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The being stood motionless for a heartbeat, staring at its severed arm with something that might have been confusion. Deep within the cosmic horror that had consumed his body, Ren's consciousness stirred. Lu Changcheng's words had reached him, piercing through the layers of divine madness like sunlight through storm clouds.
Little Ren. My little brother. Come back to us.
The memories came flooding back. Hans carrying Henry and Irene to safety. The desperate fight against impossible odds. But survival instinct is older than memory.
The moment his human consciousness began to surface, every fragment of divine law he had consumed screamed in unison. The primal forces of terror, corruption, madness, and flesh all demanded the same thing:
SURVIVE. DESTROY THE THREAT. CONSUME.
His awakening mind was swallowed again by pure, animalistic terror. Not fear of death, but fear of returning to the helpless human he had once been. The cosmic powers he had absorbed would not allow him to become weak again.
The being's three masks tilted, and a terrible focus settled over its form. This was no longer the confused entity that had been hunting on instinct. Now it fought with purpose, with the full weight of consumed divinity behind every movement.
"Brother..." Lu Changcheng whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of reality warping around Ren's transformation. Blood still flowed from his chest wound, but his grip on the Pure Yang Sword remained steady.
The Thousand Mouthed Gospel began.
Countless mouths opened across the being's form, each one chanting forbidden sutras in languages that predated human civilization. Their voices twisted reality, the words themselves carrying fragments of the laws he had consumed. Terror leaked from every syllable, while plague spores drifted through the air like black snow.
Lu Changcheng felt the assault on his mind immediately. The chanting tried to burrow into his thoughts, carrying whispers of insanity that promised sweet release from the burden of sanity. His Primordial Dao Robe protected him from the worst of it, but he could feel cracks forming in his mental defenses.
"I won't give up on you, Ren," he said, raising his sword.
"No matter what you've become."
The being's response was inhuman. A sound that came from too many throats at once, carrying the weight of divine law and the hunger of something that had learned to survive by consuming others. The primal force of terror it commanded made the air itself thick with dread, pressing down on Lu Changcheng like a physical weight.
But Lu Changcheng was a Tribulation Transcendent. He had faced the judgment of Heaven itself and emerged victorious. Terror alone would not break him.
He activated Heaven's Silent Manuscript, creating a zone of stillness around himself. Within that bubble of calm, the maddening chants became whispers, and the pressure of fear lightened enough for him to think clearly.
"Tribulation Calligraphy," he murmured, his sword tracing elegant patterns in the air.
"Stroke of Heaven's Punishment."
Lightning shaped like brushstrokes fell from the sky, each one carrying the weight of celestial judgment. They struck Ren's massive form in perfect calligraphy, spelling out words of binding and restraint in the ancient language of Heaven.
But the being's mastery over flesh activated in response. Its skin flowed like liquid, reshaping itself to avoid the worst of the damage. Where the lightning touched it, new tissue grew over the wounds instantly. It had learned to shed and regrow itself endlessly, like a cosmic serpent.
The crown of corruption bloomed behind the being's head like a diseased halo. Black spores erupted from the putrid aura, spreading across the obsidian plain in ever-widening circles. Where they touched, the volcanic glass began to crack and crumble, infected by entropy itself.
Lu Changcheng felt his life force beginning to wither. The plague energy was eating away at his mana reserves, forcing his body to age at an accelerated rate. Silver began to creep through his dark hair, and lines appeared around his eyes.
He countered with his Space Shattering Palm, striking out at the air itself. Reality fractured like glass around the plague spores, creating pockets of clean space where the corruption couldn't reach. But for every bubble of safety he created, Ren's plague expanded to fill a dozen more areas.
"You're fighting the symptoms, not the disease," Lu Changcheng realized. He needed to reach Ren directly, to break through the layers of consumed divinity and touch the human soul beneath.
He used Daoist Step Between Horizons, folding space to appear directly in front of the being's towering form. This close, the pressure of multiple divine laws was overwhelming. Pure terror pressed against his mind like a vise, while whispers of insanity promised sweet surrender.
But Lu Changcheng had trained for this. He executed his Sword Dao technique, One Thought, Ten Thousand Tribulations. His sword light split into countless arcs across the heavens, each one aimed at a different part of Ren's monstrous form.
