The heartbeat of the Nether-Void Demon Monarch didn’t merely chill the air. It shifted the balance point of the entire southern hemisphere.
Twelve thousand miles above, in the civilized territories of the Great Da-Qi Empire, the Conferred Empires. The sacred peaks of the Sages’ Sanctum, seventy million fine china tea sets rattled at the same time against their saucers.
Royal astrologers dropped their bronze star wheels. It screamed in horror as the pole star drifted perceptibly to the left.
Ancient mountain ranges groaned in deep, earth-shaking agony.
A two-thousand-mile land-wide earth-shaking plate—bearing the weight of three great nations, twelve holy sects, eighty-four conferred cities, and four inland freshwater seas—slipped fourteen meters to the west.
It wasn’t a sudden disaster of shattering rock. It was a slow, sickening, unstoppable glide.
The plate moved along an ancient lubricated mantle shear plane, inching steadily toward the yawning maw of a deep-sea crust-sink trench. If the plate slipped another thirty meters, the entire land-wide shelf would lose its gravity balance, tilting forty-five degrees and plunging a hundred billion mortal souls into the burning mantle.
In the underground World Core, the newly glass-fused dark rock floor shuddered with a deep, grinding shriek.
