My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 951 - 952: He Has Come

The cultivator let out a sigh.

Slowly, his fingers started to move in front of him, silently figuring out some matter. Unseen designs wove through the atmosphere as though he was tallying strands that only he could perceive.

Suddenly, his motions halted.

A profound crease appeared on his brow.

He rose to his feet without delay.

The action seemed straightforward.

However, it stirred the whole prison into motion.

All eyes shifted toward him.

Even the timeless horrors, who had been quietly occupied with their own affairs for countless years, gradually directed their gazes his way.

From the First Epoch onward, when they were first confined here almost two to three hundred thousand years prior, this marked the initial instance the cultivator had risen from his seated lotus pose.

This single action appeared out of place.

Calmly, he lifted his hands and brought them together in a courteous bow.

"Fellow daoists," he stated courteously, "this Zhang regrets interrupting you all. Yet, our circumstances have shifted."

His gaze scanned the assembled captives.

"After numerous years, this Zhang has finally caught a glimpse of certain heavenly secrets."

A wave of unrest swept through the prison.

Sensing heavenly secrets held little marvel in this location. Each being locked in this realm wielded strength vastly surpassing the seventh level of progression. They stood as elevated existences able to grasp the strands of destiny firsthand.

Nevertheless...

"That’s impossible."

The words emerged from a gruff elderly man clad in decaying crimson garments. His flesh appeared afflicted and pallid, his form more akin to an ambulatory cadaver than a vital creature.

A demonic cultivator.

Naturally, he would lead the charge against one from the righteous path.

"Everyone knows the seal blocks us from that."

The righteous cultivator paid him no mind whatsoever.

Instead, he steadily faced the other confined terrors.

"Fellow daoists," he declared. "Verify it for yourselves."

His tone stayed even.

"Observe whether the heavens continue to stay mute."

Quietness descended.

Gradually, the primordial entities employed their individual techniques to explore destiny. Unseen forces extended into the emptiness as they grasped at the filaments of fortune, examining the hidden flows that ruled over reality.

Time ticked by.

Then, abruptly, someone erupted into guffaws.

"Hahaha!"

"The seal!"

"The seal has weakened to the point where we can sense fate!"

Thrilled whispers rippled throughout the prison.

"Thus, the moment has arrived," another tone murmured deliberately. "The strength Mugu poured into the Unknown God’s dominion, the Boundary Maker, is at last fading."

"The barrier that held us captive for so long shall ultimately shatter."

A hoarse sound pierced the mounting fervor.

"I wouldn’t hold out too much hope if I were in your shoes."

All stares pivoted to the one who spoke.

It was the elderly sorcerer.

Orbitus lounged idly upon a drifting boulder, his hat slanted over his gaze while he drank serenely from his mug.

"We remain unable to shatter it on our own."

He rapped his staff gently against the rock.

"Not until at least one more epoch passes."

For an instant, the prison grew still once more.

Then, chuckles resounded from some obscure corner in the gloom.

"Hahhahha..."

The noise sounded damp.

Twisted.

Something stirred within the obscurity.

It glided ahead like a surge composed of innumerable squirming larvae. The cluster writhed and twisted until it shaped into a form that loosely mimicked a beast.

It was a sight from terrors of the night.

And that is precisely what it embodied.

A Nightmare.

It halted in front of the clustered inmates.

"Ittorath has broken free," it proclaimed.

The voice resembled myriad murmurs overlapping simultaneously.

"He pursues a method to liberate his authentic form."

The nightmare undulated, its bulk quivering.

"And he carries good news for us."

Hush ensued.

Each primordial horror gradually oriented toward the nightmare.

Their faces no longer displayed annoyance.

They appeared composed.

Scheming.

Morticai’s golden fires softened a bit as his gaze tightened.

"Is that the case..."

At last, an escape route might be within reach.

And along with it, devastation for the realm overhead.

"And what does Ittorath demand as recompense?"

Orbitus posed the inquiry offhandedly, even as his eyes grew keen under the brim of his hat. He gradually set down his mug and placed both hands upon the bent wooden rod resting on his knees.

A nightmare such as Ittorath would never act without compensation.

Never.

Although it seemed these beings all flew under the flag of Outsiders from the Upper Realm, harmony among them was all but unattainable.

In reality, matters stood grimmer than that.

Some among them were primordial foes from opposing alliances. Others pledged to divergent deities, and those deities harbored deep animosities. A handful had served as heralds of the True Demon Kings. Others held that the Old Gods ought to reclaim dominance.

Some transcended mortal ethics entirely.

There existed abominations spawned from the Metaverse that had never grasped notions of virtue or vice. Entities that regarded existence as mere quarry.

Others simply hailed from wholly alien lineages.

Even the cultivators failed to unite.

One adhered to a righteous sect.

The other stemmed from a demonic one.

And even within righteous sects, disloyalty and contention abounded.

Far too much diversity existed among them for harmony to prevail.

Every one harbored their private motives.

And crucially, the prize could not be divided.

The Pillar of Conflict lay concealed somewhere in this realm.

Indeed, the Unknown God had lured them here.

They all recognized that truth.

Yet the enticement proved irresistible.

Which of them was not a timeless fiend who had battled through endless plots and treacheries?

The boon proffered by the Unknown God was one none could dismiss.

He vowed that whosoever presented a Pillar would claim a vast prize.

This realm simply housed one such pillar available to them.

Just a solitary opportunity.

A slim prospect.

But even that sufficed.

One might ponder why these primordial fiends heeded such an oath.

The response was straightforward.

The Unknown God issued no hollow vows.

A vow from him could not be revoked.

And a vow to him could not be forsaken either.

Not even by True Gods.

For his dominion forged the tenets of the No Absolutes Accord, the primordial pact that compelled even celestial entities to comply.

It was avarice that pulled them here.

Avarice that ensnared them across epochs.

The nightmare’s form undulated gradually in the murk.

Before it could reply, a gentle tone abruptly resounded across the prison.

"Perhaps it would be wiser if I appeared personally."

Steps came next.

Gentle.

Featherlight.

A petite form emerged from the obscurity.

It was a little girl.

She appeared no older than ten, dressed in a plain gown. Her tiny footwear clicked softly on the hovering stone as she advanced.

But as the ancient captives peered into her eyes, their countenances gradually altered.

Those were not a child’s eyes.

Those belonged to Ittorath.