Despite the best efforts of the most powerful cultivators, the merger of the two worlds proved to be an event so disruptive that it defied any attempts at resolution. The damage was extensive and deeply rooted, and even the most ingenious solutions fell short of restoring balance.
In the first 100 days following the merger, the world's foundational codes—its guiding principles of operation—began to malfunction persistently. Despite these setbacks, the cultivators and the council worked tirelessly to keep the world intact. Through extraordinary efforts, they modified the codes to mitigate the symptoms of the instability. However, these changes only provided temporary relief, as the underlying problems remained unsolved.
Attempting to modify the world's codes in such a situation was akin to trying to suppress a rising tide of molten lava with blocks of ice. The ice might slow the tide for a brief moment, but the inevitable failure was always just a matter of time.
The most critical issue lay in the rapid and unpredictable changes occurring to the universal laws. These universal laws formed the very foundation of rank 12 and 13 worlds. Once the foundation of a world became unstable, it triggered an avalanche of errors and distortions. Even the most sophisticated and masterfully written codes were powerless to address these foundational issues. Without a stable base, no amount of patching or rewriting could resolve the growing crisis.
Despite the dire circumstances, the cultivators and other allied forces from neighboring worlds made significant strides in understanding the nature of the changes affecting the universal laws. However, the changes outpaced their progress, which accelerated at a terrifying rate.
...
The world's codes, once a fragile barrier against the growing instability, began to fail at the 200th-day mark. The world's landscape became riddled with inexplicable bugs that disrupted both physical and metaphysical realities. Worse still, the phenomenon of illusions and dreamworlds grew so severe that they could no longer be contained or suppressed. Random individuals could suddenly find themselves trapped within an illusion, unable to escape. For mortals, even the tiniest illusion was a death sentence—once trapped, there was no way out.
The situation with the dreamworlds was even more dire. It reached a point where people were terrified to sleep, for fear that dreaming might plunge them into a dreamworld from which they would never awaken. But no mortal could resist the need for sleep forever. Inevitably, exhaustion would claim them, and many who succumbed to slumber never opened their eyes again.
This new reality was utterly merciless. It spared no one, regardless of wealth, status, or power. A person could die at any moment—whether by falling into an illusion or by slipping into a fatal dream. There were no protections, no formations, and no spells capable of offering safety. In this grim state of existence, absolute equality was achieved—everyone, rich or poor, was equally vulnerable to death.
Some might argue that equality, in any form, is inherently good. However, the tragic irony of this "absolute equality" lay in its horrific consequences. It was a world where fairness came at the cost of constant suffering and imminent death. Many who had once dreamed of a fair and equal society now longed for the unequal world they had known before.
In the old world, inequality was rampant, and the lives of mortals were far from easy. Yet, amidst their struggles, they had at least some semblance of safety and stability. Now, all that was gone. Even the poorest of mortals would willingly trade the "fairness" of their current existence for the relative peace they once had, where death did not loom over them every second of the day.
Immortals and powerful cultivators were in a far better position than mortals during the catastrophic merger. While they weren't immune to the chaos, their strength and abilities gave them an edge. If an immortal or a high-ranking cultivator fell into an illusion, they still had a chance to escape through their profound mastery of relevant spells and techniques. Additionally, unlike mortals, they did not require sleep, allowing them to avoid the dreamworlds that ensnared so many. For the time being, they were relatively safe from this particular danger.
However, even among these mighty beings, fear began to creep in. A number of true immortals and cosmic entities started contemplating the possibility of abandoning the world entirely. They had no binding obligations to protect it; many had long fulfilled their karmic debts and responsibilities to the world. Leaving seemed like an appealing option.
Yet, when they turned their attention outward—toward the vast expanses of the universe—they quickly abandoned the thought of fleeing. The reality outside the world of cultivation was far grimmer than they had anticipated.
The destabilization of the universal laws was not confined to the world of cultivation. In fact, compared to the broader universe, the world of cultivation was faring relatively well. Beyond its borders, the cosmos itself was on the verge of collapse. The fabric of reality was riddled with cracks and holes, through which horrifying and corrosive chaotic energy poured. While normal chaotic energy posed little threat to immortals, the energy unleashed during this event was far more potent—supercharged to such an extent that even rank 12 beings had to tread carefully.
Chaotic energy, by its very nature, thrives in instability. The merger of two infinite domains created the most unstable conditions imaginable. The resulting energy grew so powerful that it began corroding even the universal laws themselves, exacerbating the already dire situation.
This devastating energy swept through the universe, crashing into worlds and unraveling them. Rank 10 and rank 11 worlds disintegrated upon the slightest contact with this chaos. Rank 12 worlds, though sturdier, were barely able to endure, while only the strongest rank 13 worlds—such as the world of cultivation—managed to weather the storm.
Yet the situation continued to deteriorate. As the merger progressed, the chaotic energy grew even more potent. Rank 12 worlds that had initially survived the destabilization of universal laws began to crumble one by one. The cosmos was plunged into an era of mass destruction and extinction, with countless worlds falling like flies. It was a cataclysm on a scale no one had ever imagined—a cascade of annihilation sparked by the merging of two infinite domains.
Even the mightiest entities, including rank 13 cultivators, were left stunned by the unprecedented chaos. Many began to despair, believing they were witnessing the end of existence itself.
Only rank 14 entities—the pinnacle of known power—were able to resist the onslaught of chaotic energy and the destabilization of universal laws. Yet even they were deeply unsettled. Unlike the lower ranks, rank 14 entities had a clearer understanding of the cosmic event unfolding before them. The merger of two infinite domains posed a threat so great that it even endangered their seemingly invincible status.
