588: Chapter 588 The Twelve Thrones

The Void Realm trembled at its descent; this was a low hum that transcended the Law, as if the Universe itself was buzzing in submission before the will of some higher existence.

Twelve thrones, with the halberd as the axis, were slowly forged from the depths of nothingness.

They were not simply condensed; it was more as if they were being awakened one by one from an ancient slumber, each appearance accompanied by the sigh of a forgotten era.

The first, pitch-black as ink, was not a black of mere color, but a pure abyss of nothingness that devoured all light and heat.

The demonic patterns engraved on the back of the chair were not inanimate; they writhed slowly like living things, sometimes transforming into giant maws to devour stars, sometimes turning into tentacles to entwine worlds, exuding a most primal greed for all existence.

The second, dark red as blood, was not a static red, but one smelted from the faces of billions of living beings.

These faces struggled, wailed, and roared silently within the blood light; the extreme pain and resentment condensed into substance, wrapping around the throne and causing the surrounding Void Realm to be permeated with a nauseating, sweet-smelling stench and despair.

The third, iron-gray like a prison, was a hue that was a mixture of cooled stellar cores and endless shackles.

Every engraved chain seemed to have bound gods, and every pair of shackles seemed to have imprisoned stars; a heavy, cold, and desperate aura permeated from it, and one glance was enough to make one feel as if their own Soul had been fitted with invisible shackles.

One after another.

The fourth, burning with Void flames that incinerated the Law, was violent and manic.

The fifth, wreathed in eternal frost that froze the Soul, was cold and deathly silent.

The sixth, filled with strange mists that distorted perception, was unpredictable.

The seventh, bearing the Underworld Mountain that suppressed eternity, was incredibly heavy.

...

Distinctly different auras—some like volcanic eruptions, some like the cracking of cold abysses, some like ghostly whispers, some like the collapse of the earth—intertwined and collided, turning this Void Realm into a chaotic purgatory of auras.

But no matter how disparate they were, their essence was all entwined with the same thing—a primal Devilish Qi so dense it had turned into liquid, almost dripping down.

The Devilish Qi roiled, as if possessing life, whispering ancient proverbs of destruction and the end.

The twelve thrones, like submissive beasts, were arranged in an absolute circle, guarding the one and only supreme center.

At the center, it was not condensation, but a descent.

If the other thrones were awakened from "nothingness," then this one was "placed" here by its owner from some indescribable, incomprehensible "height."

Its appearance carried an unquestionable sense of "bestowal" and "Dominator."

The entire body was a pitch-black deeper than the first throne, yet within that absolute darkness, it emitted a deep blue luster like the deep space of the Universe, as if one were gazing at the event horizon of a black hole.

The back of the chair towered into the Void Realm, and the patterns on it were not carvings, but a Seal containing a living, miniature "Universe Star Map."

Countless galaxies flowed, rotated, collided, and annihilated within it.

The brilliant light of stars at birth and the collapsing darkness at their death alternated, brightening and dimming at a speed visible to the naked eye.

This chair back was a model of a Universe in constant birth and death.

And at the absolute center of this grand star map, it was not any galaxy, but a "Black Sun."

It did not emit light; it only devoured it.

All the light of the galaxies that flowed near it was ruthlessly distorted, stretched, and finally devoured, becoming a part of its darkness.

This was the "End Point," the "Return to Nothingness," the inevitable destination of all things.

In the very center of the Black Sun—a figure was already seated.

There was no process, no trace.

The continuity of time lost its meaning there.

One moment it was absolute "emptiness," the next it was absolute "presence."

It was as if since the creation of the world, or even before that, he should have been sitting there, overlooking all the transitions beneath the throne.

It was the image of a middle-aged man; his mountain-like, stalwart frame supported a simple, unadorned black robe.

Only at the collar did a dark golden demonic pattern flow slightly like a living thing—this was the long-lost ancient demonic character "End" ( end), symbolizing "End," "Perfection," and "Dead End."

The very existence of this character seemed to be draining the "continuity" of the surrounding concepts.

His face was the most direct interpretation of power and authority.

His chiseled features bore the vicissitudes and indifference that spanned countless eras; his thick eyebrows were like sharp swords that severed Karma, his nose bridge was the backbone supporting heaven and earth, and his slightly pursed lips outlined an absolute will that brooked no disobedience.

And his eyes—these were a pair of eyes that could not be described as "black."

These were two miniature, rotating "End Points."

There were no pupils, no whites of the eyes, only an absolute darkness that devoured all color, all light, and even all "sense of existence."

But if your Soul was tough enough (or unfortunate enough) to gaze into them, you would "see":

Stars did not simply rise and fall within them, but experienced the entire process from birth to expansion, then being corroded by the "demonic thoughts" born within, and finally self-collapsing into a black sun;

When worlds collapsed within them, the wailing of all things, the elegies of civilizations, and the disintegration of the Law were all compressed into silent ripples;

The long river of time of countless eras flowed within them, and wherever his gaze fell, the river would freeze, dry up, and turn into cold dust on the riverbed.

