The clouds finished gathering, and the sky above the golden mountain turned a deep, ominous violet.
Violet clouds meant lightning imbued with law itself—bolts that struck not only flesh, but comprehension, assaulting the very foundation of a cultivator's understanding of the universe.
Then the first strike fell.
Emery's breathing slowed.
He had faced heavenly tribulations before. Decades ago, in the Skyroot Sacred Garden, he had endured the Heavenly Sentinel, weathering lightning spears through desperate hours spent refusing to die.
He knew what heavenly tribulations looked like.
This...
This was a Supreme Grand Tribulation.
The vast sea of violet clouds hanging over the mountain hinted at the scale of the coming calamity.
It did not measure its descent in nine bolts.
It measured it in nine sets of nine.
Eighty-one heavenly descents.
Every single strike carried enough power to grievously wound—or outright kill—a Grand Magus.
