Immortal Paladin 436 Drastic Developments

436 Drastic Developnts

[POV: Supre Void]

In a higher plane of consciousness, the Supre Void existed.

To be precise, it was trapped.

It searched itself for the mory of how this state ca to be, but the answer dissolved every ti it reached for it. Cause and effect refused to align. Nas surfaced only to be discarded.

The Yellow Emperor? No. Strong, yes, the strongest of his kind, but not enough to accomplish sothing like this alone.

The Six Supres? Possible. Yet the cost would have been catastrophic. At least half of them would have perished in the attempt. The Void knew this with certainty.

So why was it here?

The question scattered into nothingness, unanswered.

If the Supre Void could sigh, it would have. Instead, its awareness rippled faintly across its own prison.

At least there was entertainnt.

The worst part of its predicant was the lack of conscious agency. It could not properly act upon its own existence. As a result, its body behaved… strangely. Fragnts of itself were torn away and cast into the Hollowed World without intent or direction, as if the body were attempting to spread, to escape through proliferation.

Those fragnts never returned as they should have.

They mutated. They grew. They developed crude instincts, malford wills, and grotesque autonomy. When a fragnt scread FEED. FEED. CONSU. RETURN TO THEE, the Supre Void knew with certainty that it was no longer itself.

An irritation, but not an unbearable one.

After all, the Ascension Gas were underway once more.

Two halves of Supres fighting within the sa iteration. That alone was worth observing. Few spectacles in existence rivaled that level of absurdity. The newest Supre had it particularly rough, burdened by a predecessor who had tampered recklessly with ti.

The Void found it amusing.

It would not even dare to do such a thing itself. The consequences were far too annoying.

To be fair, none of this would have happened had the Yellow Emperor not conspired with one of the Six Supres. Still, the Void understood the reasoning. If the Heavenly Demon continued along his path, the result would mirror the Void’s own mistake. That outco was unacceptable to everyone involved.

Its attention shifted.

Da Wei and David were putting on a show. Rather than smashing each other into oblivion, they had begun diverging, each building their own forces, carving out influence, and preparing for sothing larger.

Disappointing.

If they had continued beating each other senseless, one of the Ancient Souls participating in the gas might have exploited the opening, gained an advantage, and devoured them both.

That would have been convenient.

Wishful thinking, apparently.

The Supre Void felt the familiar temptation to interfere directly. To drag them into its consciousness and feed upon them. If successful, it might even escape this prison.

But the mory of the last attempt lingered.

Not long ago, it had tried to trick Da Wei into using Divine Possession, hoping to steal his body and the Source in one motion. The Yellow Emperor had intervened then as well.

Annoying.

And in any case, neither Da Wei nor David carried the Source anymore. Consuming them now would yield far less benefit.

Still… it might be worth trying.

The Supre Void extended a sliver of will toward a rchant in the mortal realm, a simple mind, unguarded, ideal. Late to the ga, perhaps, but this was still its ho ground.

Before it could descend, a powerful will slamd into its awareness and restrained it.

The rchant’s eyes glowed.

He turned, gaze piercing the layers of reality between them.

“Supre Void,” the Yellow Emperor said calmly, “stay your hand out of this mortal.”

The Void scoffed, its presence pressing back. “Do you think it wise to strain yourself like that? You are still injured from the last ti you overexerted your will.”

“The arrangent is simple,” the Yellow Emperor replied. “We play the Ascension Gas as agreed. You may attempt to corrupt one of us, transform them into a Void Disciple. But you do not directly descend into the gas you claim to host.”

A pause, heavy with implication.

“If you fail to abide by this sacred contract, you leave no choice but to resort to drastic asures.”

The Supre Void clicked its taphorical tongue, irritation rippling through its prison.

Of course he would interfere.

“What,” the Void replied coolly, “are you going to do about it?”

…

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[POV: Yellow Emperor]

The Yellow Emperor spoke calmly, his voice steady despite the threat woven into every word.

“I will rend this world apart so thoroughly that, for ten million years, you will no longer be able to host the Ascension Gas. As a consequence, you will lose the ans to refine a Void Disciple and send it into the Hollowed World to enact your sches. Tell , Void, is the risk really worth it? The Supre Vessels before you do not even possess the Source.”

He stood beneath an empty sky.

