Immortal Paladin

[POV: Ru Qiu]

Underworld, Sixth Layer, was a place where silence never truly existed, only stretched into long, hollow echoes between drifting celestial debris. Ru Qiu exhaled slowly, the breath leaving his lips like a controlled release of pressure as his qi settled into a steady rhythm.

“Hooo… It looks like they’ve begun from the other side,” he murmured, eyes narrowing toward the distant distortions rippling through the void.

In the next instant, his form changed.

The boy with short dark hair expanded violently, bones lengthening, muscles tightening, presence surging outward in a single burst of quintessence. The childish frame he had maintained collapsed like an illusion, replaced by the figure of a fully grown man whose aura pressed heavily against the surrounding space. This method, a peculiar trick he had discovered after his most recent resurrection, allowed him to conserve strength while maintaining readiness. Now, with the restraint lifted, his true state returned explosively.

Beside him stood Shi Chang, the Judge of Order, unmoving and composed, though the faint tension in his gaze betrayed awareness of the scale of what they were attempting.

They stood atop a massive asteroid, its surface carved with intricate warp formations glowing faintly beneath their feet. Around them, countless other asteroids drifted in slow orbits, each inscribed with similar arrays. Some carried figures standing silently, others seated in meditation. Every single one of them was a player, each possessing at least the strength of an Ascended Soul.

Individually, they lacked refinement. Their techniques were crude, their control imperfect. Yet together, their combined presence warped the surrounding void into something unstable, something heavy with potential violence.

Shi Chang glanced across the formation, then let out a low breath, voice edged with disbelief. “Even in the Age of Divinity, no demon would be insane enough to attempt something like this.”

Ru Qiu’s lips curled slightly as he replied. “It’s the orders from the top, so we don’t really have a say in this.”

Shi Chang turned his head, studying him more closely. “Then why are you grinning like you are looking forward to this?”

Ru Qiu lifted a hand, covering his mouth, though the expression in his eyes remained unchanged. “Hah… I guess I am still yet to detach myself completely. My blood is boiling.”

“I thought I was insane,” muttered Shi Chang. “But clearly, it’s the world that has gone insane.”

The plan itself was simple in structure, yet catastrophic in implication.

A pincer invasion of the Seventh Layer.

From above, Jue Bu would lead the assault from the Eighth Layer, bringing with him the bulk of their forces. From below, Ru Qiu would strike upward from the Sixth Layer with this assembled force of Ascended Souls.

Failure on either side would mean utter collapse.

The Eighth Layer was not fully secured, its lingering enemy outposts still active and capable of retaliation. If Jue Bu faltered, his forces would be trapped between layers with no clean escape.

The Sixth Layer was worse.

It was alive in a way that defied reason, a hunting ground where Nidhogg roamed freely. Even at his peak, Ru Qiu knew he could not contend with that entity. Their current route existed only because Shi Chang had meticulously calculated Nidhogg’s movement patterns, threading their path through narrow windows of safety.

And yet, none of that halted the operation.

If anything, it defined it.

The Holy Ascension Empire had long since made recklessness into doctrine.

Shi Chang spoke again, his tone sharpening.

“The Seventh Layer is no better. Vengeful spirits, rabid souls, void husks… you definitely want to avoid the void husks.”

Ru Qiu’s grin widened, unrestrained now.

“Nah,” he said. “We’ll be fine.”

His voice shifted, no longer carried by air but by qi itself, spreading outward in a resonant wave that touched every player across the asteroid field.

“Commence attack.”

The response was immediate.

Every asteroid began to tremble as the warp arrays ignited, light crawling across engraved lines like veins filling with energy. The void shimmered, bending as the formations synchronized.

Ahead of them stretched the Soul Horizon.

From this distance, the Seventh Layer appeared as a vast curtain of distorted existence, filled with writhing shapes. Countless souls pressed against the boundary, their forms flickering between coherence and dissolution.

