vitality of the land was seemingly plundered; all living things withered instantly, and the ground collapsed into cascading waves of quicksand.

"No... spare me... wail..."

"Rumble... This place is collapsing... Run..."

"Sob, sob... sizzle..."

"......"

Down below, the city of London had plunged into utter chaos. The ripples of the distant cataclysm reached its streets, causing towering skyscrapers to buckle and deep, jagged fissures to tear open across the earth. Swarms of terrified people flooded the asphalt arteries, fleeing desperately toward the city limits.

Sinister criminals and outlaws seized the opportunity in the madness to loot, burn, and slaughter without restraint. Their minds corrupted by the crimson blood moon in the sky, they devolved into veritable demons, wantonly butchering innocent civilians amidst the panic. The entire city of London had transformed into a living purgatory.

"Rumble..."

Suddenly, a deafening explosion echoed through the heavens, followed by the blooming of a gigantic crimson mushroom cloud. An enormous fireball, resembling a blazing orange meteor, tore across the sky and smashed brutally into the heart of London.

"Boom... crash... hiss..."

"Run... flee for your lives..."

"......"

Following the devastating impact, the entirety of London was reduced to ruins, countless innocent citizens perishing in the explosive aftermath. At the center of the devastation lay a gargantuan crater.

A surging current of crimson energy was tightly coiled around the six-winged golden centipede. The two adversaries wrestled fiercely, rolling relentlessly across the earth, kicking up dust storms that billowed like ocean waves and swallowed the surrounding landscape.

"Die... you cursed crawling filth..."

Amidst the swirling red energy, the vague silhouette of a bull’s head emerged, letting out a roar that shook the heavens.

"Hiss, hiss... screech..."

With a piercing shriek from the six-winged golden centipede, the mountain-high tides of negative human emotions within London instantly converged into a dark red river, which it greedily sucked into its maw.

"Burst, burst, burst..."

Having absorbed a massive influx of karmic karma, the crimson karmic flames blazing upon the six-winged golden centipede instantly surged, swelling into a colossal fireball that completely enveloped both combatants.

......

Ever since the moment his consciousness had slipped away, Li Yang’s rationality had been utterly consumed by an overwhelming bloodlust. Stripped of control over his physical form, he had degenerated into a ferocious beast driven solely by the instinct to slaughter.

Yet, deep within his mind, the very last flicker of true spirit—guarded by a dozen tiny specks of golden starlight—plunged into an endless abyss of darkness. As those glowing motes dissolved into his soul, Li Yang's awareness seemed to drift into an unknown realm.

This world was composed of countless majestic rivers. These rivers traversed the heavens and the earth, stretching across ancient and modern space-time, interweaving with thick chains of universal laws without ever interfering with one another.

Some of these rivers were vast, others narrow; some teemed with vibrant vitality, while others flickered with dim, dying light.

Among them, the three most formidable stood out: one of a pristine azure hue, one of gleaming liquid gold, and one of primordial chaos.

Gazing upon these three rivers, Li Yang felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity, though he could never quite grasp what they truly represented.

Suddenly, a milky-white river materialized beside him. Its color resembled fresh cream, yet its light was exceedingly faint. In terms of sheer scale, it was scarcely smaller than the three colossal rivers that spanned the cosmos, but it exuded an aura of ancient decay and approaching extinction.

From this milky river, Li Yang seemed to hear the harmonized echoes of resonant chanting, weaving together into ancient texts brimming with profound principles of the Dao. The phantom image of an old man grasping a bamboo ruler flickered faintly within the current.

Concurrently, the azure river manifested wondrous, mystical Gates of All Marvels, within which sat an old sage riding a green ox.

The golden river transformed into countless mystic Sanskrit symbols that clustered into diverse Buddhist avatars, hanging high within the current like stars in the firmament. These avatars coalesced to form a towering, eighteen-foot-tall golden Buddha.

The river of chaos evolved the endless cycles of heaven, earth, sun, moon, mountains, rivers, flora, fauna, and the four seasons, mirroring the birth, evolution, and ultimate dissolution of a universe in an endless loop. A slender, faceless figure holding a book drifted within the current, watching the unfolding of the cosmos and the rise and fall of all living things.

As for Li Yang himself, he too was a river—a pale golden stream, minuscule by comparison. Beside these cosmic titans, he was merely a grain of sand, neither brilliant nor majestic, shimmering so faintly it seemed he might vanish at any moment.

Gazing at this spectacle, Li Yang finally understood the meaning of these rivers. The azure river represented the Great Dao of Daoism, spanning past, present, and future; the milky-white river was Confucianism, a vast and righteous current nearing its end; the golden river belonged to Buddhism, the path of the mind and spirit; and the chaotic river embodied the Dao of genesis and world-creation.

