Beneath the planet's crust, where even Li Tian's divine awareness dimmed, something chuckled.
The sound echoed through caverns that had not existed moments before, their walls slick with blackened veins of pulsating energy. The earth itself recoiled from the presence, stone fracturing like glass beneath its weight.
"Little Dao," the voice crooned, "you are so... unaware."
Li Tian's consciousness snapped downward, piercing through layers of bedrock—only to recoil as if burned.
There was no physical form to see. Only a void within the void, a swirling mass of hunger that drank in his probing energy like wine.
"Who—"
"Not who," the presence corrected, amused. "What. I am what remains when gods die."
A memory seared into Li Tian's mind: A pantheon of gleaming deities, their golden blood flooding the cosmos as their Dao collapsed.
And at the center of it all—this thing, feasting.
The vision shattered. The presence sighed.
"Ah, but you are too young to understand. Let me... show you."
The earth screamed as the darkness surged upward.
Aboveground, the God of Life knelt in a meadow, her fingers coaxing a sapling from the soil. The other gods watched in awe as petals unfurled in her palm—the first flower.
Then the ground rotted.
The flower blackened, its stem twisting into a grotesque parody of itself. The God of Life recoiled, but the corruption raced up her arm like living tar, her divine flesh blistering.
"What is this?!" the God of War bellowed, his sword flashing—only for the blade to rust into dust mid-swing.
The God of Death stepped forward, his voice hollow. "It is not of this world."
High above, Li Tian wrenched his focus back to the physical realm, manifesting in a storm of golden light. His hand clamped around the God of Life's wrist, and for the first time, his voice shook with fury.
"You dare touch what is mine?"
The darkness hissed, recoiling—but not before whispering one last taunt:
"Mortal souls are such... tasty things."
Then it was gone, leaving only a scarred land and trembling gods behind.
Li Tian stood before his pantheon in the celestial realm, his form radiating barely restrained wrath. The God of Life's arm was healed, but her eyes held a new fear.
"We face two enemies," Li Tian declared. "The Eater beyond our sky, and this... defiler in our earth."
The God of Knowledge (a slender figure with eyes like shifting ink) spoke first. "It spoke of dead gods. It is a scavenger—one that thrives on fallen Daos."
The God of War slammed a fist on the table. "Then we hunt it!"
"No." Li Tian's word silenced the room. "It is older than time. We are not ready."
A pause. Then the quietest of the gods—the God of Shadows—leaned forward. "Then we make ourselves ready."
Li Tian's gaze swept over them. "You will train. You will grow stronger. And you will learn the art of... cultivation."
The gods stilled. Cultivation? For deities?
But Li Tian was already weaving threads of cosmic energy into a swirling diagram—the first Heavenly Cultivation Technique.
"If mortals can ascend," he said, "then so shall you."
As the gods began their training, Li Tian turned his gaze earthward.
The humans, unaware of the celestial storm brewing, had begun to build their first city.
And in its foundations... something dark grinned.