The being responded with its mastery of flesh and sinew. Threads of flayed skin extended from its countless fingers, moving to intercept the sword light. Where the threads touched Lu Changcheng's attacks, they wrapped around them like puppet strings, turning the tribulation lightning against its own caster.
Lu Changcheng found himself moving against his will, his own technique redirected to strike at empty air. The marionette strings tried to force him into grotesque puppetry, but his mastery of space allowed him to slip between the threads like water.
"Severing the Void," he said quietly, drawing a simple arc with his Pure Yang Sword.
Space split open along that line, cutting through the puppet strings and severing the being's connection to its flesh manipulation technique. But even as the strings fell away, it was already adapting.
Its power over twisted reality activated. Any attack Lu Changcheng aimed at the being ricocheted through warped fragments of space, returning distorted and wrong. His own tribulation lightning came back at him carrying whispers of insanity, while his space cutting techniques folded back on themselves in impossible geometries.
Lu Changcheng found himself fighting his own abilities, each technique turned into a weapon against him. The strain was enormous, forcing him to split his attention between offense and defense while the plague energy continued to drain his life force.
Blood began to flow more freely from his chest wound. The bone sword's strike had been worse than he initially realized, and the constant use of his techniques while fighting off multiple divine laws was pushing his body past its limits.
But he refused to give up.
"Heaven Punishing Sword," he breathed, pouring everything he had left into the technique.
His Pure Yang Sword flared with tribulation lightning so intense it turned the obsidian plain white as day. The strike carried not just physical force, but the weight of cosmic judgment. It was a slash that cut not just flesh, but the very essence of being.
The being's aura of terror rose to meet it. The primal force of dread itself bent to deflect the attack, creating waves of existential horror so pure they had physical weight. The two forces collided in an explosion that shattered the remaining structure of the dungeon.
Walls crumbled into dust. The ceiling collapsed in massive chunks that burned to ash before they could hit the ground. The space between dimensions grew so thin that reality itself began to bleed through from other realms.
Lu Changcheng was thrown backward by the impact, his Primordial Dao Robe torn and smoking. Blood poured from his mouth as internal injuries finally overwhelmed his constitution. He could feel his organs shutting down one by one, his life force nearly exhausted.
But the attack had worked. His Heaven Punishing Sword had cut through the being's aura of terror and struck the left mask of its three faced form. Cracks spread across the pale surface like a spiderweb, and divine ichor leaked from the wounds.
The being staggered, its massive form wavering as one third of its composite consciousness was damaged. The chanting of countless mouths became discordant, and its control over the other divine laws flickered.
Lu Changcheng struggled to his feet, using his sword as a crutch. His vision was blurring, and he could taste blood in every breath. He had maybe seconds left before his body gave out entirely.
"Ren," he called out, his voice barely a whisper. "I know you're still in there. I know you can hear me."
The cracked mask turned toward him, and for just a moment, Lu Changcheng saw something human in those impossible features. Pain. Confusion. Recognition.
Lu Changcheng smiled, blood staining his teeth. "It's okay, little brother. You did good. You saved them."
His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the obsidian. The Pure Yang Sword clattered beside him as his strength finally failed. The plague energy had aged him decades in minutes, and the internal injuries from their battle were beyond healing.
Lu Changcheng closed his eyes as darkness claimed him.
The being's massive form stood over his fallen brother, the damaged mask weeping tears of divine ichor. For a moment, the other laws fell silent, and human grief overwhelmed cosmic hunger.
But death was not the end for Lu Changcheng.
As his life force faded to nothing, a small item hidden within his Primordial Dao Robe began to glow. The Phoenix Feather, a legendary artifact he had carried for centuries without ever needing to use it, activated automatically when his heart stopped beating.
Golden fire erupted from his chest, consuming his body in flames that burned without heat. The phoenix fire cleansed the plague energy from his system, healed his internal injuries, and restored his life force to its peak condition. In seconds, Lu Changcheng was reborn, rising from his own ashes with perfect health.
He stood slowly, brushing dust from his now pristine robes. The Phoenix Feather crumbled to ash in his hand, its power forever spent.
"Brother Ren," he said with a wry smile, picking up his Pure Yang Sword.
"You're quite a handful. Made me use up one of my trump cards."
The cracked mask stared at him in amazement, while the other faces across the being's form howled in frustrated hunger. The battle was far from over, but for the first time since his transformation began, there was hope that the human soul might yet win.