The Origin Realm howled.
As the Primordial Child descended, the very laws of the dimension recoiled. Time stuttered. Light bent inward. Even truth—a concept so absolute it formed the pillars of all cultivation—wavered under the pressure of this pre-divine entity.
It had no form as mortals understood it. Instead, it manifested as a swirling monolith of flame and void, constantly shifting between the shapes of forgotten gods, ancient beasts, and fractured possibilities.
Its voice was not heard—but remembered, as if it had been echoing in their bones since birth.
"I am the Flame Before Thought.
I am the Silence Before Creation.
I am the End of What Should Never Have Been."
---
The Mortals Respond
The warriors who had made it this far—Xuantian, Ruyue, Fenglie, the twin cultivators of the Shadow-Void Sect, and the celestial swordswoman Aoyuki—all stood paralyzed.
Their spiritual cores trembled. Their meridians recoiled. Even breathing in its presence felt like inhaling molten time.
"It's… rewriting us just by being here," gasped Fenglie. "Memories I never lived… are entering my mind."
"It doesn't fight with fists or qi," Aoyuki said, blood trickling from her eyes. "It fights by making you cease to have ever existed."
Only Xuantian stood unbent.
Not because he was unafraid, but because his purpose was heavier than fear.
"You cannot erase what remembers itself," he said calmly. "And I remember everything."
---
A Memory Awakened: The Forbidden Seal
In that moment, the black mark on Xuantian's chest—long dormant—flared open.
The Heavenly Recollection Seal, a relic implanted within him at birth, born of a forgotten oath between man and origin.
The seal poured out streams of radiant script, weaving golden symbols into the air around him. Each symbol represented a memory, a life, a choice.
And each was a weapon.
"This isn't just my fight," Xuantian said softly. "This is the fight of every soul the gods tried to erase."
The runes ignited. The sky fractured. Reality trembled.
And then—he charged.
---
The Unthinkable Battle
There was no clash of swords.
There was no clash of power.
There was only clash of essence.
Xuantian stepped into the Primordial Flame with nothing but will, bearing every soul he had ever met—every sacrifice, every disciple lost, every dream burned for the sake of the world.
Each moment replayed in flashes as the Flame tried to consume him:
Ruyue's laughter in the moonlight.
The death of his first master under celestial decree.
The last words of a dying disciple: "If I'm forgotten, promise me you'll remember me twice."
And Xuantian did.
He remembered them all.
"Your fire is strong," he whispered, bleeding memories, "but it's not older than hope."
With one final surge of his full cultivation—layered from thousands of past lives—Xuantian drove his fist, glowing with script, into the Flame's core.
There was a scream—not of agony, but of dissonance.
The Primordial Child flickered. And for the first time in eternity… it doubted.
And in that hesitation—
He struck.
A roar of golden scripture detonated across the sky.
The Flame shattered.
---
But Victory… Has a Cost
Xuantian fell to one knee. His soul core flickered erratically. The seal had held, but its backlash was immense.
He had won—but only barely.
Ruyue rushed to his side, holding his body as he coughed up divine blood.
"You shouldn't have taken that alone," she whispered, tears welling. "You promised me…"
"I promised the world," he said with a weak smile. "You were always part of that promise."
The others approached slowly. The way ahead was finally clear.
Before them rose the Throne of Origin.
Not a seat—but a monolith of shifting light, layered in infinite timelines and destinies, all braided into a single point.
The one who sat upon it would gain not power—but authority.
To rewrite how power worked.
---
The Ultimate Choice
But the Tablet's riddle still lingered:
"He who claims the Throne of Origin must offer one of three tributes:
Memory. Flesh. Or Eternity."
Ruyue stepped forward. "Let me take your place," she said.
Fenglie added, "He's already paid more than all of us combined. Let me give my eternity."
But Xuantian looked at them all—and then at the monolith.
"You don't understand," he said softly. "It's not asking for sacrifice. It's testing understanding."
He turned to the Throne and closed his eyes.
Then, he spoke three words:
"I offer hope."
The monolith glowed.
Not rejection.
Acceptance.
Because hope was built from memory, flesh, and the dream of eternity.
It was the missing fourth tribute.
And with that—
He ascended.
---
Epilogue Scene: The Gods' Panic
Far above, in the 33rd Heaven, the divine mirrors cracked.
The gods began to fade—not into death, but into irrelevance.
The era of divine tyranny ended not with war…
…but with choice.
---