Chapter 510: Divine Power Stripped!

The old god who fell from the clouds!

The instant the crimson-gold light pierced Tai Xu's brow, his body felt as if electrified.

His whole body tensed like a drawn bow, the veins on his neck bulging.

His mouth gaped open, yet he couldn't make a sound.

Only a dry, rasping 'heh-heh' came from his throat, like a bellows leaking air.

Sun Wukong's iron staff pressed firmly against his brow, his wrist utterly still.

He was waiting.

Waiting for that force to bore completely inside.

Waiting for the process to begin.

After three breaths, Tai Xu finally made a sound.

It was not a wail.

It was a hoarse roar torn from the depths of his soul, like a living person being flayed.

Ah——————!

His body began to change.

Starting from the crown, his originally black hair turned white strand by strand, then yellow, then brittle, and snapped off one by one.

His facial skin loosened, sagged, and withered at a visible speed.

That face, once awe-inspiring and unrivaled, became a wrinkled old hide in just a few breaths.

His teeth loosened and fell out one by one, striking the ground with a faint clatter.

Tai Xu's legs gave way, and he collapsed onto the rocky ground.

He tried to prop himself up, but the muscles on his arms had completely atrophied, leaving only a thin layer of dry skin over the bones.

He could no longer even prop himself up.

Uh……uhuh……

He opened his toothless mouth, saliva dripping from the corners, his eyes clouded like dead fish.

Over three hundred old gods watched this scene with their own eyes.

Watching their leader, the highest cultivator who had lived over a hundred thousand years, in just a few breaths go from a mighty being to a feeble old man who could barely walk.

Some vomited on the spot.

Some fainted outright.

More began to weep.

They wailed loudly, snot and tears smearing their faces, rolling on the ground like a bunch of maggots whose tendons had been ripped out.

Sun Wukong retracted his iron staff.

He didn't even glance at Tai Xu.

He began to chant.

It was an ancient incantation from the Chaos Void; each word he uttered made the surrounding space tremble.

It was not a vibration.

It was fear.

Even space itself feared this incantation.

Upon reaching the third line, Sun Wukong thrust his right hand forward.

Golden light burst forth.

Not a single beam, but hundreds.

Each was as fine as a hair, yet blindingly bright.

They seemed to have eyes, precisely shooting at each old god lying on the ground.

No——!

I don't want——!

Kill me, please, just kill me——!

The cries and shouts drowned out everything.

But the golden light paid no heed.

They pierced each old god's body, writhing, coiling, and tightening inside.

Then they began to pull outward.

What was pulled out were clumps of light.

Some were crimson, some were deep blue, some were deep purple.

That was their divinity.

It was the essence they had condensed over tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of years of cultivation.

It was their foundation, their life, the sole thing that set them above others.

Now bound by a golden chain, it was being dragged out of their bodies inch by inch.

That pain was not of the flesh.

It was the agony of the soul being torn apart alive.

It was the pain of consciousness being split apart piece by piece by fingers.

It was the pain of clearly feeling one's power drain away while being utterly powerless to stop it.

Worse than death.

Ten thousand times worse than death.

Because once you die, you don't know anything.

This——they stayed fully conscious throughout.

A tall goddess knelt on the ground, her hands tightly covering her face.

She was originally the most beautiful among this group of old gods.

Her skin was fair as snow, her beauty could topple cities; over tens of thousands of years, who knows how many have bowed at her feet.

But now what lay beneath those hands was no longer the face she knew.

Her skin was sinking, withering, and growing age spots.

Her fingers were deforming, joints swollen, bending like withered branches.

She knew what had happened.

She dared not let go to look.

But the back of her hand had already told her the answer—it was covered in wrinkles, protruding veins, and brown spots.

That was an old woman's hand.

She finally couldn't hold back.

She moved her hand away from her face.

She lowered her head and saw the reflection on the gravel ground.

A withered face, etched with grooves.

Her eye sockets were sunken, cheekbones high, lips dry and cracked inward.

Her white hair was so thin her scalp could be seen.

"Ahhhhh——!"

She went mad.

She clutched at her few remaining hairs with both hands, rolling and tumbling on the gravel.

Gravel scraped her face, leaving bloody streaks, but she felt none of it.

Her snot and tears mixed together, smearing her whole face.

She couldn't bear it.

After tens of thousands of years, the thing she was most proud of is gone.

What she cared about even more than Xiūwéi is gone.

She would rather die.

But now she doesn't even have the strength to die.

She was just an ordinary Mortals old woman who got winded after two steps, as old as could be.

Sun Wukong did not stop.

The golden light continued.

One after another.

Row after row.

The old gods' howls mingled together, echoing across the entire ruined star field.

Some twitched, some vomited, some rolled their eyes and lost consciousness outright, but the golden chain didn't care whether you were awake or not—it stripped you regardless.

Magic surged from within them, like a breached reservoir.

It gushed out with a splashing sound.

It couldn't be blocked, stopped, or pleaded for.

Tens of thousands of years of accumulation.

All gone in an instant.

It scattered away cleanly, leaving not a trace.

The golden light gradually faded.

The incantation was finished.

The whole ruined star field fell silent, like a graveyard.

The ground was covered with people.

No, the ground was covered with 'Mortals'.

Over three hundred withered, aged Mortals who couldn't even crawl.

Some still wore their fine robes, but on their stooped, emaciated bodies they were huge, like a bedsheet draped over them.

Some shed silent tears.

Some retched quietly.

More just lay there, staring blankly into the void.

Alive, but worse than dead.

Sun Wukong hoisted his Iron Staff onto his shoulder and turned to walk toward Yao.

He had taken two steps when he stopped again.

He glanced back at the 'former old gods' strewn across the ground.

"From today on, you go to the mortal realm."

"Farm. Haul manure. When hungry, beg for food; when cold, gather firewood."

"Live until death."

No one replied.

No one had the strength to reply.

Sun Wukong no longer looked at them, striding over to Yao's side.

Yao retracted the Dream Realm membrane sealing the space, tilted her head and glanced at him: "Going?"

"Going."

The two turned into flowing light and shot up into the sky.

Behind them lay only over three hundred limp corpses in the rubble, and a silence deeper than Deathly Silence.

Taixu lay in the middle.

The toothless mouth opened and closed, not knowing what it was saying.

Perhaps it was cursing someone.

Perhaps it was weeping.

Perhaps it hadn't said anything at all, merely not yet accustomed to breathing with mortal lungs.

In his peripheral vision he caught sight of his own hand.

A withered hand, full of old calluses and wrinkles, a mortal's hand.

He couldn't even clench a fist.

Tears slid from his cloudy old eyes, seeping into the ground littered with stone dust, soundless and traceless.

And at the far end of the Universe.

The deep blue flames at the base of the Seal Tree had gone from one to three.

They were arranged in a triangle, pulsing slowly.

With each pulse, the seal markings on the trunk grew dimmer by a fraction.

At the center of the flames, an eye was forming.

The colour of that eye was exactly the same as the Bodhi Patriarch's.