Myth Beyond Heaven

Nian Shi fell into a profound silence. Yin’s mocking words, “The God of Time has finally run out of time,” echoed in his mind, not as an insult, but as a chillingly accurate assessment of his predicament.

His silver eyes, usually swirling with the patterns of countless timelines, were now still, deep pools of cold calculation.

His mind raced, faster than any mortal could comprehend, weighing every possible variable, every shred of possibility. He ran through millions of potential futures, searching for a branch where he could still seize victory. Attacking the barrier directly was futile.

Persuading Yin was off the table; the embodiment of Uncreation was now content to watch him fail. Waiting was not an option; every second brought Yun Lintian closer to a completion that would spell his own end.

He was trapped. Cornered. And a cornered Time God was at his most dangerous.

Yin, meanwhile, watched him with languid amusement, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his black robes. He had no concerns here. The standoff was, for him, the most entertaining spectacle in eons. He had all the time in the world, and he was enjoying watching the master of time squirm without it.

During this tense silence, a figure approached Nian Shi. Tantai Lanling, having disengaged from her stalemate with Long Chen and Qian Jinglei now that the immediate crisis had shifted, came to his side. Her expression was tight with concern and unresolved tension.

“My Lord,” she said, her voice low. “The barrier… do you have another way to break it?”

She could feel his raging frustration and simmering desperation.

Nian Shi didn’t even look at her.

“Shut up,” he snapped, his voice a whip-crack of cold fury. His focus was entirely inward, on the desperate calculus of his next move.

Tantai Lanling’s brow furrowed, a flash of hurt and anger in her eyes, but she swallowed it. She said nothing more, stepping back slightly to stand guard, her own power coiled and ready.

Across the way, Long Chen and Qian Jinglei, seeing the lull, swiftly returned to Yin’s side. They dropped to one knee, bowing their heads in respect and shame.

Yin glanced down at them, his expression one of utter disdain.

“Pathetic,” he stated, the single word carrying the weight of immense disappointment. “You couldn’t even subdue one woman. All the knowledge you gained, all the power I bestowed upon you, and you are still so… inadequate.”

Long Chen and Qian Jinglei trembled, keeping their heads low.

“We have failed you, Lord Yin,” they murmured in unison, their voices filled with shame. They dared not offer excuses.

Yin simply waved a dismissive hand, his attention already returning to the silently seething Nian Shi. Their failure was insignificant in the grand scheme of his amusement.

Time stretched. The only sounds were the low hum of the impregnable barrier and the faint crackle of dying energies in the wasteland.

Then, Nian Shi’s eyes snapped open. A decision had been made. A dangerous, costly decision.

With a sharp, decisive wave of his hand, the space around him fractured.

It wasn’t a simple spatial tear. It was a rending of timelines themselves. From these rips in reality, figures stepped forth. Each one was Nian Shi.

They wore different variations of his silver robes, their auras bearing slight variations—some felt older, more weathered; some felt sharper, more aggressive; some radiated specialized temporal energies. But they all shared the same cold, silver eyes and the same overwhelming pressure of primordial time.

There were a hundred of them. A hundred Nian Shis, gathered from across the myriad branches of time, their combined presence making the very flow of causality stutter and groan.

Yin, who had been leaning back in amusement, let out a derisive scoff. “Really? This is your grand move? Summoning more of yourself? How utterly… unimaginative. Do you think numbers matter against quality? Against me?”

He shook his head as if disappointed by a child’s simple-minded solution.

Then, with a lazy, almost bored wave of his own hand, Yin gestured beside him. The void tore open, not with the silver light of time, but with absolute blackness.

From the void, two figures emerged.

The first was a man, his form seemingly carved from solid shadow and ink. He was tall and lean, and in his hand, he held a long sword that was not a physical object but a solidified line of nothingness, an edge that promised absolute severance.

His aura was exceptionally sharp, so much so that it seemed to cut the very space around him.

This was Number One.

The second was a woman, equally dark and ephemeral. She cradled a Guqin, an ancient zither, made of the same void-stuff as her companion’s sword.

Her aura, in stark contrast, was surprisingly gentle, almost soothing, but it hummed with a latent, terrifying power that spoke of melodies that could unravel souls and shatter realities.

This was Number Two.

Yin didn’t even look at them as he issued his command, his gaze still fixed on the hundred Nian Shis with contempt.

“Number One, Number Two,” he said, his voice flat. “Deal with the copies. Clean up this mess.”

The two void-born hunters bowed their heads slightly in acknowledgment. Then, they moved.

Number One became a blur, his void sword lashing out without a sound. Where it passed, time itself was severed, creating dead zones where causality ceased to exist.

Number Two simply plucked a single string on her Guqin.

Zheng!

The note was soft, yet it propagated through all timelines simultaneously. It wasn’t a sound to be heard, but a vibration to be felt in the soul—a frequency of absolute Uncreation that sought to dissolve the connections between the hundred Nian Shis, to unmake the temporal cohesion that bound them together.

Nian Shi glanced at Number One and Number Two and said. “Keep them busy.”

Instantly, a few of his other selves flew out, meeting with Number One and Number Two.

Then, he turned. His gaze, and the gaze of the twenty Nian Shi copies he had held in reserve, locked onto the true objective: the shimmering, multi-layered barrier protecting Yun Lintian.

Buzz—

As one, they raised their hands. The air crackled with the concentration of immense power. In each of their grips, the Blade of Eternity materialized, not as a single weapon, but as a focused concept of ending.

Twenty-one Blades hummed in unison, their combined frequency a promise of absolute temporal annihilation…