Mortals (1)

The battlefield was a graveyard of fallen deities. Mountains of divine corpses stretched endlessly, their lifeless forms still radiating faint traces of power. The sky above churned with unstable energy, the very fabric of reality torn apart by the cataclysmic battle that had taken place here.

At the peak of this mountain of dead gods stood Fan Shen, his crimson robes drenched in golden blood. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he absorbed the last wisps of divinity from a slain Primordial God. The stolen power coursed through his veins, making his golden eyes burn brighter.

"More... I need more!" he growled, his voice echoing across the desolate realm.

Then—

The space before him rippled.

Not the usual distortion caused by teleportation, but something deeper—as if reality itself was being peeled back layer by layer. The air grew heavy, oppressive, as though the universe was holding its breath.