The last bastion of the Green Sky World—Eternal Dome City—was falling.
Besieged from all sides by the Twelve‑Winged Soul Parasite Clan, the once‑proud capital now trembled beneath an unending tide of darkness.
From high above, the scene resembled the end of an era.
A black ocean stretched beyond the city walls—millions of abyssal demons surging toward the dome like a living flood, an endless wave threatening to consume everything in existence.
The final battle for humanity's survival had begun.
Every Nascent Soul cultivator still alive had gathered upon the ramparts. No one fled. No one dared. They had long forfeited the hope of retreat; only resolve remained.
They would fight until death.
Amid the hovering array of cultivators stood a middle‑aged Nascent Soul master. His robes were tattered, his spirit aura dim. Lines of exhaustion carved deep into his face as he whispered, voice shaking despite himself,
"How long until reinforcements from Sword Heaven arrive?"