Their screams carried across the void.

They were not singular cries, but a layered cacophony, voices overlapping in anguish, rage, and madness, forming a sound that clawed at the mind rather than the ears.

The warp activated.

Space folded.

The world around Ru Qiu dissolved into waves of aurora-like light, streaking and twisting as reality itself was forcibly rewritten. The sensation lasted only an instant.

Then impact came.

Asteroids burst into existence across the Seventh Layer, crashing violently into whatever lay in their paths. Some struck fractured planets, shattering crust and sending debris spiraling into space. Others slammed into drifting structures or collided mid-void, releasing shockwaves that rippled outward in expanding rings.

Explosions bloomed everywhere.

Fire, qi, and shattered matter painted the darkness in violent bursts of color.

Ru Qiu stood at the center of it all, his aura expanding as he took in the chaos with open amusement.

Then he laughed.

The sound cut through the destruction, carried by qi, echoing across the battlefield.

“We’re here!”

His voice rose, sharpened into a taunt that spread in all directions.

“Consider this a blitz!”

He tilted his head slightly, gaze sweeping across the unseen enemies lurking within the layer.

“Call for help if you want,” he continued, tone dripping with mockery. “But the master you serve… War…”

His grin widened further.

“…won’t be here to save you.”

Around him, the invasion had already begun in full.

…

..

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[POV: Geng Liang]

The capital planet of the Seventh Layer was a place stripped of anything resembling life. No atmosphere wrapped around it, no wind moved across its surface, and no sky offered comfort or distance. What remained was a barren expanse of cracked land and endless oceans of blood, thick and sluggish, reflecting nothing but distortion. Tormented souls drifted above those crimson seas, their forms twisted, their voices never ceasing as they howled in perpetual anguish.

At the center of this desolation stood the command hub of the war effort against the Eighth Layer.

Geng Liang stood upon a raised platform overlooking the encampment, his posture straight, his presence heavy with authority. He was one of the Seventeen Blood Generals, a title forged through countless battles and sealed through absolute loyalty. Once, there had been eighteen. Chen Shun had made certain that number would never return to what it was.

That fool had chased glory without restraint, and War had answered with punishment.

Geng Liang did not make such mistakes.

He understood the weight of command, the necessity of obedience, and the consequences of deviation. When their lord, alongside the Lady Flame, had ordered him to remain behind in the Seventh Layer to maintain control over the stationed forces, he accepted without hesitation.

Even if part of him would have preferred to march alongside them.

Below him, the encampment stretched across the broken terrain, filled with soldiers in various states of restlessness. Their voices carried easily in the stillness, unfiltered and unrestrained.

“We’re being left behind while the real battle happens elsewhere,” one soldier muttered, kicking at the hardened ground.

“Maybe our general just isn’t capable enough to be brought along,” another said with a scoff. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone got stuck with cleanup duty.”

A third voice joined in, laced with irritation.

“And these resources? What a joke. Everything here is filthy, filled with impurities. Refining anything takes forever. This war’s starting to lose its edge.”

Geng Liang heard every word.

His expression did not change, though a faint tightening in his jaw revealed the effort it took to remain still.

Fools.

They were not entirely wrong, and that made their complaints all the more irritating. The Seventh Layer offered abundance in quantity but cruelty in quality. Oceans of blood, remnants of suffering, and fractured remnants of existence formed the backbone of its resources. Refinement required immense effort, and the results, while potent, demanded patience few possessed.

Laborers worked endlessly to extract value from this layer, but most of what they produced was seized by higher command or exported to more strategic fronts.

Unlike the Fourth or Fifth Layer, where even the simplest weed could be turned into something useful, this place demanded sacrifice for every gain.

Before Geng Liang could dwell further, a figure rushed toward him, stumbling slightly in urgency.

“General!” the runner called out, breath uneven. “We’re under attack!”

A sealed letter was thrust into his hand. Geng Liang broke it open with a flick, scanning its contents quickly.

