Morong felt he was about to go mad!
Leaving aside whether the other was stronger or weaker than he was—so long as they were on Earth, there was no way he could defeat him.
How was he supposed to fight when he couldn't mobilize any energy at all?
He could use his own demonic qi, yes, but any energy had to commune with the world's laws, had to borrow the power of heaven and earth.
Only then could one erupt with power strong enough.
Every world had its own rules. With the [System], he could perfectly adapt to those rules and exert his true strength; but now the rules had suddenly changed and forbade his use of them. That left him only his demonic qi to bolster his flesh and fight—close-quarters combat.
How was he supposed to do that?
His forte certainly wasn't the body.
"Can you not suppress the rules of this planet?"
"It's just an ordinary planet. However strong its favor, can it possibly be stronger than you?"
Morong ground his teeth and addressed the [System] in his heart.
"Ding. Host query detected."
"Earth is special."
"Special? Special? A mere planet—what 'special' could it have!"
Morong's tone was ice-cold.
"The host lacks sufficient strength. Unable to disclose."
The mechanical voice, devoid of even a trace of emotion, sounded in his ear.
"Hmph."
Morong snorted and stared at Brandon White, his voice carrying endless chill.
"Next time—as long as we're not on Earth—I will kill you."
"System. Go."
In the current situation, there was no point staying. Leaving was the best choice.
"Ding. Spacetime wormhole opening."
"Three… two… one… Rule interference detected. Spatial laws have shifted. Three seconds required for analysis."
"Tch!"
Hearing the System's response, Morong could no longer restrain the fury boiling inside him; violence flooded his mind.
Being targeted by a planet's will was downright nauseating!
It was not the conduct of a true powerhouse!
Brandon knit his brows, watching Morong—who had just finished threatening to kill him—make no further move.
What was he doing?
Sensing the fluctuation of the spatial rules, Brandon understood, then gave a soft laugh.
"Trying to run? You'll have to be able to run to begin with."
The instant the words fell, an ineffable force settled over Morong. Panic struck him as time itself seemed to halt; every part of his body—his limbs, his torso—froze in place.
He could still think, but the sensation was intolerable.
By now, the battle had carried the night to a slow close. The newborn sun spilled its light across the land; endless violet qi came rolling from the east. From the sky drifted strains of melodious zither music—as if a goddess were playing. One after another, figures woven of spiritual energy took shape: celestial maidens who lifted blossoms from wicker baskets and scattered them over the mortal world.
On the ground, golden lotuses sprang up in profusion, bringing boundless life wherever they opened.
Then, as if heralding the advent of a sovereign, countless mysterious sigils manifested from thin air. They collided and twined, gathering close about Brandon White, displaying their intimacy.
Brandon acted as if none of these manifestations had anything to do with him. He merely extended an index finger and tapped the empty air.
At the point where his fingertip touched, the air rippled faintly—and under Morong's incredulous gaze, his own body began to crumble, bit by bit, starting from the feet and slowly creeping upward.
His eyes went blood-red. He poured all his demonic qi into resisting that bizarre power of disintegration, forcing his flesh to knit.
But it was like casting a stone into the sea: no response at all. He could only watch as his body continued to dissipate.
"No—no, no!!!"
He roared, refusing to accept it.
He still had too many things left to do!
He had not yet defeated the Demon Ancestor, had not yet paid back a hundredfold the humiliation the Demon Ancestor had branded on him!
He had not yet become the Demon Ancestor, had not yet ascended to the demon race's supreme throne.
He had not yet stood at the summit, had not yet led the demon race across the myriad worlds—
He could not die like this. He absolutely could not!
"This world is not a fully logical world," Brandon said coolly, looking at Morong's contorted face. "Ghosts and demons exist to a certain extent by mind-over-matter. But to enhance your strength by emotion still requires recognition from the world's rules."
"But this is Earth."
Because it was Earth, if combat power was to be measured by will alone, then only one person could fight "by will."
And that was himself.
Morong stared at Brandon, his gaze going unfocused.
Behind Brandon, he seemed to glimpse a being of immeasurable vastness and majesty, wreathed round by endless stars. Each star was a great world unto itself, containing inexhaustible life. Infinite omens took form; gods, sages, and demon kings by the legion bowed low at that being's side.
Perhaps sensing his gaze, that august existence turned its eyes upon him.
In the end, Morong died.
Halfway through the collapse of his body, he suddenly died.
As if beholding something beautiful, he wore a smile of satisfaction at the moment of death.
Brandon found it a little puzzling. He hadn't used any illusion—or had the other conjured a world for himself in his final breath?
It was like those lines from his previous life, the ones that shattered countless readers' Dao-hearts—things along the lines of:
There is no Desolate Heavenly Emperor who stood alone against all of time—just a child whose Supreme Bone was cut out, drifting off into one last sweet dream before death.
There is no Xu Fengnian who was first under heaven—only a beggar at the end of his rope, imagining glory in his final breath.
There is no Ye Tiandi who covered the sky with a single hand—only a tourist at Mount Tai, caught in an earthquake, dreaming one last dream before the end.
Upstart—how dare you disturb my Dao-heart!
The mere thought made Brandon shake his head. He would never acknowledge such things.
He turned—and saw Uncle Nine kneeling at some point in time. Perhaps it was Brandon's illusion, but from that posture he could almost see faith.
"Purple Qi from the East, Celestial Maidens Scattering Flowers, Golden Lotuses Rising from the Earth—countless laws manifest… There's no mistake. These omens cannot be wrong."
"Not a saint descending into the world. Not an exile immortal fallen to the mortal dust. Not a reincarnated god or immortal!"
"This is the evolution of the Dao—the Child of the Great Dao!"
No one could understand what Uncle Nine felt in that moment. Every Daoist pursued the Dao.
In the eyes of Daoists, gods are those whom men enshrine; immortals are those whom men become.
What they truly revere is the Dao!
They believe that everything in heaven and earth is an evolution of the Dao: trees and flowers, birds and beasts, the stars of the cosmos—all are wrought from the Dao.
The Daoist canons record: the Dao is "the line of the void, the root of creation, the source of divine clarity, the prime of heaven and earth"; "by it the ten thousand phenomena are born; by it the Five Phases are formed."
The cosmos, yin and yang, and the Five Phases all arise from it.
In history, when saints descended, when banished immortals walked the mortal realm, when gods and immortals reincarnated, they all stirred omens—but never of a scope like those Brandon had triggered, as if the entire world were celebrating his advent.
This was nothing less than the descent of the Child of the Great Dao!
(End of this chapter)