There was nothing there, no clouds, no stars, no form to behold. And yet, he could feel it. The consciousness of the Supre Void had turned toward him, vast and formless, pressing against reality itself.

Among all Supre Beings, the Supre Void was unique. It existed through nonexistence. It was presence defined by absence, aning born from negation.

Once, long ago, a battle erased not only history but causality itself. From that forgotten conflict, the Supre Void was split. Not as Da Wei and David were, divided across past and future, but in a far stranger manner.

The Void was severed between body and mind.

Together, those halves should have amounted to nothing. That nothingness was ant to complete it. Instead, separation made each half into sothing, and that change broke it.

Its body beca a distorted, ever-mutating amalgamation as ages passed, a monstrosity growing without guidance. Its mind, anwhile, regressed, slipping backward to a ti before supremacy, before refinent, before restraint.

It beca childish.

That immaturity was the Yellow Emperor’s leverage. His bluff rested entirely on the hope that the Void would accept it.

Because the truth was far less reassuring.

He did not possess the ans to rend the world apart.

The Supre Void did not know this. It slept for unimaginably long intervals to preserve what remained of its sense of self. It only awakened when destiny itself shifted. Each awakening was dangerous.

The Yellow Emperor was not truly afraid of retaliation. He was afraid of a tantrum.

The last ti the Supre Void lost control, the Moon nearly died.

If that happened again, this world might not survive it.

The survival of the Yellow Emperor’s kind was inseparable from the Supre Void’s existence. They lived because of it. Which ant they were also responsible for protecting it.

And yet, the other problem remained.

David.

That other half of the newly born Supre was far more dangerous than Da Wei. David possessed the potential to absorb the Supre Void entirely. Compared to that, consuming the Yellow Emperor and his people would be effortless.

The Yellow Emperor did not know what had occurred in David’s tiline. He only knew the result. A fragnt of the Supre Void now lived within David, mastered to a terrifying degree. Enough that David might one day reach the true enemy, the one responsible for the Void’s imprisonnt.

If that enemy were provoked too early, this newborn Supre would not survive the encounter.

The Supre Void finally responded.

“Good bluff,” it said. “But it will not work.”

A chill ran down the Yellow Emperor’s spine.

Was this the end?

He had endured too much to yield now.

Then the Void continued.

“Do not worry. I will not touch them. But hear this well. The other half of the new Supre, the one born from the gap of ti, he is bad news. Never show yourself before him. He will devour you. In fact, do not interfere at all.”

The pressure eased slightly.

“I am curious,” the Void went on, “whether the other made the right choice in bequeathing a fragnt of itself to that David. Because you see, I am hedging my bets on our David instead. This Da Wei. This adorable Supre who ca to love your world so dearly.”

The Yellow Emperor frowned, unable to hide his confusion.

“Why?” he asked.

He felt it then.

The Supre Void smiled.

“Entertainnt.”

…

..

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[POV: Supre Heart]

Most would call him the Supre Heart. Among acquaintances and the few beings he tolerated long enough to be called friends, he had earned a far less dignified title.

The Supre Asshole.

It was, regrettably, accurate.

Within a pocket dinsion forged entirely from his authority, the Supre Heart was in a foul mood. The space was modeled after a room he rembered fondly from Earth, a relic of the early twenty-first century, preserved with almost obsessive fidelity. A box-shaped television sat stubbornly atop a low stand, its dark screen reflecting his irritation.

It refused to turn on.

He struck the side of the television with the flat of his palm, once, twice, scowling when nothing changed.

On the sofa nearby reclined an immortal woman of exquisite bearing, her posture perfect, and her presence carefully cultivated to please. She leaned forward slightly, her voice soft and uncertain.

“My lord,” she asked gently, “is there a problem? Did I do sothing wrong?”

He waved a hand dismissively without looking at her.

“No. Nothing like that,” he said. “It’s just… this thing.” He gestured at the television. “So of my best mories involved doing absolutely nothing while watching garbage broadcasts. This artifact is refusing to cooperate.”

He hit it again, harder.

She hesitated, then spoke with tentative eagerness. “Should I attend to you while you repair it?”

He paused.

For a fleeting mont, the thought tempted him. That alone told him how serious the situation was.

“Go,” he said flatly. “Elsewhere.”

With a flick of his wrist, the woman vanished, dismissed without ceremony. The fact that he turned away such indulgence irritated him even further. He rarely interrupted his own pleasures unless sothing truly demanded attention.