His lips curved upward.

“Finally,” he said, a low laugh escaping him. “I was beginning to wonder how long this boredom would last.”

His eyes sharpened as he folded the message.

“These fools have courage, I’ll give them that,” he continued. “To invade our territory while they haven’t even secured the Eighth Layer…”

He turned slightly, already issuing commands.

“Send word to our spies in the Eighth Layer. I want sabotage in every city under their control. Disrupt infrastructure, poison their supplies, create as much instability as possible.”

His thoughts moved rapidly, strategy forming in layers.

“And activate our assets in the Ninth Layer as well. If they want to split their forces, we’ll—”

Another runner arrived, nearly colliding with the first in his haste.

“General! We’re under attack!”

Geng Liang’s expression darkened, irritation flashing across his features.

“I’ve already received the message,” he snapped. “Prepare the troops to receive the forces from the Eighth Layer.”

The runner froze for a fraction of a second before shaking his head violently.

“No, General! It’s not just the Eighth Layer… we’re also under attack from the Sixth Layer!”

For the first time, Geng Liang’s composure faltered.

From above, the heavens ignited.

Explosions tore across the void as massive asteroids slammed into the planet’s surface and into the fractured remains of its orbiting moon. Shockwaves rippled outward, scattering debris and sending torrents of blood surging violently across the land.

Figures emerged from the impact sites.

They did not arrive in formation, nor did they descend with ceremony. They appeared amidst destruction, their bodies reconstructing, their auras stabilizing in mere moments. Cultivators from the Hollowed World, unmistakable in presence, began organizing themselves with alarming speed.

Then something brighter cut through the chaos.

A white comet streaked across the horizon, its trajectory direct and merciless. It struck the largest palace on the planet without deviation, erasing it in an instant as a pillar of force erupted skyward.

A voice followed.

It was not bound by distance or obstruction. It carried through qi itself, pressing into every corner of the battlefield.

“I am the Heavenly Demon, Ru Qiu!”

The declaration shook the army, not through volume, but through the sheer weight behind it.

“Your defenses crumble faster than expected,” the voice continued, laced with amusement. “Did you truly believe such inferior structure would protect you?”

Chaos deepened as more asteroids tore through the void, crashing into the capital world. Each impact brought more invaders, more cultivators rising from destruction as though death itself held no claim over them.

Geng Liang inhaled sharply, then forced his presence outward, anchoring himself.

“Hold your formations!” he roared, his voice cutting through the disorder. “Stay close to your brothers! Do not break ranks!”

The soldiers, shaken but not broken, began to respond, clustering together as discipline fought against fear.

Several figures approached him quickly, their auras marking them as fellow generals assigned to this defense.

“Brother Geng,” one of them said urgently, “it’s bad. Our communications are blocked. We can’t reach the outer divisions—”

A deep, resonant hum filled the air before he could finish.

Geng Liang’s gaze snapped upward.

The sky, already fractured by invasion, shifted again.

Sleek, unfamiliar constructs emerged, their designs unlike anything native to these layers. Flying ships of the Hollowed World spread across the heavens, their presence calculated and overwhelming.

Then came the mirage.

It stretched across the sky itself, an enormous projection that replaced the void with a singular figure. A man with dark hair and green robes stood at its center, his expression calm, his gaze absolute.

Geng Liang recognized that face immediately.

They all did.

It was the face they had been ordered to report the moment it appeared.

Da Wei, the Holy Emperor of the Holy Ascension Empire.

His voice descended upon the battlefield, clear and unwavering.

“You stand at the turning point of inevitability,” Da Wei declared, his tone steady, carrying the certainty of someone who had already seen the outcome. “The Seventh Layer will fall, just as the others have. Resistance is not defiance. It is delay.”

The projection flickered slightly as energy surged through the surrounding ships.

“You have been given the privilege of witnessing the moment your era ends,” he continued. “Consider it an honor. Victory is not something we seek.”

