The Heavenly Tribulation Eye hung in the cosmic rift, its iris spinning with ancient wheels of purple lightning.
A suffocating, apocalyptic pressure bore down upon Taichu Sanctuary Valley, heavy enough to flatten entire mountain ranges.
Every bird in the forest fell silent. Every beast in the hills pressed its belly flat against the vibrating earth.
On the Grand Merit Plaza, fifteen hundred employees held their breath, watching the lone figure in the black coat standing at the summit of the altar.
Lin Mo did not bow. He did not draw a weapon. He did not recite ancient defensive incantations.
He stood with his hands resting easily in his coat pockets, his gaze level and unblinking.
Beside him on the lower tiers of the altar, Su Wan held her breath, clutching her corporate terminal with pale fingers.
Tie Niu stood with his boots planted shoulder-width apart, his jaw clenched so hard his molars creaked.