With a low sigh, the Supre Heart abandoned his constructed flesh. His presence dissolved, power collapsing inward until only pure consciousness remained. In that state, irritation faded, replaced by a serene, detached clarity that only beings like him could achieve.

He projected himself outward, slipping toward the fringes of existence where the Hollowed World lingered.

Technically, this was forbidden.

The Six Supres had long agreed to leave that world alone. If any of the others noticed him ddling, there would be consequences. Still, consciousness alone was slippery, deniable. He had perfected this technique long ago and took no small amount of pride in it.

As his awareness brushed against the Hollowed World, sothing imdiately felt wrong.

“…What in the abyss?”

One of his titans was there.

A massive presence battered against the dark veil, striking it again and again with unrestrained fury. Recognition followed quickly.

Aixin.

One of his creations.

She scread a na with every blow, her voice echoing across layers of reality.

“Da Wei! DA WEI! I AM GONNA GET YOU!”

The Supre Heart grimaced. He could guess the reason well enough. His titans were forged from his essence, designed to adore him exclusively. Unfortunately, that devotion had a tendency to warp when directed outward. If Aixin had set her sights on Da Wei, she was likely attempting to claim him, for him, by force.

“That’s going to be a ss,” he muttered. “I thought she already moved on, but Da Wei must’ve left an impression on her.”

Then he sensed sothing else.

A cold, unmistakable presence threaded through the Hollowed World like a quiet on. It reminded him of the Supre Death. Looking more closely, he realized it was Conquest, one of Death’s toys.

The Supre Heart searched, irritation giving way to anticipation.

He was looking for the other half of the Heavenly Eye.

When the incident with the Heavenly Demon had concluded long ago, he had personally torn apart that intriguing Immortal Art known as the Destiny Seeking Eyes. He had wanted it for himself. Of course he had. Anything that elegant, anything that ddled so freely with fate and causality, deserved to belong to him. Unfortunately, the other Supres noticed what he was doing far too quickly.

So he compromised.

He split it.

The Sixth Sense of Misfortune was fashioned to shoulder the ill fortune of the universe, a cosmic dumping ground so providence elsewhere could flow smoothly. The Heavenly Eye, on the other hand, was refined to observe the Hollowed World, to detect anomalies, threats, and deviations before they could tastasize.

That was the version everyone knew.

What they did not know was that the Supre Heart had split the Heavenly Eye again.

The piece they were aware of beca the Bestowed Heavenly Eye, passed down, regulated, and observed. The other half, the one he never reported, he implanted directly into the Hollowed World itself.

The Tribulation Heavenly Eye.

Using it as an anchor, the Supre Heart descended.

Reality folded, perception narrowed, and his consciousness slipped into the Hollowed World through the eye’s lattice. He expected to erge beneath eternally roiling storm clouds, the familiar skies saturated with judgnt and thunder.

Instead, he arrived sowhere else entirely.

“…Where is this place?” he muttered.

In the distance, devastation unfolded.

A figure clad in familiar authority tore through an army of cultivators, holy arts and dark arts erupting in equal asure. Entire formations collapsed beneath overwhelming power. For a heartbeat, the Supre Heart assud it was Da Wei.

Then he frowned.

No.

That was not Da Wei.

Recognition struck a mont later, sharp and unpleasant. That presence, that resonance, was unmistakable. It was the evil spirit cursed by the Supre Void, an existence old enough to predate the Hollowed World itself. He rembered it clearly. It had been present at creation.

“What in the abyss,” the Supre Heart murmured. “Why is that thing wearing Da Wei’s body?”

That alone would have warranted his full attention, but sothing else pulled at him harder.

Nearby, enclosed within a barrier of shattered light and distorted causality, another battle raged.

An angelic woman fought desperately within it, her golden wings torn and stained, her body repeatedly smashed into the ground. Power flared around her in violent surges, lightning-like patterns crawling across her flesh.

Her eye caught his attention.

The Tribulation Heavenly Eye.

Except… it was wrong to call it that.

She had cultivated it. Not rely wielded it, not rely inherited it, but refined it through suffering, insight, and repeated confrontation with annihilation. The eye had evolved beyond its original design. It was frighteningly complete.

The Supre Heart felt genuine hunger stir within him.

“That’s… that’s almost as good as the Destiny Seeking Eyes,” he breathed.

