The ancient verse echoed like the chime of a bronze bell across the murky ruins of his Sea of Consciousness.
Heaven is cold, but the flesh is warm.
Yin craves the fullness of Yang.
Yang hungers to consume Yin...
A spark of crystalline will flared in the dark.
Shen Yu did not break through to some omnipotent state, nor did his soul suddenly mend, rather, the manic bloodlust that had hijacked his senses receded just enough to restore cold, ruthless reason.
His body was a crumbling ruin, his dantian clogged with necrotic sludge, three ribs pulverized, and a lethal Nascent Soul curse corroding his marrow from the inside out.
He had perhaps five breaths before his heart turned to black ash.
'Move.'
Shen Yu clamped his bloody teeth together, dragging the absolute last ember of refined Qi from his dying meridians into his fingertips.
He lunged toward the center of the Taiji Samsara Altar.
