The celestial junkyard stretched endlessly in every direction, a graveyard of divine machinery and broken ambitions. Luo Feng stood amidst the wreckage, fingers tracing the shimmering edges of the dismantled System UI spread before him like some grand architect's vision. The fragments pulsed with residual energy, casting shifting patterns of light across his face—blueprints for a new beginning, written in the language of a defeated god.
At his side, the Fox Spirit perched on a pile of dented celestial armor, her tails flicking with barely contained mischief. She pointed one clawed finger toward a particularly jagged shard of dark metal—a fragment of the Void Emperor's throne, still oozing traces of that familiar, oppressive energy.
"Make the bar stools out of that," she said, grinning. "Imagine his face when he realizes his glorious seat of power is now propping up drunkards and mercenaries. It'll piss him off forever."
Luo Feng couldn't help but smirk. The mental image was too satisfying to ignore.
Nearby, the Death Queen knelt, her fingers dipped in a vial of ink so venomous it hissed against the air. She dragged a claw across a polished slab of obsidian, etching jagged, elegant strokes into its surface.
"No Gods Allowed," she murmured, admiring her work. The letters smoked faintly, the venom searing the words permanently into the stone. "Finally, a use for this ink that doesn't involve assassination contracts."
A sharp crack split the air. They turned to see Li Qing standing before a massive block of eternal ice, her sword moving in precise, controlled arcs. Shards splintered away, revealing the smooth interior of what would soon become the tavern's ice coolers. A passing minor deity—some forgotten wind spirit—made the mistake of flipping her off mid-flight. Without breaking focus, Li Qing flicked her wrist. The gesture froze midair, the god's rude finger encased in a perfect, glittering prison of frost.
Luo Feng sighed. "We're really doing this, huh?"
The Fox Spirit draped herself over his shoulders, her breath warm against his ear. "Oh, we're not doing anything. You're the one who decided to turn the remnants of divine order into a drinking establishment."
He opened his mouth to retort—then stopped. The ground beneath them shivered. Not in fear, not in protest, but in something far more unsettling.
Recognition.
The tavern's foundation flickered, the edges of reality itself warping for the briefest instant. Luo Feng's stomach dropped. He knew that sensation, that particular flavor of unstable cosmic energy.
Because they weren't just building on sacred ground.
They were building on the corpse of the Godforge.