CHAPTER 956: TOUCHING A NEBULA

Soon, the superior Legends began to withdraw. One by one, they turned and flew away, followed by all others whose cultivation bases were too weak to endure the growing pressure. The light of the nebula—once distant and beautiful—had become a sun of annihilation.

Only those with the might of Half-Step Lords and above remained. Their souls were strong enough to perceive the divine rhythm within the nebula’s Laws without disintegrating under its weight. To gaze upon it was to glimpse the birth and death of universes woven together—a power so absolute it could reduce even a Lord to ash.

The White Death stood closest of them all. His eyes were sharp, cold, and unblinking as he took a deep breath and advanced toward the glowing singularity. Each step forward felt like wading into a sea of molten fire. Waves of radiation lashed against his flesh, burning through armor and skin alike. Yet he endured.

At five hundred kilometers from the nebula’s surface, he finally stopped. There, in the void between life and death, he crossed his legs and adopted a meditative stance. The energy that radiated from the singularity was suffocating, but he drew it in—letting the cosmic radiation flow through his spirit and bones. He cultivated not in defiance of destruction, but in harmony with it.

The Archangel was not idle either. His soul scanned the Laws emanating from the nebula, his golden eyes glowing brighter with every passing second. The A.I. Chip Clone analyzed thousands of parameters, each corresponding to one of the cosmos’ fundamental frequencies. Then, without hesitation, he and the Nightmare Universe advanced as one.

They stopped only when they were nine hundred and fifty kilometers from the nebula’s edge. The Nightmare Universe pulsed behind him, a living sea of shadow absorbing what energy it could without unraveling into chaos.

A few hundred kilometers farther back hovered Vlad and Altharion. They exchanged a brief glance as they gathered the energy circulating within their souls and pushed forward.

Every meter closer was agony. The waves of radiance tried to repel them, scouring flesh and soul alike. Altharion gritted his teeth, his blood boiling within him, until he could advance no further. He halted one thousand three hundred kilometers from the nebula’s surface, his armor glowing white-hot from the energy.

The True Depravita of Wrath pressed farther still. His immortal constitution endured the searing heat better than that of the Crown Prince. He stopped only when he reached one thousand one hundred kilometers from the surface. His aura burned crimson, his Laws roaring in resonance with the cosmic storm.

Then came the turn of the Half-Step Lords—the bridge between Legends and divinity. They approached cautiously, erecting barriers of spirit and will to shield their souls. Even the True Depravitas advanced carefully. The energy emanating from the nebula was not merely destructive—it was corrosive. A single misstep could erode their souls and extinguish their Depravita Suns forever.

Most Half-Step Lords were forced to stop around two thousand five hundred kilometers from the nebula. Beyond that, their defenses would collapse. The True Depravitas, however, pressed onward, reaching as close as two thousand kilometers. There they sat in solemn meditation, letting the radiation nourish their bodies and deepen their understanding of existence.

Hours turned to days. Days became weeks. The nebula pulsed endlessly, its light washing over the void like a divine tide. For those who endured, every second spent beneath its radiance felt like an eternity of transformation.

Their souls vibrated in resonance with the Laws. Every heartbeat brought new understanding. Every breath rewrote their essence.

On the twenty-ninth day, the White Death opened his eyes.

Twin flames of white fire blazed within them, so bright they seemed to bend the fabric of reality itself. The light emanating from his gaze was not merely illumination—it was disorder, capable of unraveling existence and casting it into oblivion.

He rose from his meditative stance and took another step forward. Then another.

The pressure was unimaginable. The void itself groaned as he advanced. Yet he did not stop until he stood two hundred and twenty-five kilometers from the nebula’s surface. Only then did he sit once more, folding his legs beneath him and resuming his cultivation.

Two days later, Overlord opened his eyes. His eyes hummed with divine energy, his wings stretching wide to stabilize his form. He turned toward the Nightmare Universe and saw that it, too, had grown stronger. Its boundaries pulsed with new life, shadows and stars entwined in harmony.

But he could also see the limit approaching.

Unlike most living entities, the Nightmare Universe’s evolution was parasitic. Its growth depended on the assimilation of sentient beings and powerful souls. Though it could bask in the nebula’s radiance, it could not truly evolve further from it alone.

Overlord extended a hand. "Return," he commanded softly.

The Nightmare Universe shuddered, then folded inward, shrinking until it became a sphere of darkness no larger than an apple. With a deep inhale, the Archangel swallowed it back into himself, fusing with it once more.

He spread his radiant wings and advanced. Each flap sent shockwaves through the void, leaving golden trails behind him. He stopped six hundred kilometers from the nebula and crossed his arms, channeling the endless energy into the core of his being.

Moments later, Vlad stirred. His eyes snapped open, glowing with crimson fury. The power of Space and Death intertwined within him, roaring like twin storms. He could feel the Laws weaving together inside his soul, merging and expanding, forming something new—something higher.

The energy of the nebula flooded through him. His veins glowed as his Depravita Sun blazed inside his Soul Dimension, spinning faster and faster until it looked like a crimson star.

Driven by instinct, he pushed forward once more. Seven hundred and ninety kilometers from the nebula’s surface, he stopped, his aura distorting space around him.

All across the void, the other powerhouses followed suit. As their Laws deepened and their spirits strengthened, they too moved forward in small increments. Each advance brought greater pain, greater pressure—and greater reward.

Weeks melted into months. Every few weeks, another warrior opened their eyes, their souls trembling as they reached new heights. But with each breakthrough, progress slowed. The further they went, the more immense the difficulty became. The distance they could advance shrank until it was measured not in kilometers, but in meters.

Eventually, many of the Half-Step Lords reached their limits. Their energy faltered. Their bodies, pushed to their edge, could no longer bear the radiation. One by one, they broke their cultivation states and drifted away from the nebula, retreating into safer regions of the void.

There was no shame in their withdrawal. The power they had absorbed was immense—enough to weaken the barrier that kept them from ascending to Lordhood. They had touched the edge of transcendence. Now, they only needed time.

As they rested, their gazes inevitably turned toward the ones who remained near the nebula’s heart—toward the three figures who defied the storm.

Their eyes fixed on the White Death.

For months he had pushed himself beyond mortal comprehension. Every atom of his being screamed in agony, yet he pressed on. His will was absolute, his purpose unyielding.

And now, after nearly three months of endless cultivation, the warriors in the void watched in silent awe as the Emperor of the Graecia Empire reached the very edge of the nebula.

White light blazed around him, making it impossible to tell where his body ended and the cosmos began.

Then, under the gaze of all—Lords, Depravitas, and Legends alike—he reached out his hand.