Golden flames swirled, carrying the aura of a “fight-to-the-death” resolve.

Jiang Mochou looked at Xu Zimo, his face no longer showing the immaturity of the past.

He was no longer just the avenger of the Supreme Primal Sacred Ground; he had become a redeemer.

“The Ancient Demon Race deserves extermination by all,” he said calmly.

Xu Zimo glanced at him and replied with equal calm, “You will die miserably.”

“Life and death don’t matter. Eradicating demons is the true righteousness,” Jiang Mochou retorted.

The Lord of Nihility had once shown him a painting, a scene from tens of thousands of years ago, depicting the Primordial Heartlands.

A lost fragment of history.

It showed the Ancient Demon Race rampaging across the mortal world, cruelty and savagery everywhere.

“We are all chosen redeemers,” Tan Jiulin said at his side. “To destroy demons is our mission.”

In a sense, they had all been chosen.

Without the Holy Progenitor, Tan Jiulin might still be just an unloved illegitimate daughter of the Tan Clan.

Without the Lord of Nihility, Jiang Mochou would likely have been crushed to death long ago in his attempt to avenge himself against the Supreme Primal Sacred Ground.

Xu Zimo offered no explanation, no debate. He had no interest in arguing.

After all, who bothers to argue with corpses?

“I’ll say only this: whether the Ancient Demon Race is good or evil isn’t something you can define with just a few words.”

At this, Chu Tianyang of the Primal God Race smiled lightly, his tone casual, “Don’t misunderstand me, Holy Son Xu. I bear you no grudge. But I too desire this Heaven's Will. You are too strong, and I have no choice but to join hands with them.”

“The Primal God Race, if I recall correctly, is one of the supreme races of the Outer Heavens. Are you of a branch race?” Xu Zimo asked.

He had learned much about the Outer Heavens. He had even encountered several of its people before.

Though he could not claim mastery of its lore, he knew the basics.

Both the Primal God Race and the Ancient Celestial Race were mighty races of the Outer Heavens.

Unlike the Primordial Heartlands, where humans flourished and the hundred other races could barely lift their heads, in the Outer Heavens, multiple great races stood shoulder to shoulder in rivalry.

“Indeed, we are but a branch line, one looked down upon,” Chu Tianyang admitted with composure.

It wasn’t a secret; otherwise, their line would not have been relegated down to the Primordial Heartlands.

“Would you like to see the Outer Heavens?” Xu Zimo asked. “Why don’t you follow me? I’ll take you to behold the pinnacle of this world. What is the Primal God Race? I could let you become its ruler.”

“That does sound tempting,” Chu Tianyang laughed. “But the Heaven's Will I wish to seize for myself, and the Primal God Race’s rulership I intend to fight for on my own.”

Xu Zimo shook his head with a soft chuckle.

“I give you the chance, but you’ll need the life to seize it.”

“Everyone, let us act in concert,” Primordius, the Holy Son of the Supreme Primal Sacred Ground, interjected.

From the Magpie Bridge Wonderland, two cultivators shone with intertwining azure and violet light.

They wove together a bridge across the void, a galaxy-like span formed by flocks of celestial magpies.

Each magpie was filled with celestial vitality, and the very fabric of the void bent to the bridge’s influence.

“This is the Celestial Bridge of our Magpie Bridge Wonderland,” Wang Buhui explained. “With this bridge, within its bounds, one can traverse distances in an instant, teleporting anywhere at will.”

It resembled a formation, but it was far superior: formations could be destroyed, but this bridge could not, unless its caster was slain.

Meanwhile, Chu Tianyang’s god blood surged in reverse. Though diluted compared to the true Primal God Race’s, it was still formidable.

A single drop carried the weight of ten thousand catties, suffused with divinity, as though an ancient god-child were cleaving the heavens. Divine might poured forth.

His eyes glowed brilliantly, hair billowing without wind, his black robe like spilled ink dancing in the air.

“Kill!”

He kicked off the void, sonic booms erupting, collapsing swathes of space as he lunged at Xu Zimo.

“God Fist of Tempered Flesh!”

On his fists, divine light flared.

Endless fist intent exploded forth: one punch shook the heavens, another swept the Nine Netherworlds.

So fierce was the force that every strike was accompanied by the roar of a tornado.

Boom, boom, boom!

The fists ripped through the void.

Xu Zimo met him head-on, his own fists equally fierce, every blow earth-shattering.

At the same time, Qing Ruoshui of the Ancient Celestial Race, a woman clad in flowing white robes, joined the fray.

She looked like an immortal descending from the clouds: lips like crimson petals, robes so pure they drew the eye irresistibly.

“The Gate of Myriad Wonders!”

Her voice was crisp as she summoned her art.

Above her head, the void shifted, spiritforce rioted.

An ocean of spiritforce gathered. She raised her hands overhead and pulled them apart.

A heavenly gate unfolded above her, illuminating mountains and rivers.

Within it seemed to lie another world, like a mirror image of the Primordial Heartlands.

The myriad forms of life were reflected within.

The Ancient Celestial Race, as their name suggested, were said to dwell above the clouds, gazing down upon the mortal world, able to peer into all great shifts and secrets.

The Heaven's Will roiled violently. From within the gate poured silver light, cascading down upon Xu Zimo.

A silver beam struck his abdomen. He did not evade. Though not fatal, it sent a jolt of pain through his body.

From within the gate, countless silver rays shot forth. Qing Ruoshui maintained her distance, relying on long-range attacks.

With the Celestial Bridge’s aid, she could teleport freely, making her all but untouchable.

And then came Xiao Mo of the God-Demon Well.

Clad in a black-gold robe with a matching cloak, he pressed his pale hands to the ground, veins bulging on his forehead.

Slowly, he raised his arms, and from the earth of the island there appeared a well, the God-Demon Well.

A well of spring and autumn, a grave of gods and demons.

That was the origin of both the artifact and the sect that bore its name.

“You of the God-Demon Well are generous indeed,” Xu Zimo remarked. “To bring out your sect’s supreme treasure here, are you not afraid that, should you fall, it will never see the light of day again?”

“That is no concern of yours,” Xiao Mo replied coolly.

Ancient, withered black miasma billowed from the well.

Ghastly faces writhed around its edge, while nearly-forgotten runes crawled over its surface.

Horrific screams echoed from within.

With a wave of Xiao Mo’s hand, several towering godfiends strode forth.

Each one massive, each one comparable to Xu Zimo in strength, their bodies wrapped in black chains.

Ferocious and savage, their aura was suffocating.

“Kill him, and I will grant you freedom,” Xiao Mo said.

“Deal,” came their deep, cavernous reply.

The godfiends thundered forward, charging at Xu Zimo.

Now he was forced to evade the silver beams from the Heavenly Gate above while fending off Chu Tianyang and these godfiends simultaneously.

On the sidelines, Jiang Mochou and Tan Jiulin exchanged a glance…