Chapter One: The Day of Reckoning

Between heaven and earth, within the universe, humanity is not alone.
Other races, civilizations, and exalted beings—once they appeared in this world, but as time flowed and eras shifted, they vanished without a trace, leaving only the faintest, most elusive signs of their existence.
Yet, did they truly depart? Did they truly disappear?
No!
For billions of years, they have gazed down upon us from the resplendent night sky above, and for countless millennia they have guarded us from deep within the earth’s core...
They have taken on myriad forms—perhaps your classmate, your neighbor, your friend... Perhaps, you yourself are one of them, simply awaiting the moment of awakening, when divine power will become your own.
In heaven and earth, throughout the cosmos, the Six Realms coexist: the Celestial, the Human, the Asura, the Beast, the Hungry Ghost, and the Demon.
Eons ago, the first great war of the Six Realms drove the Celestials far from the Milky Way, nearly wiped out humanity, and sealed the Asuras within the earth’s core for eternity...
Billions of years later, humanity on Earth faces endless calamities—tsunamis, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions... Rumors even speak of the world’s end drawing near.
Is it true? Can it be changed?
***************************************************************************
A cold wind swept down from Siberia, and in a single night transformed this small city near the 23rd parallel into an icebound cavern.
Zhou Yu huddled in a street corner, surrounded by dozens of cigarette butts and empty bottles.
The wind sliced like knives across his face, stinging cruelly. Zhou Yu pulled his thin, long-sleeved jacket tighter and slowly, with difficulty, pushed himself up against the wall, his senses drawn by the alluring aroma of bread drifting from a distant bakery. He lifted his head to the leaden, cloud-laden sky.
“It’s about to snow...” Zhou Yu shivered, hugging his arms to his chest.
His legs, numb from long hours of sitting cross-legged on the cold ground, nearly gave out with his first step, and he staggered, almost falling. Pausing to rest for a moment, he then continued on, moving slowly and with effort.
Suddenly Zhou Yu stopped. He looked toward a beggar at the street corner—an old man with hair white as snow, huddled with his head buried deep in his chest, arms wrapped around himself. Scraps of old newspaper, gathered from the trash, were stuffed into the sleeves and legs of his clothes for warmth.
Zhou Yu turned and entered the bakery, using the last of his change to buy a bag of freshly baked butter rolls. He asked the cute, ponytailed clerk for two cups of water, then, carrying the paper bag and the water, stepped outside and made his way to the old man.
He placed the bread and water on the hard, cold marble, gently nudged the old man, and said, “Eat something.”
The old man lifted his head, his cloudy eyes tinged with wariness.
Zhou Yu smiled gently, sitting beside the old man, handing him a roll and taking one for himself.
Holding the warm, fragrant bread in his hand, Zhou Yu found he had no appetite at all. After two tasteless bites, he forced down a few sips of water, left the rest of the bread, and rose to step back into the biting wind.
Behind him, the old man watched the lonely, desolate figure disappear into the cold, parted his lips and murmured softly, “Thank you.”
The wind howled like a dirge, the sky dark and heavy, the leaden clouds thick as if about to collapse. Zhou Yu stopped, spread his arms wide, and shouted at the oppressive sky, “Snow! Come on! Damn it, I will succeed someday! Cough, cough...”
The wind stabbed into Zhou Yu’s throat, making him cough violently.
A night of cigarettes and alcohol, now compounded by the freezing air, left his throat blazing with pain after the shout—a searing agony, as if his lungs had coughed up blood, and a salty, metallic taste flooded his mouth. At that moment, a hand gently patted his back.
After a long while, Zhou Yu finally caught his breath and turned to see three men behind him—each in a black trench coat, black sunglasses.
“Thank you,” Zhou Yu gasped, steadying himself.
“You want to succeed?” one of the men in black asked.
“I will succeed,” Zhou Yu replied, frowning, but without hesitation.
“And what kind of success do you want?” the man pressed.
