The sky fell.
It didn’t go down gracefully like mist, nor did it settle like mountain fog. The 100,000-mile storm canopy dropped four thousand feet in three seconds, collapsing like a punctured circus tent until its bruised, oily underbelly hung barely five hundred feet above the roof of Classroom 404.
The air pressure plunged with such terrifying violence that two hundred thousand fighters across the terraces felt their ears pop like bursting parchment.
Dozens of high-stage Core Formation and Nascent Soul elders dropped to their knees, clutching their chests and vomiting bile as the sudden height drop induced severe spiritual nausea.
“The Pressure of the Heavens...” wheezed Grandmaster Yao Jing of the Physician Guild, his fingers clawing at his own throat as he tried to stabilize his boiling spirit veins. “The air itself has become poison! The surrounding qi is wildly inverted! If this descends another two hundred paces, the sky weight will crush our physical bones into paste!”
Above them, the clouds emitted a sound that was far worse than thunder.
It was an ear-splitting, clashing loud noise. A jagged, screeching shaking like rusty iron gears grinding without oil at ten thousand turns a minute.
Every loose stone on the summit shook. Every glass window in the royal pavilions two leagues away shattered into powdery fragments.