The most terrifying possibility was that the complete merger of the two infinite domains might result in a total reset of existence. Such an event could wipe out all of reality, erasing every living being, every world, and every trace of the current universe. Only quasi-rank 15 entities—those with their own infinite domains— can survive such an apocalyptic event. Regular rank 14 entities, who lacked their own infinite domains, would likely be swept away along with everything else.
Of course, no one could say for sure what would happen. There was no precedent for the merger of two infinite domains. No records, no legends, no survivors from previous such events existed to provide guidance or reassurance. It was a journey into the unknown, fraught with peril and uncertainty.
...
As time passed, the situation grew even more surreal. Many worlds altered their passage of time to buy themselves a chance to adapt or prepare. For some, centuries seemed to pass since the disaster began, while for others, only a few months had elapsed. Yet by the measurement of universal time, less than a year had passed since the chaos first erupted.
The fate of the universe hung in the balance, and as the merger continued, the line between survival and annihilation grew thinner with every passing moment.
In less than a year, 99 percent of all rank 13 worlds were utterly destroyed. As for rank 11, rank 10, and even semi-worlds of rank 9, 8, and 7, not a single one survived. The chaotic energy had become so prevalent and overwhelming that it only took a single drop to eradicate even the strongest rank 11 world. With the vast amounts of chaotic energy permeating the universe, any world lacking the direct protection of universal laws was doomed to obliteration.
Unfortunately, even the worlds that relied on universal laws for protection were running out of time. The laws, which served as the backbone of these worlds, were already corroded beyond recognition. They teetered on the brink of collapse, offering only temporary sanctuary.
Universal laws are the foundation of a universe's stability, and their destruction carries catastrophic consequences. Unlike complete laws, which can be repaired or replaced without lasting damage, universal laws are an inseparable and permanent part of a universe. The destruction of even one universal law usually triggers a chain reaction, destabilizing the entire system and culminating in the complete disintegration of the universe it governs.
With the universal laws crumbling, the fate of all seemed sealed. Not even rank 14 entities—beings who were considered nearly invincible—could prevent the collapse. The universe was unraveling, and no amount of power or ingenuity could halt its demise.
The conclusion was inevitable: everyone was going to die.
...
Wu Jian let out a quiet sigh and looked up at the sky. It was an empty void, featureless and bleak. The heavens had been "shut down" in an effort to preserve what little energy the world of cultivation had left. With chaotic energy corroding everything, the world's limited reserves were being conserved to maintain basic defenses.
"It's my turn soon," Wu Jian thought, her mind devoid of fear. She had prepared herself for this moment for a long time.
The only way to resist the chaos now was through desperate measures—sending true immortals and cosmic beings on suicidal missions to counteract the chaotic energy. Rank 10 and rank 11 beings, while weak in comparison to the chaos, could still make themselves useful. By self-destructing near the chaos, they could unleash an explosion powerful enough to repel a drop of the energy.
Wu Jian's final mission was exactly that. Her task was to approach a fragment of chaos and self-destruct, sacrificing herself to protect the remnants of her world. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of bitterness at the futility of it all.
"Such a meaningless death," she mused, a wry smile tugging at her lips. She had never imagined that, as an immortal, her journey would end in self-annihilation—merely to repel a single drop of chaotic energy.
Resigned, Wu Jian prepared to stand, ready to fulfill her duty. But as she moved, she felt something warm trickle down her face. Startled, she touched her cheek and pulled her fingers back, now stained with blood.
Her brow furrowed in confusion. Curious, she turned her gaze toward the window, wondering what could have caused it.
Around her, the grand sect buildings crumbled and fell, collapsing one after another into the endless abyss, as though they had never existed. It wasn't just the buildings—everything was vanishing. The land, the air, even the very essence of existence was unraveling, dissolving into nothingness as the universal laws were being wholly erased, leaving no trace of the universe that once was.
"It seems I won't even get the chance to self-destruct," she thought with a bitter smile. "Perhaps that's for the best."
A wry smirk played on her lips as she walked over to a mirror. It was covered in dust, a remnant of the life she had once known. For the first time in months, Wu Jian saw her reflection. What greeted her wasn't the bloody face she expected, but a vision of herself from before the disaster.
The reflection wore a solemn expression, and Wu Jian's memories stirred. She remembered this moment vividly.
"I remember this day," she muttered to herself. "I wrote, 'There is no hope.'"
Her lips curled into a sardonic grin as she retrieved a piece of paper and a pen. This time, she decided to write something different.
"You have no chance; just enjoy your remaining 305 days," she scribbled on the paper, holding it up to the mirror.
Her reflection reacted. The figure in the mirror looked alarmed, shouting silently in confusion. A moment later, it reached for its own paper and began writing.
Wu Jian watched as the words appeared in the mirror: "What is happening?"
Her bleeding grew worse, crimson streaks trailing down her face and neck, but she ignored it. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, smearing the blood, and picked up her pen again.
"Enjoy your life while you can. It's over," she wrote, holding the paper steady for the reflection to see.
Before she could write anything further, the darkness that consumed the world crept closer. It reached her without mercy, tendrils of oblivion tearing into her flesh, ripping her apart cell by cell.
Her complete law—a testament to her immortality—shattered in an instant, offering no protection, no delay to her demise. The darkness was absolute, erasing every trace of her existence.
Wu Jian smiled one last time, her thoughts calm even as she dissolved into nothingness.
And then, she was gone.