In the Central Honghuang, the towering dust and billowing Evil Qi slowly began to settle. As the Twelve Capital Gods Fiend Formation disintegrated, the sky above this part of the world finally seemed to brighten, if only by a fraction.
The cosmic anomalies that had warped the heavens collapsed and vanished.
A torrential rain of blood poured from the sky, but before the droplets could reach ten thousand feet from the scorched earth, they were incinerated by the lingering heat of the battle, transforming into a mist of crystalline radiance.
On the side of the Yao Race, the surviving Living Beings felt a sudden, profound sense of relief. The suffocating pressure that had gripped their hearts began to dissipate, replaced by the hollow numbness of shock.
Nuwa and Fuxi stood suspended in the Void Realm, their frames swaying as they struggled to stay aloft. They watched in silence as the falling blood turned into haze and drifted into the long sky.
In this battle, they had suffered heavy wounds and danced on the edge of the abyss countless times. But the other members of the Yao Race had not been so lucky; the casualties were beyond calculation.
The Demon Gods Yingzhao and Feilian had fallen in battle. Kunpeng, the second-strongest combatant of the Yao, was missing and his fate remained unknown.
Most critically, while the Pangu phantom had vanished, the Twelve Ancestral Witches had not. They remained as fierce as dragons and as vigorous as tigers, appearing almost entirely unscathed.
On the other side of the battlefield, the Sanqing—dragging their broken Dao bodies and steering their Supreme Treasures—fled without a single backward glance. They transformed into three streaks of divine light, exceptionally brilliant against the dark sky.
They were too severely injured to linger. They needed to return to their retreats immediately to begin the long process of healing. In their current state, they were as fragile as glass; even a slight touch might cause them to shatter. They were utterly incapable of continuing the fight.
Protected by their Innate Supreme Treasures, they were unstoppable as they vanished into the furthest reaches of the Void Realm.
Seeing this, the remaining Yao titans felt a deeper plunge into despair. Even the Sanqing had been beaten to the point of flight. Who was left to stand against the Wu Clan?
"Haha! No matter who you invite, they are all as fragile as paper!"
"Who else is there?"
Zhu Rong, the God of Fire, watched the Sanqing disappear and could not contain his laughter. He felt a surge of absolute triumph. With the Formation granted by their Father, who in this world could be their peer?
Dominating the entire Honghuang World was now merely a matter of time.
"Do you see? This is the fate of those who dare oppose the Ancestral Witches!" Qiang Liang roared, his peerless ferocity sending a chill through the marrow of the surviving Yao.
"Enough talk. Kill them. Wipe out every last remnant!" Candle Nine Nethers said coldly.
"Strike!" Di Jiang commanded. He wasted no more breath.
At his word, the members of the Wu Clan—who had been straining at the leash—surged forward in a tidal wave, crashing toward the Yao ranks.
This time, the situation was completely reversed. The devastated Yao Race was no match for the Witches; it was no longer a battle, but a one-sided slaughter.
"Retreat!"
Nuwa threw out the Mountains and Rivers Map, using its divine power to cover the Yao retreat. The battle was no longer viable; to stay was to throw their lives away for nothing.
"Kill!"
The Ancestral Witches let out a long roar, and an endless sea of Wu warriors gave chase. It was a tragic, bloody pursuit.
Meanwhile, the hunters who had been lurking in the shadows finally moved.
Styx and the East King Duke struck out, their trajectories aimed directly at Kunpeng. For them, this was the ultimate opportunity.
Kunpeng currently had "his feet in the grave." In his broken state, they could crush him with a single hand!
"The Primordial Violet Qi shall surely be mine!"
Both Styx and the Duke thought the same thing. Neither had noticed the other yet, and both had already mentally written their own names upon Kunpeng's soul-prize.
The chase between the Wu and Yao spread from the center of the world toward the periphery, the flames of war sweeping across countless territories.
The great powers observing the fight were dumbfounded. They had never expected such a conclusion, with reversal following reversal.
"Is it truly the Mandate of Heaven? The Will of the Great God Pangu... even the intervention of the Sanqing could not overturn the Yao Race's fate!"
"After this day, who in the Great Desolation can block the Witches' path?"
"A catastrophe is coming. Given the Witches' temperament, they will likely swallow the entire world. All of heaven and earth will become their hunting ground, and we shall all become their rations!"
As news of the Yao defeat spread, the observing Living Beings lamented, their hearts heavy with an oppressive sense of doom.
In their eyes, the best outcome would have been for both sides to be crippled—a mutual attrition that left neither dominant. Now that the Wu Clan had emerged as the sole hegemony, the consequences would be unthinkable, and every soul would eventually be dragged into the abyss.
Judging by the trajectory of the past millennia, where the Witches had already seized vast territories, their "madness" was only just beginning.
Mount Sumeru.
"A pity! Just a hair's breadth away!" Zhunti used his Divine Ability to view the aftermath, his voice full of regret.
The Sanqing had been so close to death, yet they had managed to escape.
For the Western brothers, this was truly a loss. Had the Sanqing perished, would they not—as the Dao Ancestor's "Named Disciples"—have been promoted to "Personal Disciples"? Perhaps they could have even inherited the Sanqing's legacy, splitting those Innate Supreme Treasures between them.
"Junior Brother, be careful with your words. The Sanqing are our Senior Brothers; we hail from the same sect. How can you speak such things?" Jieyin let out a light cough, his rebuke sounding calm and casual, his face devoid of any true sternness.
"It was my own recklessness," Zhunti said with a smile, accepting the "scolding." After eons together, they knew each other perfectly.
Jieyin spoke the words of a concerned brother, but Zhunti knew that his Senior Brother was likely holding back a laugh.
Happiness was one thing, but they still had to maintain appearances. Thus, one rebuked while the other apologized, their performance perfectly executed.
"By the way, Senior Brother, we are also fellow disciples with Nuwa. Do you think, in her desperation, she might come to us for help?" Zhunti asked suddenly. It was a stray thought—if she could ask the Sanqing, why not them?
Jieyin shook his head and laughed. "Absolutely impossible. Nuwa sought the Sanqing because they have a death-grudge with the Witches. We, however, have no such enmity."
"Unless she has truly lost her mind, she would never think of us."
Zhunti nodded. "Senior Brother is correct. It was merely a passing thought."
He laughed it off. Upon further reflection, the logic held. They were a different case entirely from the Sanqing.
Furthermore, there was a more critical reason: against the current Wu Clan, unless one could invite the Dao Ancestor himself, anyone else would be useless. Nuwa would have to be insane to think they could change the outcome.
"Junior Brother, remember what I told you. Let the affairs of the East take their course. We shall focus only on our own cultivation."
Jieyin smiled, his heart clear and firm. Whether Nuwa came or not, the answer was a refusal—one rooted in perfect logic.
"I understand. I had thought of bringing back Kunpeng's strand of Violet Qi, but since you say so, I shall let it go. The Primordial Violet Qi belongs only to those destined for it!"
Zhunti spoke as the last of his covetous thoughts faded. He would spare Kunpeng this once and see what the future held.
"Fellow Daoist Kunpeng, no need to thank me!"