Capítulo 4: Chapter 4 Winter

With a mere thought, our op mc traversed a billion miles, disappearing in an instant and reappearing amidst the profound obsidian embrace of the night.

Welcoming the tranquility that accompanied the dark hours and relishing the wintry breath that whispered through the air, he paused, his eyes fixated on the distant horizon where an image of countless stars danced in celestial harmony.

His divine senses unfurled delicately, extending across the universal cosmos, scouring every hidden nook and cranny, only to find an absence of familiar entities amidst the vast expanse of the cosmic canvas.

Undeterred by this cosmic void, he persisted for what felt like an eternity, minutes merging seamlessly into one another until at last, a faint, elusive flicker of recognition emerged amidst the vast abyss—a distant echo beckoning him forth from an unremarkable world, a place scarce in its communion with the ethereal energies that suffuse the universe.

With another swift mental command, traversing a trillion galaxies in a blink, he descended upon this modest world—a realm scant in spiritual essence, save for the faint resonance of one familiar soul dwelling amidst the mundane humdrum of mortal existence.

"DING!" The fabric of space parted, yielding to the arrival of the distinguished countenance of our esteemed op protagonist.

Yet, as his gaze fell upon the shadowed alcove of the sidewalk, he encountered not the grandeur of cosmic wonders but the weathered form of a slumbering vagrant—a soul cloaked in the tatters of time's indifferent touch.

The beggar lay sprawled in a shroud of tattered rags, a silhouette forged by hardship and toil, cradled in the shadows that were his nightly refuge.

Time had etched deep furrows upon his countenance, weathering skin that bore the creases of unspoken tales and the scars of countless unheeded storms.

His unkempt, salt-and-pepper beard bristled with the traces of a life lived on the edges of the world's regard.

The worn and frayed attire, once hues now muted by the grind of existence, clung to his form, tattered remnants of dignity in an undignified existence.

"Are you here to augment your collection of souls, King of Horrors?" the beggar murmured with a timbre that bore the weight of experience, the words emerging from lips pursed in an unassuming grimace, a voice roughened by the calluses of life's adversities.

The utterance was accompanied by the raspy rise and fall of his breath, a rhythm woven from the fabric of the world's neglect.

In an unyielding portrait of stillness, the beggar, akin to a dormant sentinel, remained frozen in posture, his form a testament to the paradox of existence, seemingly lifeless yet pulsating with an indefinable vitality.

Our op mc's words hung next in the air, a reflection of shared solitude amid the vast expanse of time. "No. There's a peculiar absence of those who share the weight of bygone eras with me," he murmured, the weight of eternity echoing in his voice as he settled beside the enigmatic figure who remained ensconced in an illusion of slumber.

"The past, a relic unheeded, holds no bargaining power here. The present alone persists, and the future, an already scripted saga," sighed the beggar, his voice a whisper steeped in the resignation of a once-proud soul whose aspirations had been mercilessly dashed by the unrelenting march of eons.

Trillions upon trillions of years had washed away the gleaming aspirations, leaving behind the disillusionment of an individual resigned to a fate of inconsequentiality.

His path to further breakthroughs was mercilessly blocked by his fate and lack of talent.

"As time unfolds, more shall emerge from their shadowed retreats. The path ahead, indeed, appears shrouded in inevitability," our op mc concurred, acknowledging the inexorable fate that ensnared beings who had traversed the celestial ladder of existence.

If Nero Deathbinder, acclaimed as the epitome of talent and prowess in cultivation across countless eons, found himself unable to transcend, the portent for those who followed was indeed dire.

"F*ck." The beggar's expletive, reverberating in the emptiness, echoed a bitter acceptance, a testament to the profound truth underscored by Nero's proclamation.

It hung in the frigid air, encapsulating the irony of this beggar's eternal stagnation in the Fifth Stage of the True Immortal Realm.

His grim laughter, once proud and defiant, now rose, echoing through the somber night until laughter transformed into painful spasms, seizing his frame in a paroxysm of mirth and agony.

Our op mc observed this display, his smile a silent acknowledgement of the tragicomedy that pervaded their shared existence in the depths of cosmic insignificance.

In the wake of fading laughter, a profound stillness descended upon the ambient space, punctuated only by the soft cadence of night's whispers and soft dull moaning.

"But you're not giving up, are you?" The beggar's inquiry bore the weight of insight, drawn from a deep understanding of the man's unyielding resolve.

The notorious deeds of Nero Deathbinder echoed through the annals of history, a saga marked by the ruthless annihilation of innumerable realms as offering to a long dead demon god—a canvas stained by the crimson testament of the most grotesque sacrifices ever witnessed in the realms of xianxia.

The malevolent taint of such vile acts lingered, a grim reminder of the grotesque lengths pursued in the pursuit of sinister daos.

"Of course not. I'm on a new path now, one that fractures the very fabric of reality," our op mc disclosed enigmatically, rising from his seated stance, a testament to unwavering determination to embark on an uncharted journey.

"I will see you on the other side, Lucas Frost." With these cryptic parting words, our op mc dissolved into the ephemeral essence of vanishing echoes, leaving behind naught but a lingering essence of enigma.

"Well, this shall indeed be a fascinating tale to witness," mused the beggar, Lucas, a wry smile etched upon his time-worn visage.

His gaze, tinged with an otherworldly knowingness, mirrored the departure of the enigmatic visitor.

With a subtle flourish of cosmic resonance, Lucas, too, dissolved into the ethereal unknown, melding seamlessly into the fabric of the enigma that shrouded their interactions.