Zhou Yu hesitated. Success? To be rich? To make Jie regret not staying with him? Was that truly what he wanted?
“There’s no need to think too much,” the man in black said, seeing Zhou Yu’s confusion but giving him no time to ponder. “Your path has already been decided.”

“Brother, we’re out of time!” another man in black interrupted urgently.
At that moment, Zhou Yu noticed a car across the street slowly rolling toward him—and to his horror, the driver’s seat was empty. Then, suddenly, crowds surged into the street from all sides, someone shouting, “Earthquake! Run!”
The man in black gave a wry smile, pressed his hand to Zhou Yu’s chest, and said, “There’s no time to explain.”
Before Zhou Yu could react, the three men in black surrounded him, each pressing their right hand to his body. A faint white glow emanated from their hands, growing stronger, then, in a blinding flash, enveloped Zhou Yu completely.
A streak of dark blue lightning shot down from the sky, etching a jagged crack of white as it struck Zhou Yu. With a thunderous bang, Zhou Yu, shrouded in white light, vanished from the street.
The onlookers stared in terror, unable to comprehend what had just happened.
“After all these years, those damned bastards seem to have forgotten what fear is,” the leader of the men in black muttered, pulling a cigar from his coat. It lit itself as he placed it between his lips.
“Will the King make it in time?”
“Minos, you must always believe in our King. He will return.”
“Until the King returns, let’s have some fun...”
A flash of white light—and all three men in black vanished from the street as if they had never been there, leaving only a faint smell of cigar smoke lingering in the air to prove the events were not a dream.
The crowd, shocked for only a moment, lapsed back into panic. The earth trembled violently, deep cracks tearing across the street, wide enough to swallow people whole. Towering buildings collapsed, ruthlessly destroying what little hope the terrified people still clung to...
In just a few minutes, this once-bustling city was reduced to ruins by the sudden earthquake.
Three thousand kilometers away, a great mountain began to tremble, then split apart.
Between the parted peaks lay a military base, its ranks of grim-faced nuclear missiles pointed skyward toward the thick storm clouds.
Inside, an elderly man with snow-white hair stood outside a reinforced glass window, staring unblinking at the thousands of nuclear warheads. He had held that posture for six hours.
“Report! Earthquake in City A—but they found the target before it struck. The target has been safely transferred. The plan proceeds smoothly!”
The old man waved his hand for the subordinate to withdraw, then resumed his silent vigil.
“Report! The Americans are ready!”
“Report! The Soviets are ready!”
...
“Report! Nuclear launch countdown about to begin! Please give the order!”
The old man’s fist clenched behind his back, his spine straight as a rod. In his steely gaze, a flash of sorrow flickered and was gone. He made a slight gesture to execute the plan, then exhaled deeply. “Inform the Americans and Soviets—launch in ten minutes.”
An hour earlier, the White House was thick with coffee aroma, the first African-American president in history savoring his cup.
His aide burst in. “Mr. President, everything is proceeding as planned.”
The president took a sip, then set his cup down with a sharp crack. “Good. Tell those old men at the Defense Department—launch every goddamn missile! Wait, Jack! You’re coming with me!” He sprang to his feet and followed his aide out.
They entered an elevator deep in the White House basement.
“Jack, don’t be nervous. We will win.”
“But, sir, our enemy is the gods themselves.”
“To hell with the gods! If they abandon us, we’ll beat the crap out of them with the devils!”
The president and his aide descended to the underground levels, then boarded a silver-gray, all-metal train. With a burst of flame, it shot down a pitch-black tunnel.
Minutes later, the president and his aide stepped out into Area 51 amid the Nevada desert.
“Mr. President, welcome.” A staffer, busy at work, looked up in surprise, hastily removing his headset.
“Carry on,” the president murmured, holding a finger to his lips for silence.

Rows of advanced equipment blinked and beeped, while hundreds of scientists and soldiers in Area 51 worked with focused intensity.
“Jack, get me a live TV broadcast,” the president said suddenly upon entering the command room.