A faint pause followed, deliberate and measured.

“It is something we have already secured.”

The words settled heavily across the battlefield, threading into the chaos as destruction continued to unfold beneath them.

…

..

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[POV: Jue Bu]

The skies of the Eighth Layer burned with an unnatural brilliance. War-torn planets drifted in fractured orbits, their surfaces scarred by previous campaigns, yet none of that held Jue Bu’s attention.

He stood at the helm of one of the Hollowed World’s command ships, hands resting behind his back as the projection of Da Wei faded from the heavens beyond. The lingering echoes of that declaration still rippled through the battlefield, carried through countless communication channels and distorted layers of qi.

A grin spread across his face, unrestrained and thoroughly entertained.

“What’s the best part about getting to role-play Da Wei?” he mused aloud, his tone brimming with amusement. “It’s gotta be the aura farming, right?”

Laughter burst out of him, loud and unapologetic, filling the command deck as if the war outside existed solely for his enjoyment.

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha~! This never gets old.”

Below, the forces of War struggled to stabilize their defenses, already fractured by simultaneous assaults from multiple layers. Their formations faltered under pressure, their communications strained, their command structure destabilizing with every passing moment.

Jue Bu’s eyes gleamed as he watched it unfold.

“Leave no one alive,” he ordered, voice sharp and decisive, carrying authority that needed no reinforcement.

Beside him stood Saber, her posture composed, her gaze fixed on the unfolding operation. She tilted her head slightly, her expression betraying a hint of dry curiosity.

“But they are already dead, aren’t they?” she said. “It’s the Underworld after all.”

Jue Bu’s grin twitched.

“Oh, come on,” he groaned, dragging a hand down his face in exaggerated frustration. “Don’t go ruining my fan… sheesh…”

He exhaled, then waved his hand dismissively as his mood shifted back to efficiency.

“Prepare the exorcism talisman bombs,” he continued. “Might as well make this quick.”

Saber did not respond verbally this time. Instead, her presence extended outward, her voice carried through qi, reaching every ship within their formation. “All units. Prepare exorcism deployment. Execute in sequence. Maintain formation integrity.”

Across the fleet, mechanisms activated in unison.

From the undersides of the ships, compartments opened, revealing rows upon rows of spherical constructs. Each orb was wrapped meticulously in talismans, layers upon layers of inscribed scripts glowing faintly with divine energy. The spells etched into them bore the unmistakable signature of borrowed systems, constructs modeled after the rites of paladins and priests, repurposed into something far more efficient.

One by one, they were released.

The orbs fell in controlled descents, cutting through the corrupted atmosphere of the Eighth Layer before striking the surfaces below.

Light expanded outward in silent bursts, washing over the land in waves of cleansing energy. Wherever that light touched, the tormented souls of the Layer of Suffering began to dissolve, their twisted forms unraveling into streams of purified essence.

Some were drawn upward, vanishing into higher layers.

Others were scattered, redirected into unknown paths, perhaps toward something beyond even this structured afterlife.

The soldiers of War’s army fared no differently.

Their forms resisted for a fraction of a moment, their power flaring instinctively, but the exorcism scripts were relentless. Layered incantations activated in succession, breaking down resistance, stripping away cohesion, until they too were reduced to dispersing fragments of existence.

From above, it looked almost serene.

Entire battlefields quieted not through destruction, but through erasure.

Jue Bu watched it all, his grin returning, wider than before.

Then he laughed again.

“Ah, this is perfect,” he said, voice filled with unfiltered delight. “Just look at that… efficient, clean, absolute.”

His eyes tracked the spreading waves of light as more bombs descended, more regions consumed by that quiet end.

“Crushing enemies like this,” he continued, almost to himself, “has never been this exhilarating.”

The fleet continued its advance, methodical and unopposed in its execution, as the Eighth Layer was steadily stripped of everything that once filled it.