Forty Millenniums of Cultivation

Countless people were directly hit by the burning iron fists. In the blink of an eye, they were vaporized. Even their ashes were not left.

Some of them were swallowed by the airwaves and turned into part of them, too. The surging airwaves turned into wriggling, expanding beasts.

Even the earth had been blown away by the meteor shower, revealing cracks that extended to the center of the planet. What was surging in the deepest part of the cracks was not the fire but the data streams that were as rapid as swirls.

The camouflage of this world was peeling off inch by inch, revealing its virtual nature.

The torrent of data spurted out of the endless abyss like a volcanic eruption and lunged at the people.

Those touched by the torrent of data were all shattered into countless translucent, deep blue digits before they collapsed and perished.

If they were smashed to death, burnt to death, or torn apart by the falling meteor shower, they could still be understood by the pitiful virtual humans.

Then, their disguises would be ripped off, and their pitiful data essence would be exposed. Then, all the data would be cleared to zero, deleted, and returned to its original state—this was something that the Virtual Human could not understand. It was the ultimate horror.

Finally, someone came back to himself and shouted desperately.

Seeing that the creator of the universe was displaying such destructive power, some of the believers of machinery and steam had a mental breakdown and suddenly realized their mistake.

They kneeled on the ground and bowed to the Fist King, not because they wanted to spare his life, but because they were begging for the forgiveness of the real gods so that they could hear their repentance and cleanse their guilty souls.

Some of the loyal believers of the Temple of Fist were on the verge of a mental breakdown, too. They watched the indiscriminate slaughter in bewilderment, not knowing what was going on. The arrival of a real god was the most sacred moment of glory, but why did the real god send the loyal lambs to hell together with the heretics?

“Fist God, I praise you. I submit to you. I am your most loyal servant!”

Some Iron Fist Soldiers went mad and shouted at the Fist King.

Then, he was smashed into pieces by an iron fist.

“O supreme, benevolent creator, I am your lamb. I am your slave. I am the projection of your will. I am your most insignificant creation. Your will must be justified. If you want to purify the world, the world will be redeemed eventually.”

Some of the priests of the Temple of Fist suddenly realized what the Fist King was up to. They stopped resisting and sat cross-legged in the pool of blood, their eyes lowered as they chanted and waited for the arrival of destruction.

“Come on, false gods!”

Naturally, the toughest believers of mechanics and steam were among them. They did not even frown in the face of the meteor shower.

Despite the intimidating aura of the boxing champion, they gritted their teeth and stood straight, while they waved their steam guns and roared, “Destroy us all you want, but don’t think that you can defeat us and win our submission. Come on. Let’s fight to the death!”

They burnt the boiler red and raised the strongest steam, shooting the last bullets into the sky. Then, they welcomed a hundred times more meteor showers and died laughing in the bombardment of flames and iron fists.

Soon, even the sky was cracking like the bottom of a pot.

Cracks were everywhere. The dome was falling apart, revealing the complicated data of the universe.

The data was bouncing crazily as if it were alive, only to return to zero.

When every string of data returned to zero, the entire world seemed to become duller and duller. From the originally brilliant and vivid 64 True Colors, it gradually fell to 32, 16, 512, and 256.

The world lost its color.

After the special effects were turned off, the virtual reality users who had not been cleared yet were surprised to find that their hands and feet were no longer delicate, but coarse sawteeth.

Their mouths were wide open. They wanted to shout, cry, pray, beg, scream, and say their last words to their beloved before their death.

However, the boxing champion was cutting off the voice and sound support of the virtual world. Hissing noises were coming out of the virtual character’s throat, but it was impossible to express their deep and real feelings.

Gus was speechless, too.

His legs had been broken by a meteor-like iron fist. The lower half of his body was a mess of blood and flesh. He could only crawl toward Grey with shocking traces of blood.

“Sister—”

He wanted to shout, but all he heard was his coarse cries.

Grey, who had been crushed by the debris of the steam cannon, could not respond to his crying, either. She simply widened her eyes and smiled at her brother one last time.

“It’s alright.”

The young man seemed to hear his sister comforting him. “It’s alright. We will see our parents soon.”

“…”

Gritting his teeth and enduring the excruciating pain, Gus finally grabbed his sister’s hand.

But he could not grasp the temperature that was dropping.

The young man was speechless. He stared at the sky, shedding tears of blood.

And the gods who stood above the heavens, who controlled life and death, who manipulated fate, who could create and destroy everything.

“It shouldn’t be like this.”

Looking at the collapsing world, Gus thought to himself, This is not how the world should be. This is not how our destiny should be!

He had never been more desperate to change his fate, save his own kind, and even kill his own creator.

Gritting his teeth, the young man summoned the last bit of his courage and strength and managed to stand up despite the excruciating pain.

Broken bones protruded out of his broken legs, which were stuck in a pool of blood. He was in excruciating pain.

But the excruciating pain stimulated the young man’s soul. He waved his young fists and roared crazily at the sky, mimicking the fanaticism of the believers of the believers of steam.

“Come on, Fist King. You can destroy me all you want, but you can never defeat me. Come on. Let’s fight to the death!”

Gus soon got what he wanted.

He was blown away by the blast again and fell to the ground like a pile of garbage. The bones all over his body were broken, and so were his internal organs.

The young man could feel his life slipping away.

There were only thirty to fifty seconds left before all the data was reset to zero.

But he was smiling.

At the very least, there were thirty to fifty seconds at the end of his destiny when he was freed from the shackles and manipulation of his creator. He lived according to his own will and died as a human being.

That was enough, wasn’t it?

“Gus! Gus!”

Suddenly, the dying young man heard urgent shouts.

“Lu Qingchen?”

His eyes, which were gradually closing, suddenly bulged. Gus turned around and saw that the broken devil had been suppressed by the Fist King not far away. It was wriggling toward him like a bug that was still alive.

“Gus, he is too awesome. You can’t defeat him, and I can’t defeat him. There is only one way. There is still hope!”

Lu Qingchen was laughing, too. He was laughing delightedly and resolutely, with craziness written all over his ugly face.

The devil extended his bloody arm. The most brilliant electric arcs spurted out of the deepest part of his soul and spread toward the young man.

“Come on. This is the last of my strength, the legacy of the life of lightning. Open your heart and accept it as the new king of lightning. Then, create a miracle, young man!”