“Sir...” Jack hesitated.
“Jack, this may be the last time. My people deserve the truth. They are the true masters of this nation.” The president gripped Jack’s shoulder, eyes locked with his.
After a moment, Jack nodded. “Yes, sir!” and hurried out.
Fifteen minutes later, in New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, Washington—across the nation, people froze in the streets, office workers put down their tasks, housewives settled on the couch, all watching as the president appeared on television.
“Ladies and gentlemen, good afternoon. This is Area 51.”
“Perhaps now is the time for farewell—for we must face the truth. Yes, the dreadful rumors are true. The damnable gods have abandoned us! Now, they gather the sun’s energy, seeking our destruction.”
“They have forsaken us, but ironically, the so-called demons—the Asuras dwelling within the earth—stand ready to fight by our side.”
“In one hour, our air forces, joined with others around the world, will launch the greatest aerial battle in human history. Today, ‘humanity’ has taken on a new meaning. We can no longer squander ourselves over trivial differences. We must unite for our common survival. Before the accursed gods destroy us, we must strike back!”
“Today, we fight again for our freedom—not to escape tyranny or oppression, but simply to endure.”
“If we win today, the world will proclaim with one voice: ‘We will not go quietly into the night. We will not vanish without a fight. We will live on. We will survive.’ So today, let us lift our heads, stare down the gods who abandoned us, clench our fists, smash their teeth, and show them our fury! And last—know that I love you all.”
The screen shifted: a fleet of over a hundred colossal spacecraft hovered around the sun, sailing toward the camera. Behind them, the gods, faces expressionless, gathered solar energy...
The image changed again: three gods, wielding divine weapons, joined forces to blast an Asura into the sea. Immense energy struck the deep blue waves, creating a towering tsunami. Ports were swept away, cities drowned. A line of text scrolled beneath: 2005, Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans, USA.
Another image: a world of underground magma, five gods locked in battle with two Asuras. The gods unleashed their full might; the Asuras, constrained by some concern, fought defensively. In the end, five gods killed the two Asuras. The underground realm collapsed, lava surging. Aboveground, houses crumpled like paper, cities reduced to rubble. Text beneath: May 12, 2008, Sichuan earthquake, China.
...
...
Image after image flashed by. With narration and captions, the world finally learned the absurd truth.
Within the universe, the Six Realms exist: Celestial, Asura, Human, Hungry Ghost, Beast, and Hell.
Hundreds of millions of years ago, the Celestial Realm sought to unify the Six Realms. The Asuras rose in rebellion. In the end, the Asura King sacrificed himself to protect the neutral Human Realm from annihilation. The Asuras were utterly defeated and cursed never to see sunlight, doomed to dwell in the earth’s core. The Celestials, too, suffered grievous losses and had to retreat, but left behind several gods to spread religion and mislead humanity, drawing upon human faith to strengthen themselves.
Only in recent centuries have the Asuras begun to break free and return to the surface.
With the help of the powerful Asuras, human technology advanced by leaps and bounds.
Yet prosperity was short-lived. As human science progressed and the Asuras returned, the Celestial gods sensed a threat and revived their plan to destroy humanity and the Asuras.
Gods appeared across the world, hunting Asuras who broke the seals, causing the disasters of recent years.
Gods assassinated scientists on the verge of breakthroughs.
Gods exploited religion to incite wars among humans.
...
A year ago, when the gods saw that these tactics could not halt the rise of humanity and the return of the Asuras, they began to use ancient rituals, gathering solar energy to annihilate both humans and Asuras.
After earnest deliberation, humanity’s elites and the Asuras decided to form an alliance and challenge the Celestial Realm in a final battle.
Thus, on this day, humanity gathered every nuclear warhead in the world and hurled them into space, hoping to thwart the Celestials’ plan of annihilation. The elite Asuras joined them in outer space, ready to engage in a desperate struggle among the stars.
This day would be remembered by future generations as the Day of Final Battle.