The golden twilight over Mount Apex didn’t last.
Before the first crew of Pavilion students could finish unpacking their star-iron work frames, the northern sky tore open with the ear-splitting shriek of ripping canvas.
A choking, freezing wind blasted down from the stratosphere. It carried the sickening reek of stale black ink, rotten marrow, and ancient hardened parchment.
The setting sun turned an unnatural, curdled violet.
Across the four tiered halls, one hundred thousand fighters stumbled to their feet. He grabbed their temples as a wave of psychic nausea rippled through their dantians.
“What’s that stench?” Pavilion Master Ren Qingzi gasped, his hand flying to the handle of his ritual jade sword. “The air... The spiritual deep ring of the air is collapsing!”
Grand Elder Yan leaped into the air, his Great Saint aura flaring in a radiant golden dome. “Hostile spatial intrusion from the lower void layers! Form the defensive outer edge!”
High above the central rostrum, the sky peeled back like scorched paper.
