The day the cataclysm struck, something beneath the earth awoke. The shackles binding heaven and earth shattered, strange beasts crawled out of the rifts, and civilization melted away like snow.
Nineteen-year-old Fang Yue lost everything in the cataclysm. In his palm appeared a golden mark: the Source Core Mark. His father’s journal read: “That thing is calling me. Not with a voice, but with a sound in my bones.”
From the broken walls of Luoshi Town to the flames of war that founded a nation on Earth; from the cliffs of the Nine Realms of the Starry Sky to the encirclement by the Four Great Civilizations. Every step he took was built on his companions’ blood and his own sacrifices.
The ironclad rule limiting the Doomsday Realm to twenty people, the unalterable laws of time enforced by the Guixu Bell, the truth behind the Number Zero Relic, which had crossed over from the previous era… When destroying a star region takes no more than a thought, but creation demands giving up everything
For the mightiest of the strong, destruction is easy, but creation is hard.
Fang Yue took eighty years to walk this path. At its end, he was no longer alone: Zhao Qingying stood at his side, the old scar on the back of her hand glowing silver-white in the starlight. He looked back at the sea of stars he had destroyed with his own hands, then reshaped. The first ray of light was shining from there.
Even an ordinary mortal can create all the heavens
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