Chapter 2: " Fall..."

The shadowy hand of destruction, vast enough to consume countless realms, continued its descent.

The Emperor raised his own hand.

Boom!

Space chattered as the two forces collided. The darkness, once absolute, was halted.

"You dare stand in our way?" the supreme Death Creator bellowed, its voice shaking the void.

The Emperor did not answer. Instead, he lifted his gaze, his eyes burning like twin suns.

"I was never standing in your way."

His fingers curled into a fist.

A golden light burst forth, pushing back the abyssal force.

"I am here to destroy you."

For the first time, the Death Creators hesitated.

For the first time, the battlefield fell silent.

And in that moment, the last hope of humanity burned brighter than ever before.

The final battle had begun.

Across ruined cities and shattered sects, humans knelt, their faces streaked with blood and tears. Some reached toward the sky, as if grasping at a fading dream. Others clenched their fists, their nails digging into their palms, using pain to remind themselves they were still alive.

"This… is our last light," an elder monk whispered.

"But even light cannot stop the night," another muttered bitterly.

A mother clutched her child, sobbing. "Emperor… please…" she begged, not knowing what she asked for—salvation? A miracle? Or simply for him to not suffer alone?

The battlefield fell eerily silent.

He was alone.

A lone figure standing against the tide of annihilation.

Despair settled over humanity like an iron shroud. They wanted to believe. They wanted to hope. But how could one man turn back the end of an era?

Yet the Emperor's gaze remained indifferent, as if the destruction before him did not exist.

He took a step forward.

The Death Creators instinctively retreated. Whispers, ancient and unknowable, spread across the battlefield, reverberating through the starry sky.

Each syllable shook the heavens.

Each verse sent the Death Creators backward.

The entire starry sky trembled.

[Ancient Dao, hold on to the thought of

sealing the sky, the mountains and rivers are great,

the nine mountains and seas need the Dao to

come, my life is immeasurable.]

Boom!

With a single swing of his sword, a radiant light tore through the darkness.

The universe trembled. The blinding brilliance engulfed the battlefield, erasing countless invaders in an instant.

But just as annihilation seemed inevitable, a withered hand—shrouded in dense death energy And Laws—tore through the void, intercepting the devastating attack. The collision sent shockwaves surging through space, causing celestial bodies to tremble.

A supreme Death Creator met the Emperor's gaze.

The Emperor remained unfazed and took another step forward.

[Ancient Dao, thinking of the ever-changing monsters,

walking on the road that is not immortal,

stepping on nine mountains and seas,

my way is eternal, the people are wrong but my way is true,

my life is immeasurable.]

His aura surged, shaking countless supreme beings across the universe. The whispers grew stronger, carrying across the battlefield like a divine hymn.

[Ancient Dao, upholding the meaning of protection,

destroying powerful enemies,

shielding the human race—if the heavens are wrong, my Dao will stand true.

The human race is boundless.]

As his power reached its peak, Universe itself trembled. The Imperial laws coiled around him, forcing their way into existence.

A domineering voice spread across the universe.

"If I desire it, even the heavens cannot deny it."

He turned back, gazing at the devastated battlefield—not with sorrow, but with expectation.

"This is not the end. As long as you remember, as long as you fight, my soul will never fade. Go—live, struggle, conquer. The human race must strive for self-improvement.

Countless monks looked up, their hearts twisting with grief.

They roared, "Emperor!"

Their voices carried despair, reverence, and unwillingness.

The Emperor smiled. At that moment, his once-dark hair turned completely white, his vitality burning away.

He didn't spare the Death Creators another glance. His eyes pierced the void—beyond the battlefield, beyond life and death—where two unfathomable wills clashed in the endless currents of space and time.

Amid the turmoil, a smile appeared on the Human Emperor's face. His voice steady, he whispered, "We are not alone.

The words echoed through the vast emptiness, carrying with them an unspoken promise that the human race was not without hope, even in the darkest of times.

With one last, intentional movement, the Emperor severed the Void passage. His sword cut through the laws of space and time in the universe.

As the rift closed behind him, he stepped forward, his presence fading from the battlefield.

The Death Creators followed, pulled by his power, vanishing into the endless void alongside him.

Silence fell over the realm.

...

At the distant edge of the Void Sea, where the laws of heaven and earth no longer held sway, a shocking battle erupted. No records would speak of it, no witnesses would survive to tell its tale, yet its shadow loomed over the boundless Universe

For a thousand years, the great Dao trembled, and the order of the heavens wavered. The stars flickered, as if weeping for something they could not name, while the celestial river ran silent, its light dimming with each passing century.

The vast and infinite Void, once indifferent to all, now churned with invisible tides, waves of violent energy and laws spreading Endlessly in the void.

Until one day...

In the human realm, countless mortals and monks felt an inexplicable tightening in their chests. As if something vital was slipping away.

They all looked up.

The statues of the Human Emperor, standing across countless worlds, cracked.

Despair gripped the hearts of all.

Then—

The heavens trembled.

The skies turned blood red.

The luck of the human race plummeted.

Monks vomited blood, their gazes locked on the heavens in horror.

As blood rained from the skies, tears fell involuntarily from the eyes of cultivators across the world, their sorrow overwhelming.

The news spread like wildfire, crashing into the hearts of every human across the realms. The skies, once bright and hopeful, now bled with an ominous crimson hue, as if the heavens themselves mourned the loss of their protector. Everywhere, from the bustling cities to the quietest villages, people paused, their faces frozen in disbelief, their hearts gripped by an unbearable emptiness.

Monks and cultivators, who had once believed in the Emperor's invincibility, collapsed to their knees, their eyes wide with shock and despair. Tears, long suppressed in the face of countless battles, flowed freely now, as the weight of their loss crushed them. "He... he's really gone?" they whispered, unable to comprehend it.

The Emperor had fallen.

A silence heavier than death descended.

Hope was extinguished.

The skies, stained with blood, mourned alongside them—marking the end of an era.

.....