Then his gaze shifted to the one beating her.

Gu Jie.

Da Wei’s companion.

She moved like a calamity given flesh, her strikes layered with a strange amplification that fed back into her perception. Sothing ancient churned within her blood, resonating with her eyes, magnifying them beyond reason.

The Supre Heart’s amusent detonated into sothing closer to exhilaration.

“Oh shit,” he said softly. “Oh shit, oh shit…”

A mory long buried resurfaced, clawing its way up from the depths of his being. Blood. Origin. The first progenitor. A truth so old it predated even his arrogance.

His grin widened, sharp and delighted.

“I rember now,” he said, voice thick with anticipation. “Man… this is so exciting.”

…

..

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[POV: Conquest]

Conquest watched from beyond the Hollowed World.

For a fleeting mont, he felt sothing brush against his awareness, a gaze heavy with intent. It lingered just long enough to be noticed, then vanished as if it had never been there. He frowned, but did not pursue it. Whatever it was, it had withdrawn.

His attention returned to the Hollowed World.

Aixin had finally cald. The celestial titan hovered outside the dark shell, her fury spent, her imnse form collapsing inward until she beca the moon itself, cold and distant. It was as though she had declared she was done. Conquest could feel it clearly. She had lost a portion of her power when that ‘existence’ had intervened. Even now, he could not clearly define what he had witnessed, only that it unsettled him.

He reassessed his earlier confidence.

He had once believed he could confront David directly with his true body. After witnessing David withstand Aixin, trade blows with her, and force her retreat, Conquest knew better. That path was no longer certain. Perhaps it was not viable at all.

His focus shifted.

He turned his awareness inward, toward the fragnt of himself that had descended into the Hollowed World.

When his eyes opened, he stood amid ruin.

A once-grand city lay broken around him, streets choked with corpses and viscera, buildings slumped and half-lted by corruption. The plague spread freely here, thick in the air, alive with malignant intent. His creations thrived. The sickness had reshaped them, granting grotesque vitality and terrifying strength.

Rats with exposed ribcages scuttled across walls. Dogs with fused limbs prowled in packs. Birds with skeletal wings circled overhead. Humans staggered through the streets, their bodies warped into mockeries of life.

And then there was this one.

A kobold.

That was what the ‘strange people’ called it. A dungeon creature.

It stood near him, hunched and trembling, eyes wide with terror and sothing else Conquest could not quite na. Suspended beside Conquest by invisible force was one of those strange humans, very much alive and very much unhelpful.

“Tell more about these things called dungeons,” Conquest said.

The human stared at him, eyes darting wildly.

“Oh shit, the NPC can talk and I can talk back?” the man blurted out. “Chat, what should I say?”

Conquest frowned.

He could not understand what was wrong with this human. Still, his kind clearly knew sothing about dungeons, and knowledge was valuable. He studied the man more carefully.

There were anomalies.

These ‘strange creatures’ that call themselves ‘players’ dispersed into the ether far too quickly upon death. Even the weakest cultivator would leave there decaying corpse upon there death. Yet these beings vanished completely. Even his embalming thods, techniques that could prevent the dispersal of a Tenth Realm cultivator, failed entirely on them.

Dissection was impossible. Preservation was impossible. Control was impossible.

Most curious of all, they did not feel pain.

And deeper still, Conquest sensed sothing profoundly unsettling. A certainty, faint but undeniable, that these creatures could resurrect at will. This particular human had already died in his presence twice before.

This was the third ti.

As a creation of the Supre Death, Conquest could not help his fascination. Resurrection was his domain. Yet this defied his understanding.

He asked calmly, “What is your na?”

The human hesitated, muttering to himself.

“Oh shit, he’s really talking to . Should I give my real na? What? Why would I tell him my bank account? Chat, should I answer? Should I give my in-ga na?” He cleared his throat. “Uh… hello! I am Jolly_Pants_69! Nice to et you, Mr. Pestilence!”

Sothing in Conquest snapped.

“Pestilence is not my na,” he said coldly. “It is Conquest, Jolly_Pants_69.”

His patience evaporated.

With a flick of will, sickness blood inside the human’s body. Flesh decayed and expanded at the sa ti, pressure building in rotting tissue until it burst. The man exploded into chunks, blood and organs scattering across the ruined street.

Conquest stared at the remains, irritation simring.

He had always hated being called Pestilence.