Chapter 1: " Endless War"

Endless darkness stretched across the abyss between two realms, a vast expanse of nothingness where neither time nor life should have existed. Yet within this unimaginable void, the most savage of wars raged.

The battlefield spanned light-years, an ever-expanding sea of devastation where two mighty forces clashed. This was no ordinary conflict—it was a war for survival itself, a desperate struggle between the remnants of the human race and the monstrous beings known as the Death Creators.

The heavens trembled under the weight of destruction.

The roars of beasts and battle cries of humans merged into a deafening storm. With every passing moment, the voices of the human cultivators now grew weak and distant, like the dying echoes of a forgotten era.

The roars of the Death Creators, in contrast, carried an ominous certainty. With every passing moment, their voices grew louder, more dominant, drowning out all resistance.

Energy surged with every strike, shockwaves tearing across space, igniting the void like dying stars. The heavens trembled under the might of both sides, and the foundation of the universe groaned under the weight of destruction.

In the heart of this chaos, amidst the fading light of dying stars, a lone monk stood against the tide. His robes, once pristine, were now tattered and drenched in blood—his own and that of countless foes, His breath was heavy, each inhale a struggle against the encroaching darkness.

Surrounding him were three Giant Death Creators, each exuding an aura so vile it could corrode existence itself. Their presence distorted the space around, the Laws of death spreading away at everything in their path.

"Your resistance is futile," one of them intoned, its voice a cold whisper that carried the weight of countless deaths. "Submit, or perish."

The monk wiped the blood from his lips, his eyes glowing with the final flickers of defiance. A bitter smile curled upon his lips. "Less talk. More fight."

He moved, a blur of motion, his palm igniting with golden flames as he struck—one blow, and the first of the Creators exploded into a mist of blood.

But the victory was hollow. The others retaliated, their power overwhelming. They tore him apart, his form dissipating into the void.

But the next moment,

The blood was instantly reversed and fused together, the power of the soul surged, and the monk and the death Creator both revived!

High level monks are hard to kill.

Boom!

Their clash tore through time and space, sending ripples across the void,sending ripples across the universe, shaking even the distant galaxies. And yet, it was a fleeting moment, lost amidst the endless tide of battle.

The scene repeated itself across the endless expanse—humans, like fading stars, falling one by one, while the Death Creators pressed on. The bloodshed never ceased.

A hundred years passed.

The stars grew dimmer, their light slowly swallowed by the unrelenting tide of death that stretched across the void.

One by one, the human race's top powerhouses fell. Giants of cultivation, emperors of galaxies, and saints of ancient eras—none were spared. The Death Creators pressed forward relentlessly, their advance unstoppable.

The light of hope faded, leaving only the cold, unyielding march of the Death Creators.

Despair filled the heavens, an unspoken truth that whispered through the void.

"Slaughter them all."

"Erase them from existence."

"Crush those ants."

The voices of the Death Creators were filled with cruel joy, as though relishing the end of an age. Their laughter echoed through the expanse of the void, a dark symphony of madness and death. And yet, no salvation came.

Above the battlefield, four supreme Death Creators floated like deities of annihilation, their cold eyes watching the slaughter unfold. They had not moved—there was no need.

"It seems humanity will vanish today," one of them laughed, its voice filled with amusement.

Another scoffed. "Too slow. Let me end this myself."

With a lazy motion, one of them rose. His movements were slow, almost indifferent, but the very act of standing seemed to twist the foundation of the universe. In an instant, he was above it all—above the universe itself, standing as a dark god. No transition. No warning. He simply was.

Then, he raised his hand.

"Divine Art—Sky-Blocking Palm."

The universe trembled.

A colossal hand, darker than the abyss, materialized above the endless void. It was not merely large—it was boundless, an embodiment of death itself.

Each crevice of its palm was etched with the Laws of Death, twisting like chains of fate, sealing all hope within their grasp. The space around it decayed and collapse.

His palm alone spanned countless star systems, and his outstretched fingers ran through the heavens like celestial pillars.

As it stretched across the heavens, its sheer size eclipsed entire worlds. The human realm, once bathed in the light of countless stars, was now swallowed by an all-consuming shadow.

Cities fell silent. Mortals and immortals alike gazed up, their souls drowning in despair.

Trillions of life forms looked up in horror, their faces frozen in terror as an endless shadow consumed the heavens.

"Is this the end?"

"Emperor… where are you?!"

"Goddess, save us!"

The black hand descended.

It did not rush. It did not need to. Its mere presence warped the sky, gravity bending toward its unfathomable pull. Galaxies in the distance flickered, their light stolen away as the palm inched closer.

Cries of fear filled the cosmos as countless beings collapsed, their hope crushed beneath the suffocating darkness.

At that moment, countless beings across the universe sighed in sorrow, watching the final moments of the human race..

But then—

Boom!

A deafening roar shattered the darkness.

Across mountains and seas, where ruins lay still and silent, a figure emerged.

Dressed as a scholar, yet carrying the weight of mountains and Seas on his back.

The man in white clothes with a peerless appearance appeared, he looked at the distance.

Especially deep in his eyes, there are terrifying avenue runes appearing, which are simply brighter than the sun and the moon.

Once it breaks out, it will be enough to destroy the world.

With each step, the stars trembled. With each breath, the Universe stirred.

He was the Human Emperor—the last pillar of humanity, the strongest cultivator of his race, and the final ancestor of mankind.

A terrifying aura erupted from his body, sweeping across countless worlds.

The four supreme Death Creators hovering above the battlefield faltered for the first time. Their gazes sharpened.

"This human…" one whispered, its voice tinged with an emotion that resembled unease.

"He is on our level."

Across the ruined domains, the last survivors of humanity looked up, their eyes widening with a mix of hope and sorrow.

Hope—because they knew who had arrived.

Sorrow—because even he, the Human Emperor, could not stand alone against such overwhelming force.

And yet, he came.

The Human Emperor had arrived.

But what could he do alone?

.....