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... ror with a sneer.

"Dragon Emperor, today will be your death day next year!"

"Try this trick of me! Shenluo Tian burst!"

At the moment when Heitiandi's words fell, he controlled the great emperor's body, who covered the sky and covered the sun, holding the Tiandi's hammer and carrying wild power towards the dragon.

A hammer hit, the sky broke and the earth broke, and the distant planet was crushed by strength on the spot!

"Dragon Emperor, aren't you good at figh ...

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The Scattered Arts, lost pages of manuals gathered from scattered archives from all across the world. Known also as the Old Arts, these are what remained from a vast collection of knowledge that was destroyed during the war that almost wiped out all of mankind. But we prevailed. Mankind rebuilt and reached for the stars.

Wang Xuan, a student of the Old Arts Research Department, had read about tales of individuals capable of inhuman feats, of practitioners ascending to the realm of immortality. But in an age of technological wonders, not many would believe in such tales. Only the truly desperate, and with the wealth and resources at their disposal, could even dream of unlocking the secrets behind these tales.

Corporate greed. This was how the research into the old arts started. But with new discoveries made in the New World, and the Old Arts declared obsolete in the way of the ‘New Arts’, the studies into the realm of the ancients is coming to an end.

Are the immortals real? Can mankind truly break its shackle of mortality and escape death? These are questions that Wang Xuan desperately sought to answer. He was determined to walk down the path of the Old Arts even as he reached for the stars beyond.

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“Evil God of the Universe, You are in every space and time. Present in every dimension of reality and govern the darkness of our world.Oh, almighty Atticus! Hear our plea and grant us your presence tonight, awaken my Lord!”The rain had completely stopped and the strong gale had subsided into the fading raindrops. The night had turned eerily silent and only the sizzling and cackling of the fire entered their ears.Suddenly, they all felt like floating from their feet despite setting foot on the watery, hard ground, as if they were traversing into space. The darkness of the night gradually turned darker, enveloping them, morphing into everyone, like a void eating them slowly. Sequentially, their breathing turned oddly slower. Despite exaggeratedly inhaling air to breathe, it was to no avail, as if a higher entity was limiting them from breathing.Nolan felt his throat and tried to open his mouth to gasp more air but failed. Everyone but him was in a state of indignation and panic as they struggled to breathe to fill their lungs with air. Nolan tried to calm his heart. He closed his eyes and stopped inhaling air in pure panic, instead, he put his heartbeat and breathing into a rhythm. It was hard at first, but after a minute, he found his breathing gradually went stable.His whole being was in pure anticipation of what was going to happen next.After a couple more minutes, the storm completely subsided, the night turned to normal. Nolan remained standing, taking in his surroundings with his eyes closed. Everything turned silent. The eerie atmosphere and the crackling of the fire from the hay figure didn’t even enter his ears. Nolan waited for a couple more minutes, his breathing turning normal. He was reluctant to open his eyes, afraid he might ruin their ritual.“It’s alright now, Young Master. You can open your eyes now.”Nolan’s breathing hitched. He jolted on his feet as he fluttered his eyes open.“Atticus? W-why are you here?”The butler, standing in front of him, a raincoat hung on his arm, smiled. “I am everywhere, Young Master, in order to best serve you.”****Atticus, a demi-god from the underworld, was cast out of his parents' realm and banished to the human world. The reason? He had yet to give them any grandchildren.Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction and is purely the product of my imagination. Any resemblance to real people, events, or beliefs is entirely coincidental. The intention is not to disrespect or diminish any faith or tradition, but rather to explore ideas within a fictional context. Reader discretion is advised.

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