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The lifeless starry expanse grew increasingly real.
Du Ling stood atop a massive altar built from white bones, slowly rising into the skies where the Dao of Death wove together.
His body continued to absorb pale gray filaments, and he rapidly grew in strength.
The aura of death from the outer worlds poured into his still-forming body in ways so subtle that even Pang Jian could barely perceive them. His divine power grew ever denser as time went on.
"Du Ling!"
"The God of Death!"
"Our God!"
A chorus of voices echoed like a tidal wave, as if billions of beings across the starry skies were still worshiping Du Ling, even after his death.
The bone altar beneath him transformed into an ancient kingdom steeped in death, with malevolent phenomena taking shape in its far corners.
Du Ling's confidence grew with every second...
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