He sat quietly, his right arm resting casually on the armrest.

The material of the armrest was neither gold nor wood, and it felt like the solidified night sky.

His long, powerful index finger tapped rhythmically and gently.

"Thump." "Thump." "Thump."

The sound was not loud, yet it was as heavy as the heartbeat of an ancient demonic god, and it sounded like a funeral bell tolling for this world.

Even more terrifying was that this tapping sound precisely and forcibly synchronized with the beating of Wutian's heart within his chest.

Wutian felt that his heart no longer belonged to him; every beat felt as if it were being held between those fingers, gently plucked.

This was not an illusion; this was suppression at the level of the Law—his life rhythm was being forcibly synchronized and controlled.

Wutian almost bit his teeth to pieces, the veins on his forehead bulging, desperately resisting the trembling that originated from the Origin of life, forcing himself to look at the figure on the throne.

The spiritual power within him had long since dried up, and his Meridians were like a riverbed scorched by a blazing sun, full of cracks and empty.

Yet, his beast-like intuition, which had saved him countless times on the edge of life and death, was now emitting the most shrill and desperate scream from the depths of his Soul:

"Run!" "No... it's impossible to run!" "Do not look directly! Do not comprehend! Do not be an enemy!" "This is... the 'End' itself!"

This gaze finally began to move.

It slowly swept across this Star Domain that had just experienced a fierce battle, like a Dominator inspecting the traces of an insignificant storm in his own backyard.

The broken Void Realm cracks that had yet to heal themselves; the residual lightning arcs that occasionally darted past like dying silver snakes; the dangerous aura that represented the Dao of "Annihilation" and was still gnawing at existence in the subtleties; and... those fragments of flesh and blood floating in the cold Void Realm, as small as dust, yet still exuding an unyielding Dao rhythm and a faint golden glow.

The man's gaze lingered for an extremely brief instant on that cluster of the finest, most fragmented blood foam, which flickered with a tenacious luster.

At that very instant—in the deepest part of those eyes of the end that devoured all things, in that darkness even deeper than the background of the Universe, something seemed to fluctuate extremely slightly.

It was like a pebble thrown into the sea of the Return to Nothingness that had been dead silent for eternity, or like a memory that had been Seal-ed at absolute zero, trembling and attempting to awaken because of some familiar "trace."

The emotion contained in this fluctuation was complex and difficult to understand; there was a trace of a ripple similar to "surprise" that was almost imperceptible, a deeper trace of "recollection" that seemed to touch the distant past, but more than that, it was a cold, almost cruel "confirmation."

Only for an instant. A moment later, the abyss returned to dead silence.

All ripples were ruthlessly devoured and smoothed over by an even greater darkness, as if that trace of fluctuation had never existed.

His eyes returned to that absolute silence that controlled everything and disregarded everything, even deeper and more unfathomable than before.

Then, he slowly raised his right hand.

This hand seemed capable of grasping stars and crushing the Law.

The five fingers were slender and full of an indescribable sense of power, with faint, deep light flowing under the skin; that was the inherent Demonic Energy, capable of overturning the Dao, slowly circulating.

He made a "summoning" gesture toward the Void Realm, casually.

Hum—!!! The entire Void Realm shook violently!

It was not a vibration of space, but the wailing of all the fundamental Laws—time, space, energy, matter—that constituted this region, all being forcibly conscripted at once!

Twelve streaks of primal demonic light, condensed to the extreme and so pitch-black they seemed capable of sucking away the Soul, flowed out from his fingertips.

They were not as violent as lightning, but more like twelve living, cold, and majestic rivers of dark Law, precisely and irresistibly pouring into the twelve ancient thrones with different auras surrounding him.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!...

The twelve thrones, like twelve ancient demonic gods injected with core power, simultaneously erupted with demonic light that reached the heavens and the earth!

On the first Devouring Demon Throne, a drop of pitch-black demonic blood condensed; it was only the size of a fingernail, yet as heavy as a star!

Inside, the Devilish Qi roiled and boiled, and a phantom of a Heaven-Devouring Demon Ape that stood between heaven and earth, roaring at the sky, could be vaguely seen; its roar was silent, yet it shook the Soul, emitting a terrifying desire to devour all things in heaven and earth.

On the second Blood Grudge Throne, a drop of dark red blood essence appeared, viscous like magma, with countless faces shrunk billions of times frantically colliding and biting within it; the bloodthirsty killing intent emitted almost condensed into substantial blades.

At the core of the blood essence, a phantom of a three-headed blood flood dragon writhed hideously, each head representing an extreme desire for destruction.

The third, the fourth, the fifth...