W33L

"Coffin of the Fallen Immortals
Where the ancient goddess predates creation itself, and Pangu kneels as her junior brother.

Lu Tianming, once the revered Kunlun Holy Son, fell from grace when his betrothed Dongfang Qingcheng betrayed him - his Dao bones cruelly extracted, his status reduced to the lowliest of sect drudges. Yet destiny intervened when he awakened the primordial bronze coffin obtained from the God-Slaying Abyss. Within its ancient confines slept a devastating beauty whose mere presence eclipsed empires, a peerless immortal who forcefully bound him to dual cultivation.

"Have you no shame? I refuse!" Tianming's protests echoed futilely as the immortal empress' jade-like fingers tore through his robes. But through this unwilling union came awakening - the legendary Great Desolate Emperor Body, a physique that once shook the primordial cosmos.

The white-robed empress' warning hung like executioner's steel: "Reach the Dao King realm within three years, or our next dual cultivation shall reduce you to ashes."

Tianming stared numbly at the coffin now fused with his dantian. He'd gained heaven-defying power... at the price of becoming this ancient goddess' cultivation furnace.

Coffin of the Fallen Immortals

Night draped Lu Tianming's hut as he examined the relic from the mound—a palm-sized bronze bell etched with primordial runes. "Celestial Sundering Bell," the coffin empress materialized, her voice cutting through the gloom. Before he could react, she threaded an obsidian chain through its loop and hung it around his neck.

The bell's weight slammed into him like a falling mountain. Two thousand jin* of pressure crushed his collarbones. "You call this training?" Lu Tianming growled, veins bulging as three Emperor Bones flared to life.

"Pathetic," the empress sneered. "This bell once shattered celestial realms. Its weight adjusts with your will—starting at twenty thousand jin. Wear it always: eat with it, sleep with it, bleed with it. Only then will your shackles crack."

For ten days, Lu Tianming became a slave to gravity. He squatted under its load until his tendons screamed, punched stone until knuckles split, and chased the demonic raven through moonlit forests—transforming its mocking caws into a new movement technique: Crow's Evasion.

Progress came brutal but swift.

Two more Emperor Bones darkened to obsidian. Twenty-five thousand jin of primal force now coiled in his muscles. When he finally cracked Situ Man's storage pouch, treasures spilled forth: a thousand spirit stones, a vial of Mystic Spirit Herb—and a rusted blade.

The coffin hummed. The blade shed corrosion like snakeskin, revealing engraved runes: "Supreme-Grade Artifact: Barbarian God Cleaver."

"HAH!" Lu Tianming's laughter shook the rafters as he tested the blade. Moonlight danced along its edge while the raven—now missing half its tail feathers—screamed bloody murder from a pine branch.

Dawn of the Tournament

Lu Tianming sat cross-legged, the Celestial Sundering Bell pulsing against his chest. The Great Desolate Heart Sutra—wrested from the empress through weeks of pestering—sucked spiritual energy into a vortex above him.

Golden qi exploded through his meridians. Eighth Qi Refining Layer—achieved. Eight Emperor Bones now thrummed with forty thousand jin of force. Faint golden mist seeped from his pores—the first heavenly shackle trembling.

"Today," he whispered, "I reclaim what's mine."

Tournament Grounds

Situ Man's warhammer slammed earth, cracking flagstones. "Still breathing, maggot? Today I'll grind your bones into—"

"Chatter wastes time." Lu Tianming adjusted the bell under his robes. "Draw your hammer. Let's see if your bloodline bleeds gold or mud."

The crowd roared. Two years of humiliation condensed into this moment—a fallen prince versus a tribal titan. Somewhere in the shadows, Liu Mulan's sword hissed in its scabbard.