Then, a blur. A low rumble, like a distant thunderclap, emanated from the courtyard. Before the cosmic judgment could kiss Moyou’s spine, a rotund, furry missile launched itself from behind her. Hundun, no longer the size of a plump melon, but rapidly expanding, soared upwards. Its jaws, previously a neat, dark line, distended into a gaping maw of swirling void, rimmed with teeth that shone like polished basalt. The colossal blade of light, designed to erase existence, met the equally colossal maw of the void beast. There was no explosion, no clang of steel. Instead, a sound akin to a hundred starving stomachs devouring a mountain of crispy fried scales filled the air. Hundun didn't deflect the sword; it *ate* it. The pure white light, the cosmic judgment, the terrifying finality—all of it vanished into the beast's gullet in a single, guttural gulp. A faint burp, smelling faintly of ozone and ancient stars, followed. Hundun landed with a resounding thud that shook the entire peak, its bulk now easily three stories high. Its once compact fur bristled with nascent void energy, shimmering like an oil slick under moonlight. Its eyes, previously just intelligent beads, glowed with an ancient, knowing power. It was no longer merely a void-swallowing spirit creature; it was a Void Sovereign, a creature that had just consumed a fragment of divine wrath and found it to be a satisfactory appetizer. The colossal fiend settled onto the courtyard, its massive body displacing a dozen crumbling stones, and began to emit loud, contented chomping noises. Song Moyou, who had remained perfectly still through the entire ordeal, finally straightened. A tiny frown creased her brow, not at the near-miss with divine annihilation, but at the persistent, rhythmic crunching vibrating up through her boots. “Hundun,” she said, her voice entirely devoid of concern, “must you be so loud? I’m nearly done.” She took one last glance at the intricate, glowing mathematical array she had scrawled across the courtyard tiles. A satisfied hum escaped her. The previous calculations were flawed, not by her past self’s intent, but by a subtle temporal divergence in the realm’s inherent constant. Now, the variables aligned. The true path to ultimate magical supremacy, and thus, ultimate solitude, lay clear. Her gaze flicked to Shen Tulie. The original protagonist lay sprawled amidst the rubble, his eyes still blazing with the sickly white glow of the Heavenly Will. His hands twitched, preparing to call forth another manifestation of karmic punishment. Moyou sighed, a sound of profound irritation. “Still clinging?” she murmured. “Such an inefficient script.” She reached into her sleeve, producing a stack of shimmering, translucent talisman slips, each one inscribed with a minute, swirling symbol. With a speed that defied perception, she darted forward, a flash of black silk against the ruined stone. Before Shen Tulie could even twitch a finger, she slapped a single talisman slip, precisely in the center, onto his forehead. It didn’t stick. It *embedded*. The moment the note touched his skin, Shen Tulie’s body convulsed. A shriek, not his own, but something ancient and ethereal, tore from his throat. The blinding white light in his eyes flared, then dimmed, flickering like a dying candle. The talisman pulsed with a deep indigo light, radiating a geometric pattern that seemed to unravel the very fabric of his being. Shen Tulie thrashed, his limbs jerking uncontrollably as if caught in an invisible current. The air around him shimmered, then peeled away, revealing faint, translucent tendrils of white light being forcibly ejected from his body. These tendrils, thin as spider silk, screamed as they were ripped free, disintegrating into motes of light that faded into the indifferent sky. With a final, desperate gasp, the last tendril snapped. The indigo glow of the sticky note vanished. Shen Tulie slumped, his body going boneless, the light in his eyes extinguished entirely. He lay there, whimpering, his face streaked with tears, utterly bewildered. “W-what…” he choked out, staring up at the darkening sky, then at his own trembling hands. “What was… what did I…?” Moyou plucked the now inert slip from his forehead. “A minor exorcism,” she stated, wiping a speck of dust from its surface. “The celestial mandate is… quite persistent. But rather predictable, once you understand its operational parameters.” She tucked the note back into her sleeve. “Now that the math is corrected, we have a window. The core must be planted.” Her gaze drifted towards the gaping maw of chaotic Qi below, the very heart of the primordial Maelstrom. Zongzheng Wuyuan, who had been watching the entire spectacle with a manic grin, his demonic blood still turning to razor-wire around his wounds, pushed himself off the remains of a charred spire. He strode towards Moyou, his steps light despite the fresh gashes riddling his body. “Below?” he purred, his eyes gleaming with delight. “The Maelstrom? My dearest Moyou, allow me the honor.” He bowed deeply, a theatrical flourish that seemed out of place amidst the devastation. “I shall carry you. My wings are strong, my grip unwavering, and I know every current in that delightful abyss.” Moyou glanced at him, then at the three-story badger still contentedly crunching on divine energy. “Your… wings are strong?” she repeated, her tone flat. “You just climbed your way up a sheer rock face for the second time.” Wuyuan merely chuckled, his grin widening. “A minor inconvenience! A delightful challenge! To carry you, my apathy queen, I would scale the very heavens themselves, or plummet through the deepest void.” Before Moyou could respond, a new tremor shook the world. It wasn't the ground this time, but the very fabric of reality above. The sky, already a bruised red, didn't just split or crack. It *shattered*. Not into pieces of light, but into vast, geometric shards that peeled away, revealing something truly immense behind them. A colossal, dark mechanism, its surface a swirling vortex of interconnected gears and grinding cogs, filled the void where the heavens once were. A single, monstrous eye, formed of a thousand interlocking clockwork pupils, stared down, not with anger, but with the cold, unfeeling precision of a calculating machine. It began its descent, slowly, inexorably, towards the Cangxi Realm.

The Badger's Feast