Standing atop the dilapidated altar in Biluo City, commanding with a cultivation at the peak of the Immortal Monarch, stood Yan Feng.

His black robe was torn to shreds by the demonic wind, its ragged edges dancing wildly, like a desperate soul struggling in the dark night.

His face seemed sculpted by time and war, deep wrinkles filled with exhaustion.

But those sunken eyes burned with two smoldering flames of anger, like solitary stars in a cold night, steadfastly locked onto the demonic army outside the city, surging like a raging tide.

The formation flag gripped in his hand was covered with cracks, its flag face riddled with holes and stained with blood.

It was a tragic emblem, left by the backfire of demonic power, the clashes with otherworldly demons, and the relentless day and night defense, marking each scar and damage with defiance and resolve.

Surrounding the altar.

Cultivators from the Five Continents gathered, sitting at the five corners, serving as anchors.

Their bodies trembled, like fallen leaves struck by frost in late autumn, swaying precariously in the fierce wind.

Yet, relying on tenacious will, their fingers flew rapidly, swiftly changing incantations, releasing beams of spiritual power.

Initially weak like candlelight in the wind, those beams, once united, became a magnificent galaxy, rushing into the precarious protective grand array in the sky.

The formation, once the result of the forefathers’ exhaustive wisdom and dedication, with Biluo City at its core, using the paths of stars as its veins and mountain spirit veins as its foundation.

Upon activation, its brilliance surpassed the blazing sun, its runes lively like stars, safeguarding the city for millennia, witnessing countless prosperous scenes.

Now, under the onslaught of such evil and brutality from the otherworldly demons, it struggled and wailed like a trapped beast.

On the array’s patterns, golden spiritual power lines clashed madly with the surging black, viscous demonic power of the demons.

Each confrontation seemed like the heavens collapsing and the earth splitting, erupting with dazzling light, filled with a stench of blood and decay.

The golden lines were continuously gnawed at, twisted, retreating, screaming mournfully, as if a chain was being torn apart by a fierce beast.

The black demonic power, like a ravenous beast, greedily spread along the array’s cracks, leaving destruction in its wake, as array stones shattered and no grass grew, the pungent decay causing dizziness, near syncope, and throats clutched, coughing out bloody froth.

The cultivators’ faces flushed, neck veins bulging, shouting ancient incantations, their voices shattering in the gale yet still deafening, an attempt to awaken the dormant great power of the formation from the depths of time.

Sweat and blood mixed into a torrent, flowing down their cheeks and necks, dropping onto the altar’s stone slabs, blooming into ghastly blood flowers.

Some cultivators, due to spiritual power depletion, convulsed, with fresh blood gushing from all orifices, soaking their garments as they swayed and fell.

Only to be caught firmly by watchful comrades, who filled the gap like a relay, pouring in all their spiritual power.

No one had the slightest thought of retreat, because in the streets and alleys behind them were thousands of trembling, hopeful kin and compatriots. If Biluo City fell, the Immortal Realm would plunge into endless darkness, becoming a purgatory.

Seeing this, Yan Feng clenched his steel teeth, bit his tongue fiercely, and spat a mouthful of essence blood onto the formation flag.

The essence blood vaporized in the wind, then was absorbed by the flag’s surface.

Instantly, the flag’s surface shone like the sun breaking through dawn, dazzling and radiant.

He swung the flag as if possessed, each swing seeming to tear the void, shouting aloud: "Fellow Immortals, the rise and fall of the Immortal Realm rests on this battle, fight to the death without retreat!"

His voice, like thunder, exploded, resounding through the clouds, shaking the clouds apart and the city walls.

The formation flag’s howl ignited the spiritual power like a beacon fire, burning fiercely, briefly erupting in strong light, transforming into a golden light barrier, fiercely countering the demonic power, repelling wave upon wave of black surges slightly.

Seeing this, the otherworldly demons outside the city became even more frenzied, their howls converging, cracking the earth, collapsing buildings, the cries for help from the people in the city intertwining, as if composing a symphony of despair.

The three-headed demon general at the forefront, towering a hundred feet high, was enveloped in black demonic fog.

The three heads seemed to originate from the Nine Nether Hell, each spewing out poisonous green fog, icy ice blades, and purgatory flames, driving the demon crowd under its command like a black tide, wave after wave, fearlessly assaulting the formation.

Each impact caused the earth to tremble, the altar to shake.

The formation’s light dimmed visibly with each strike, smoke filled the city, and the flickering hope amidst the ruin was constantly torn and crushed by the fierce battle yet stubbornly flickered.

For everyone knew that only by fighting with their lives could they find a chance for survival and see the light of day again.

Just as the formation’s light flickered like a dying candle in the wind, about to extinguish.

The three-headed demon general let out an earth-shattering roar, its sonic waves carrying surging demonic power, causing visible black ripples in the surrounding air, as if intending to distort the rules of this world.

The otherworldly demons under its command grew more frantic, their attacks like surging black tides crashing from all directions with unstoppable force.

Giant power demons, as massive as mountains, swung spiked clubs, each strike carrying a force of thousand pounds, slamming into the crucial nodes of the protective grand array, causing the earth to crack, boulders to fly, golden spiritual power light scattered and dissipated.

The cultivators within the city were already nearly exhausted of spiritual power, their bodies covered in wounds, blood seeping from their lips, their faces as pale as paper.

Bloodshot eyes fixed on the precarious array, every fracture of an array pattern, every vanishing trace of golden light, struck their hearts like heavy hammers.

This was the defensive line they had maintained with all their might, sleeplessly for days, even sacrificing countless comrades to barely hold on to now, and yet it seemed like a decaying rope, vulnerable under the storm.

A young cultivator, full of ambition when first entering the battlefield, dreaming of protecting the Immortal Realm and achieving greatness, now looked at the soon-to-shatter grand array, his hands fell weakly, unable to form another spell, lips trembling, muttering: "It’s over, everything is over..."

Veteran warriors, seasoned by numerous hardships, now also showed expressions of despair, their spines no longer straight, bodies hunched, as if stripped of their backbones.

They gazed at the surging in otherworldly demons, their minds flashing back to the once-prosperous scenes of Biluo City, toasting with comrades, contrasting with the present, knowing they had no power to change the course, each difficult swallow seemed to digest the fury and despair in their hearts.

The western-north corner’s array patterns were the first to be completely torn open by the black demonic power, like a dam breach, the black flood of demonic power surged in, instantly breaking a large section of the golden spiritual power defense line, the protective grand array collapsed with a boom!

The light vanished, leaving only pervasive dust and overflowing demonic might.

At this moment, the hearts of the cultivators also fell into an endless abyss, bodies enveloped in frost, a chilling cold, some collapsed directly to the ground, eyes vacant, staring at the demon-infested sky, having lost all will to resist.

Some stood in place, letting the otherworldly demons approach, their magic artifacts drooping, their souls seeming to have departed, leaving only empty shells, immersed in this despair of destruction.

The otherworldly demons, seeing this, laughed savagely, charged into the city, brandishing claws and teeth at the shivering people in the streets and alleys.

The people were terrified, cries interwoven into a song of despair; children were paralyzed with fear, the elderly trembled with their eyes closed, as if waiting for death, able-bodied men clenched their fists but knew it was futile, their faces full of sorrow and helplessness. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

And at that moment.

The sky seemed to be torn open by giant hands, beams of splendid light appeared in the night sky!

Xu Wendong led the powerful beings of the Thirteen Immortal Clans like divine weapons descending from the heavens, divine might radiating from their bodies, as if to dispel this overwhelming gloom.

The humans in the city saw this and their eyes brightened, seeing hope for survival!