Chronicles of the Witch God
When history fades into legend, and legend transforms into myth, when even myths have become mottled and faint, and the sands of time bury all things, our names and our stories continue to flow along
A gray sky, crimson clouds swirling. Along the layered edges of the clouds, lightning flickered. Waves of lightning surged swiftly across the heavens, yet not a sound could be heard.
At the summit of the Celestial Pillar, the great god Qiangliang gripped a stone axe, his foot pressed upon the freshly slain head of a venomous serpent, staring in astonishment at the sky. From the far east to the far west, nearly covering the entire firmament, a purple serpent’s tail was winding and moving at dizzying heights.
The serpent’s body was so enormous that neither its head nor tail could be seen, yet it blocked out the sky wherever the eye could reach.
Its body, obscuring heaven and sun, occasionally slipped into the clouds, blending with the crimson mass. When lightning struck the serpent’s body, a dreadful aura fell from the sky, pressing so heavily that Meng Ming, a hundred feet tall, grimaced and swayed.
“That terrifying woman has lost her temper again—who provoked her this time?!”
An ancient, three-legged cauldron, weathered and patinaed, descended slowly from the clouds. Inside, a thunderous boom erupted, and countless bolts of lightning surged outward. When the flashes faded, all anomalies had vanished—the gigantic serpent body in the sky disappeared without a trace.
…
The sky was dense with black clouds, and torrential rain lashed the earth, splashing up countless droplets.
A pyramid made of crystal glass blazed with light, illuminating the pitch-black night. Dozens of heavily armed men gripped their weapons, clad in raincoat