A voice echoed through the vast heavens, reverberating like thunder across the lands, "Old man, I never expected you to repay your debt like this. How could a traitor exist among us? Ping'er, I never imagined it would be you."
The voice, once filled with fury and disbelief, suddenly fell silent. As if in response, a colossal, multi-colored pillar of light surged upward, piercing the very fabric of the sky. The brilliant hues danced and swirled, casting an ethereal glow over the world below, as if the heavens themselves were mourning an unspeakable betrayal.
Moments later, the image of a faceless old man materialized amidst the swirling clouds. He was cloaked in imperial robes, the heavy fabric adorned with symbols of ancient power. His presence alone commanded the respect of all who gazed upon him. The old man looked upon the towering pillar with an expression of sorrow and regret, shaking his head slowly. Then, in a blink, he vanished, only to reappear within a golden beam of light that radiated a divine aura.
Shortly thereafter, the figure of a strikingly handsome young man began to coalesce within the multi-colored pillar. His features were sharp, his eyes filled with wisdom beyond his years. He moved to sit beside the old man, seeking guidance or perhaps solace, when suddenly, a blinding purple pillar of light erupted from the sky. The heavens groaned under the weight of its appearance, as if heralding the arrival of an immense power.
The young man's expression shifted instantly, his calm demeanor giving way to unease. The old man, sensing the change, slowly rose to his feet. His voice, once steady, now carried a note of bitterness as he spoke, "Demon Emperor, you..."
His words hung in the air like a curse, heavy and foreboding. As the old man's voice faded, a middle-aged man, imposing and fearsome, appeared at the apex of the purple pillar. Two horns jutted from his forehead, and his entire body was covered in gleaming dragon scales that shimmered ominously in the light.
The Demon Emperor's laughter was dark and menacing, echoing across the heavens. "Immortal Emperor, what do you think? Why not let me join in your grand plan? After all, neither of us truly lives. You are not the only emperor, nor am I. There are many emperors besides us, lurking in the shadows. So why not place a bet on this twisted game?"
The Immortal Emperor's response was a low, knowing chuckle. "Demon Emperor, have you forgotten what transpired so long ago? The scars of that time still linger, even now."
The Demon Emperor's expression twisted into one of disbelief and shock, his voice trembling with realization. "I never imagined that both of you had orchestrated this for so long... waiting, plotting in the darkness."
In that fateful moment, the Father God, seated at the highest point of the heavens, invoked his ancient authority, "Refine Everything." The decree was absolute, an edict that would reshape the very fabric of existence. The sky darkened as the command was given, and the earth quaked in fear. A massive refinement formation, stretching millions of kilometers in every direction, appeared in the sky, enveloping the three pillars of light in its inexorable grasp.
The Immortal Emperor, resolute and unwavering, shook his head one final time, then cast himself into the heart of the refinement process. His body became the fuel for the celestial fire, burning away all that he once was.
Desperate to escape his fate, the Demon Emperor transformed into a colossal dragon, his scales glinting like polished armor. He fought against the refinement with all his might, his roars shaking the heavens. Yet, his defiance was futile. In the end, he made the ultimate sacrifice, summoning the remnants of the gods, demons, and immortals to create a curse of memories—a final, desperate act to leave his mark on the world. But even this was anticipated by the Immortal Emperor, who had woven it into the fabric of his grand design.
As the Immortal Emperor nodded in agreement with the Father God, both figures self-detonated in a blinding flash of divine energy, their bodies reduced to mere echoes of their former selves.
At that exact moment, the three pillars of light merged into one, creating a singular, overwhelming force. Within this union, a shadow began to form—a baby, with features as delicate as they were enchanting. A star shone brightly on his forehead, and a dragon tattoo coiled ominously on his back, symbolizing the power that had been imbued within him.
As the child's form solidified, the Heavenly Dao, the cosmic order itself, roared in anger. A supreme heavenly tribulation began to manifest, its power unlike anything the world had ever witnessed.
From the deepest recesses of the Divine Tomb, a voice, frail yet filled with a burning determination, echoed through the void: "This old man has waited too long for this day."
An ancient cultivator, his body battered and broken, emerged from the shadows, wielding a mysterious and forbidden technique known as "End of Tribulation." The technique came at the ultimate cost—his life. Smiling with a strange mix of satisfaction and sorrow, the old man spoke his final words: "Wan-Ming, this old man truly wished to see this child grow into his destiny, but now, he must find his own path. The future is his to decide." With that, the old man crumbled to ash, his life force extinguished.
As if his sacrifice had been the key, the pillar of light that had dominated the sky vanished, as though it had never existed. The world stood still in that moment, holding its breath.
Then, the child opened his eyes and let out a cry—a cry that shook the heavens and the earth, as though the universe itself had been split asunder by this new life.
On the Tianmo Continent, those who heard the cry trembled uncontrollably. Blood poured from their mouths as the overwhelming power of the cry struck them down. Mortals collapsed where they stood, fainting from the sheer force of it. It was a sound unlike anything they had ever heard, a primal call that defied the laws of nature.
After that singular cry, the child closed his eyes, as if all that had just transpired had been wiped from his memory. He was left with nothing but a profound sense of loss, and a single, lingering question:
"Who am I?"