Before him lies a vast, boundless wasteland. The earth is dark red, as if drenched in countless blood, not fading through the endless ages.
The sky is gloomy, with gray clouds hanging low, seemingly ready to crush down at any moment, suffocating.
In the distance, twisted spatial fissures like sinister wounds stretch across the heaven and earth, emitting a frightening aura.
At the outskirts of the Desolate Forbidden, many cultivators have already gathered.
Some sit cross-legged, eyes closed, adjusting their breath.
Some gather in groups of three or five, talking in low voices.
Others glance around, eyes flickering, seemingly searching for the right moment to enter.
The air is filled with a tense and oppressive atmosphere. Everyone knows that once they step into the Desolate Forbidden, their life and death will no longer be up to them.
