Adrift and encradled, floating amongst the far flung currents of riotous color and rioting qi, framed by nebulous light and tangerine soft light-of-nebula, LengMingtian reformed out of sunbeams and… drifted. A vast universe wheeled out behind him; a sea of stars peeking over the incomprehensibly enormous nebula that rose up around it, its pillars to heaven thrown forth, swirling and eddying in the aftershocks of the battle. Far in the distance beneath him, a sun bled out, intermittently oscillating between too-bright and fallow, a massive plume of still-glowing plasma blown out in a jagged slash from where Daoist White Snow had cut the celestial body in half.
What was the point, even?
The endless grind— to immortality, then beyond, through realms over realms until he’d ended up here, atop it all, in a realm so inimical to life that his only peers were a scant few Immortal Sovereigns. That, and still striving, passing by eons over eons further advancing along the course of cultivation, seeking higher realms still… only to find nothing. And what else? Mastering their crafts? He wasn’t even the greatest amongst them, and the starforge that Baixue had destroyed behind him was disposable. He had more material wealth than he could possibly use in a thousand lifetimes.
But that was fine. Here in the Celestial Realm, the very pinnacle of existence, he had a thousand lifetimes and more.
It was… boring. So very, very boring. Drifting there on the currents of that shattered nebula, he reminisced for a moment melancholic, about the drama, the excitement and tension and hectic race to the top that had been his and his sister’s first, faltering steps on the course of cultivation, back when time had held any meaning for him. Then, the immortal wars amongst the higher realms, and the great intersect conflicts, and…
He never thought he’d miss it. He was no cultivator of the bloody sword path; the ways of violence had always been ancillary to him at best, and when he’d first ascended to the Celestial realm, he’d been overjoyed to leave that all behind. Death was a faint memory. Lost, its ever outstretched hand finally retracted, and it had driven them all a little bit strange. Here amongst the highest bounds of heaven, they could seemingly advance forever and ever and ever, and never reach the peak.
It was a special kind of torture. To try and never succeed. To never even know if they could succeed. It drove them to strange places, the lot of them— like, he thought with no small bit of wry humor— squabbling over star systems and blowing up valuable starforges. He’d get her back for that, someday…
Except, once more, the melancholy wave whelmed over him, and he couldn’t help but think— why? Where did it lead, that pointless cycle, smashing things and getting sliced up in return, and using ever more powerful techniques destroy a few more planets or a galaxy or two— meaninglessly. No fighting but for the sake of fighting. Perfect, pointless warring.
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Drifting there, slowly tumbling through the aftermath of a battle that had reshaped space around him for light years in every direction, he found that he hated it. The nothingness. That little death, embraced by the entire realm from the newest Immortal Sovereign to the Sword Saint themselves…
That was an idea.
For the first time since he’d started his contemplation— after years, or moments, or centuries as the star flickered out behind him, Mingtian shifted in interest, gathering ahold of himself by dint of domain and standing amidst nothing but endless sunlight. The celestial realm was boring. He was bored of it— he knew all of his fellow sovereigns, had worked on every single one of their various megastructures and grand projects over the course of the eons, and— he was bored.
But… the Celestial Realm was not all of existence.
It felt almost heretical, to abandon their great pursuit even if only for a time— to swim against the natural order and descend instead of ascend like they were all trying so hard to do… but, it sounded fun. Or, novel, at least, which was essentially the same thing anyways. He chuckled to himself as he remembered fondly all those legends from when he’d been a kid, so far back as for the mere concept of years to lose any meaning— of immortals hidden in the little places, of celestial spirits ready to visit fortune good or ill on those who attracted their attention…
It could be fun.
It would be better than his current existence.
That chuckle turned into a laugh, into a giddy excitement, sparking in him like a new star borne, bright and glimmering fresh— when was the last time he’d been so eager for something? When he’d made his pilgrimage to the Sword Saint’s throne? When he’d reached Immortal Sovereign and ascended to the Celestial Realm? When he’d started cultivating? Okay, not the first one— he still couldn’t forget how utterly beside himself he’d been with excitement when he’d received his first allotment of spirit stones and that simple, low-quality energy refinement pill… but, still, it was a similar excitement, and that was beyond marvelous.
His laughter petered off into the far void of space, soundless and quiet, boundless as his namesake, echoing to nothing— and with barely a twitch of intent he called his weapon to him, the trusty golden needles shooting from where they’d been scattered amongst the nebula to settle one by one into his spatial ring. Then, waving a hand, he parted the veil between reality and the tumultuous Chaos Sea, and stepped out of existence.
Leaving, behind him yet aglow and shifting, with promise of starlight’s death and future stars’ rebirth, or both? The sundered nebula and its sea of golden radiance, beautiful despite its ruin.
