The battlefield was silent. Only the crackling of dying embers and the distant rumble of the heavens remained. Celestial ruins lay scattered across the shattered ground, fragments of divine weapons and broken immortal artifacts sinking into the void.
At the center of it all, a lone figure knelt.
Shen Tian, the Heavenly Saint, was drenched in golden blood. His robes, once immaculate, were torn and charred. The radiance that had once surrounded him was now nothing more than a flickering ember, fading with each breath.
Before him stood nine figures—his disciples.
"You were once the greatest among us, Master," Yun Ziyan spoke, his sword still dripping with divine essence. "But the era of immortality has ended. The heavens no longer allow it to exist."
Shen Tian coughed, golden blood staining his lips. "You… who swore loyalty before the celestial stars, now call me a heretic?" His gaze swept over them, not with anger, but with disappointment.
Bai Qingxue, the Frost Lotus Saintess, stepped forward. "It is not personal, Master. The heavens themselves demand your end. If we do not sever your existence, we will never be able to ascend further."
A cruel irony. He had once stood at the pinnacle, defending the heavens themselves. And now, those very heavens had decreed his destruction.
Lightning crackled in the sky, its judgment absolute. The heavens had spoken—Shen Tian would be erased.
Divine punishment descended.
A pillar of heavenly lightning tore through his body. Agony surged through every fiber of his being as the power of the cosmos ripped his very essence apart. The Dao of Immortality—the path he had spent countless eons comprehending—was forcefully unraveled.
Even as his body crumbled, his spirit did not waver.
"You may shatter my body, erase my Dao, and curse my soul to a thousand lifetimes of suffering..." His voice, though weak, echoed with unwavering defiance. His gaze bore into the disciples who had betrayed him.
"But I will return."
His words resounded as the final bolt of heavenly retribution fell. His body disintegrated, his soul cast into the endless void of Samsara.
The last immortal fell.
Darkness. Cold. Hunger.
Shen Tian awoke to the scent of filth and decay. His body was frail, wrapped in ragged cloth, lying on a bed of straw within a crumbling wooden shack. His stomach twisted in pain, hunger gnawing at his insides.
Memories flooded his mind.
A thousand lives. A thousand deaths.
He had been a scholar who perished in obscurity. A warrior who fell on the battlefield. A beggar trampled beneath the feet of nobles. A demon hunted and slain. A king poisoned in his own palace. Each existence had ended in tragedy.
Yet now, for the first time, something was different.
I remember everything.
The realization struck like divine thunder. In all his past lives, his memories had been fragmented, lost upon death. But now, they surged within him—a torrent of knowledge, regrets, and power once wielded.
He clenched his fists, though his frail fingers barely obeyed. His strength was gone, his cultivation shattered. But the Eternal Dao Seed—the last remnant of true immortality—still existed within him, faint but unextinguished.
The heavens had cast him into the cycle of Samsara, hoping to grind him into nothingness. But they had failed.
A thousand lifetimes of suffering… and yet, I still stand.
Outside, the slums of Broken Sky City stretched endlessly. Crumbling buildings and desperate figures filled the streets, the air thick with the scent of rot. Filthy children scavenged for scraps, while beggars huddled in the corners, their hollow eyes devoid of hope.
This was the lowest realm, where even the weak held no worth.
Shen Tian stepped outside, his frail legs barely supporting him. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, but his mind remained clear. He had nothing—no wealth, no power, no allies.
But he had himself.
And for now, that was enough.
The heavens had taken everything from him once.
Now, he would take everything from them.