Chapter 441: Granting Your Demise
Though not a single sound was uttered, the surging power from the other side of the door, as it collided with Bai Mo, who was pouring all his strength into locking it, nevertheless sent a potent shockwave straight into the depths of everyone's hearts.
The sensation it evoked in them was akin to being suddenly jolted awake from a tranquil stupor by a potent surge of adrenaline, their bodies snapping to attention.
The collision of two worlds wove a tapestry of profound, mysterious undulations. On the ground, many who gazed skyward seemed to be infected by these waves, tears involuntarily streaming down their faces, their bodies trembling uncontrollably.
This was neither the joy of elation nor the sorrow of memory; it was a pure, uncontrolled resonance. Sensitive nerve endings were indiscriminately brushed by the invisible undulations born from the impact.
Pain, pleasure, tingling... every sensation the human body was capable of experiencing simultaneously detonated at that instant, erupting from their very brains.
The collision on either side of the door did not, as imagined, unleash the world-shattering physical aftershocks of a supernova explosion; indeed, there wasn't a shred of pyrotechnic display.
Even the very epicenter of the clash, where the door had stood, bore no lingering trace of battle.
Only an uncanny undulation, like a spring breeze caressing one's face, continued to ripple across the Earth's surface, refusing to dissipate.
The common people, initially pinned to the ground by an overwhelming pressure, unable even to gaze directly at the grand door, found their bonds long released, yet not a soul among them dared to stir a muscle.
Stimuli, shifting ceaselessly like a kaleidoscope from within, wave after wave of sensation swiftly carried them to the heights of ecstasy.
Pain, dizziness—both seemed to transform into pleasure, much like savoring spicy hotpot despite its fiery kick, gradually and completely converting into pure bliss. The ground was littered with individuals sporting incoherent, blissful smiles, their faces flushed with contentedness.
Whether they resided within the Land of White or beyond its borders, with the exception of a rare few possessing exceptionally firm willpower, virtually everyone else, without exception, plunged into an ocean of pure desire.
The excessive relaxation of muscles led to a loss of control over certain bodily valves, resulting in some rather awkward incidents. Yet, the limp, sprawled masses of flesh on the ground seemed utterly oblivious to the dampness of the puddles forming beneath them.
The nerve endings of their skin remained in a state akin to a lover's tender caress or a queen's sharp whip, with neural signals related to being soaked by water completely unable to transmit to the brain.
A bizarre collision, in a truly extraordinary manner, had temporarily crippled Earth's civilization.
Bai Mo, already too far removed from the realm of mortals, naturally felt nothing of this phenomenon. He merely cast a brief glance at the scene below, then dismissed it, redirecting his immense focus to the analysis of the aftershocks.
“Alas, the other side of the door is nothing more than a cage.” After a long silence, Bai Mo, having finished analyzing the power sample he had obtained, let out a soft sigh.
Recalling his earlier impulse to venture to the other side and uncover its secrets, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of self-mockery.
Beyond that door lay a super-existence, one that had been laying its schemes for untold millennia.
Almost every corner of that continent teemed with "Its" presence. All cultivators, in the end, were nothing but livestock, fattened for consumption, and every cultivation technique, without exception, led ultimately to a single destination—food.
However, "Its" demands for sustenance were exceedingly stringent. Thus, "It" would only begin the harvest when a cultivator reached the very last step, the moment of attaining Mahayana. Even those at the Integration Stage, such as Gaia, were, in the eyes of this monster, still but unripened saplings.
Indeed, perhaps the vast majority of beings, from birth to death, never even had the chance to become "Its" sustenance.
The entire Tianxuan Continent knew only one Mahayana, and eternally, there would remain but one.
Every cultivating being on the Tianxuan Continent bore a secret imprint, capable of alerting "It" upon their death. Should "It" so will it, a spatial gate leading to the land of death would be forged, expanding "Its" vast breeding ground even further...
“The chess player, too, is merely a chess piece.” Bai Mo’s thoughts drifted to Sarcasky, from over a decade ago—that alien who propagated the method of rearing the Blood Clan to manufacture sustenance. The two entities shared certain commonalities, yet in sheer scale and the intricacy of his grand design, Sarcasky was not even a minuscule fraction of the entity behind the door.
The sensory storm unleashed by the collision’s aftershocks was, in truth, a paramount reason why the entity behind the door continuously lured the people of Tianxuan Continent to tirelessly cultivate—
Whenever any cultivation technique was executed, a faint sensation would arise, its intensity proportionally increasing as one’s cultivation deepened.
For millennia, every cultivator had grown accustomed to this phenomenon. To them, cultivation brought a subtle, intoxicating sensation, as instinctively natural as closing one’s eyes when drowsiness claimed them.
After all, no one ever questioned why they instinctively wished to close their eyes when overcome with fatigue.
“If the Way is merely a setup, then what, precisely, is the spirit?” Bai Mo harbored little aversion toward this practice of herding sentient beings; after all, he himself was engaged in similar endeavors. Yet, contemplating the still enigmatic and unfathomable spirit, he couldn't help but feel a touch of sorrow for his own kind.
Those who observe the scenery are perhaps destined, inevitably, to become scenery in the eyes of others.
To crush this encroaching demonic claw that had extended toward Earth, he had forfeited a full seven years from the timeline until his complete Daoization. All told, he now had but three centuries remaining.
The monstrous entity behind the door, beyond a doubt, intended to claim him as reserve sustenance. Trading seven years of his existence for an opportunity to escape without forsaking everything—it was difficult to ascertain whether this constituted a loss or a gain.
Furthermore, it was only after assimilating the fragments of the illusory Golden Door that he managed to reconstruct the immense trove of information they contained.
...
“Granting Your Demise.”
Upon his return to Tianqing, Bai Mo casually scooped up two handfuls of earth. Then, with a mere thought, he manipulated his psychic power to rearrange the atoms, forging them into two steles that appeared to be neither gold nor jade in composition. One glowed a deep red, like white veined with blood, while the other shone with a brilliant, gleaming purple.
These four characters were then inscribed upon the steles, serving as an imperfect but definitive conclusion to an adversarial relationship that had entangled them for nearly a decade.
As for the Creator’s continued existence, he had already surmised this fact when he completed his analysis of the Golden Door. Every cultivator from Tianxuan Continent who perished outside its bounds would invariably draw the attention of the grand manipulator behind the door.
Had "It" truly succeeded in committing suicide, then the Golden Door’s appearance should have manifested prematurely.
It was simply that Bai Mo no longer desired to concern himself with it. Ultimately, no true conflict of significance had ever transpired between the two of them. The pair who had originally pushed him onto this path of no return had now transformed into the two steles standing before the door.
Since the other party was willing to concede through feigned death, then let it be considered a clean slate.
Naturally, another reason for his disinclination to dwell upon it might well be the increasingly severe dissipation of his emotions; even hatred itself was beginning to lose its grip on him.
PS: This chapter was truly captivating to write.
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