These various orthodox doctrines intertwined with the fundamental laws of the world, plundering the universe's essence to grow in pursuit of condensing a Dao fruit and transcending the world entirely.

Yet why had he come here? To put it bluntly, he was merely an insignificant mortal who had yet to attain immortality. By all rights, it was impossible for him to encounter such mysteries. Let alone someone of his stature, even the gods and buddhas high above the nine heavens could not venture here to witness the rise and fall of the great traditions firsthand.

In truth, Li Yang did not know that, under normal circumstances, no one except the founders of these great paths could ever perceive them directly. The very fact that he had appeared here meant that he, too, was the pioneer of a newly born Dao.

Indeed, under normal conditions, when the karmic fire incinerated his flesh and soul, he ought to have perished. Karmic fire could burn away all karma—that is to say, all negative emotions—in existence. Humanity possessed both yin and yang; there was no such thing as a creature possessing purely benevolent intent in this world. Such an absolute creature was inherently flawed and imperfect, an impossibility in reality.

Thus, karmic fire could be considered the nemesis of all living things. No mortal could withstand its cleansing burn. The Buddha's glazed golden body had been forged only by washing away impurities through countless lifetimes of cultivation to achieve the supreme Dao. But there was only one Buddha, and he had endured untold cycles of spiritual practice to attain a stainless state of mind capable of surviving the karmic flames.

The reason Li Yang had survived was purely a matter of serendipity. The path of bloodline sorcery he had pioneered was merely in its infancy, yet it was a Dao nonetheless. As the founder of this tradition, he was naturally the beneficiary of its burgeoning fortune.

However, because the path of bloodline sorcery had only just begun to sprout, it was exceedingly fragile, and he had been unaware of it himself. Yet, the condensation of an independent tradition signified that he now possessed the qualification to ultimately transcend this universe. Though weak at present, its intrinsic essence was no inferior to any other established Dao.

It was precisely under the protection of this newborn Dao that Li Yang had managed to preserve a shred of true spirit, escaping into this special realm.

Yet, ignorant of the mechanisms behind it all, he remained utterly bewildered.

Just as he found himself at a loss, ripples suddenly stirred across the space. The river enclosing his true spirit carried that fragile spark, instantly piercing through the fabric of space-time and descending into an unknown world.

......

In an era ravaged by turmoil, plagued by natural disasters and human calamities, famine stalked the land and society collapsed into chaos.

All living beings suffered torment under the fires of war and starvation, to the point where desperation drove humans to consume their own kind, simply because hunger had pushed them beyond the limits of reason.

Across a barren wasteland beneath a scorching sun, a skin-and-bones woman trudged through the lifeless desert, her heavily pregnant belly protruding as she forced herself forward with agonizing effort.

Eventually, the woman reached a dilapidated shrine. Though she was too exhausted and starved to stand, as a spark of true spirit descended from the sky, accompanied by a piercing infant cry, the woman finally became a mother.

The moment the child entered the world, the divine statue within the ruined temple quietly shifted its expression, transforming into a ferocious visage with bared fangs.

At that very moment, a gaunt, starving jackal launched a sudden assault on the shrine. Though the woman possessed no strength left, she snatched up a makeshift weapon and fought back with desperate ferocity. It was the primal power of maternal love that allowed mother and child to survive the ordeal.

Gazing down with tender eyes at the infant in her arms, the woman—experiencing motherhood for the first time—allowed a look of boundless affection to soften her features.

Regrettably, this warmth was destined to be agonizingly brief. Faced with relentless natural disasters and the flames of ceaseless war, when food was entirely absent and surviving another day was a struggle in itself, how could she possibly nourish a newborn infant?

One day, within the ruins of a desolate village, the woman discovered a corpse. An agonizing war raged within her soul as humanity and starvation tore at one another. In the end, human morality crumbled; driven by the desperate will to survive, the woman chose to feed upon the flesh.

Yet a single corpse could not sustain her for long. What was she to do next? Looking down at the wailing infant suckling at her dry breast, the woman's eyes became bloodshot. She had been driven to the absolute abyss of starvation.

The next moment, the woman hoisted the child into her arms and hurled it directly into a burning fire pit. As she watched the baby shriek in the flames, a sudden peal of thunder cracked across the sky, and a torrential downpour lashed down, instantly extinguishing the fire—and startling the woman back to her senses.

Realizing what she had done, the awakened woman let out a heartbreaking, desolate wail, then bolted away into the wilderness like a madwoman.

A decade passed. Across the land, war and famine still reigned, leaving a trail of utter devastation.

Yet, amidst the suffering, a strange child now wandered the earth. He was hunched and frail, bearing sharp teeth and claws yet lacking human speech, gripping a heavy saber twice his height in his small hands.

In this age of famine, the blade was meant not for beasts, but for men.