Urban Romantic Divine Doctor Chapter 1627 - 1624: The End Times Arrive

Yan Feng, his cultivation reaching the apex of the Immortal Monarch stage, stood resolutely atop the ancient, crumbling altar in Biluo City.

The demonic winds tore at his black robes, leaving them in ragged strips that thrashed like a soul lost in the encroaching darkness.

His visage was etched with the weariness of ceaseless conflict, deep lines carved by trials and tribulations.

Yet, within his hollowed eyes, two embers of fury burned, unyielding like distant stars in the frigid expanse, fixated upon the demonic horde massed beyond the city, a relentless, surging tide.

The formation flag he clutched was a testament to the fierce struggle, riddled with cracks and pierced by holes, its fabric stained crimson.

It bore the tragic marks of demonic backlashes, the brutal clashes with extraterrestrial demons, and the unwavering defense waged day and night, each imperfection a symbol of defiant resolve.

Around the altar,

cultivators from across the Five Continents were positioned, forming the anchors at five strategic points.

Their bodies quivered, frail as autumn leaves caught in a bitter frost, buffeted by the savage gales.

Nevertheless, fueled by an indomitable will, their fingers danced with incredible speed, weaving intricate incantations and launching vital streams of spiritual power.

These streams, initially as feeble as a candle's flicker against the tempest, coalesced into a breathtaking galaxy upon unification, pouring into the faltering grand protective formation overhead.

This formation, a masterpiece born from the profound wisdom and tireless efforts of past generations, had Biluo City as its heart, drawing power from celestial pathways and drawing sustenance from mountain spirit veins.

When unleashed, its radiance eclipsed the midday sun, its runes animated like constellations, and for countless ages, it had stood as a vigilant guardian, witnessing epochs of prosperity.

Now, battered by the savage onslaught of these vile, otherworldly demons, it groaned and strained, resembling a cornered beast.

Golden threads of spiritual power within the grand array’s patterns violently contended with the thick, viscous, dark demonic energy emanating from the invaders.

Each collision felt like the very fabric of existence tearing asunder, unleashing blinding light accompanied by the noxious stench of decay and spilled blood.

The golden lines were relentlessly corroded, contorted, pushed back, emitting mournful cries, as if a colossal chain was being rent apart by a savage predator.

The encroaching demonic power, ravenous like a voracious beast, greedily seeped into the formation’s fissures, leaving only desolation in its wake, shattering array stones and poisoning the land until only withered husks remained, the putrid miasma inducing vertigo, near-unconsciousness, and convulsive coughing fits spewing bloody froth.

The cultivators’ faces flushed, the veins in their necks protruding as they bellowed ancient verses. Their voices, though fragmented by the howling wind, still carried an awe-inspiring resonance, attempting to reawaken the formation’s dormant might from the depths of time.

Sweat and ichor mingled freely, cascading down their countenances and necks, dripping onto the altar’s flagstones to bloom like grotesque flowers of blood.

Some unfortunate cultivators, their spiritual reserves utterly depleted, began to convulse. Blood erupted from every orifice, soaking their robes as they swayed and ultimately succumbed.

Vigilant comrades, however, swiftly caught them, filling the void like a seamless relay, pouring their own essence into the faltering defense.

Not a single soul entertained the notion of retreat, for behind them lay the huddled masses of thousands, their families and kinsmen, their faces etched with desperate hope. Should Biluo City fall, the Immortal Realm would be plunged into eternal night, transformed into an abyssal purgatory.

Witnessing this dire tableau, Yan Feng gritted his teeth, bit his tongue with ferocious intensity, and expectorated a mouthful of vital blood onto the formation flag.

The essence blood instantly vaporized upon contact with the wind, only to be greedily absorbed into the flag’s surface.

In that moment, the flag blazed forth, radiant as the dawn breaking through the clouds, an incandescent beacon.

He wielded the flag with possessed fervor, each sweep appearing to rend the very void, his voice booming forth: "Fellow Immortals, the fate of the Immortal Realm hinges upon this very clash! Fight until your last breath, yield not!"

His declaration, like rolling thunder, reverberated through the heavens, shattering the very clouds and shaking the city ramparts to their foundations.

The flag’s primal cry ignited the spiritual power like a wildfire, burning fiercely and erupting in a surge of brilliant light. This light coalesced into a golden barrier, fiercely repelling the demonic onslaught, pushing back the ravenous black waves with renewed vigor.

Observing this celestial defiance, the extraterrestrial demons beyond the city walls escalated their fury. Their chilling howls converged, fracturing the very earth and toppling structures. The terrified cries of the city’s inhabitants mingled with these roars, weaving a grim tapestry of utter despair.

At the forefront of the demonic ranks stood a three-headed general, a colossal figure towering a hundred feet, shrouded in swirling black demonic mists.

From the depths of the Nine Nether Hell, three heads emerged, each unleashing a torrent of poisonous green fog, ice blades like frozen daggers, and flames reminiscent of purgatory. These attacks drove the demonic hordes under their command, a surging black tide, fearlessly assaulting the formation in wave after wave.

Each impact sent tremors through the earth, causing the very altar to shake.

The formation’s light noticeably dimmed with every blow. Smoke blanketed the city, and the fragile hope that flickered amidst the devastation was continually torn asunder by the brutal battle, yet it stubbornly persisted.

For it was understood that only through a life-or-death struggle could a sliver of survival be found, allowing them to once again witness the dawn.

Just as the formation’s light flickered precariously, akin to a dying candle in the wind, on the verge of being extinguished.

The three-headed demon general bellowed a roar that shook the heavens and earth. Its sonic waves, imbued with surging demonic power, created visible black ripples that seemed to distort the very fabric of this world.

The otherworldly demons under its command became even more frenzied, their assaults resembling ceaseless black tides crashing from every direction with unstoppable momentum.

Colossal demons, mountains in their scale, swung their spiked clubs. Each strike, carrying a force of thousands of pounds, slammed into the critical junctures of the grand defensive array. This caused the earth to fracture, hurled boulders into the air, and dissipated the scattered golden spiritual power.

The cultivators within the city were depleted of their spiritual power, their bodies riddled with wounds, blood trickling from their lips, their faces ashen and pale.

Their bloodshot eyes remained fixed on the beleaguered array. Every cracked formation pattern, every fading wisp of golden light, struck their hearts like crushing blows.

This was the defensive perimeter they had maintained with all their strength, foregoing sleep for days, even sacrificing countless comrades to barely hold on until this moment. Now, it appeared as fragile as a decaying rope, unable to withstand the storm.

A young cultivator, once filled with ambition upon entering the battlefield, dreaming of safeguarding the Immortal Realm and achieving great renown, now observed the grand array on the brink of shattering. His hands fell limply to his sides, incapable of even forming another spell. His lips trembled as he muttered, “It’s over, everything is over…”

Seasoned warriors, hardened by innumerable trials, now displayed expressions of utter despair. Their spines, once erect, were now hunched, as if their very backbone had been broken.

They gazed upon the surging tide of otherworldly demons, their minds flashing back to the vibrant, prosperous scenes of Biluo City, toasting with their companions. Contrasting this with their current plight, they understood their powerlessness to alter the course of events. Each difficult swallow seemed to digest the fury and despair churning within their hearts.

The array patterns in the western-north corner were the first to be completely rent asunder by the black demonic power. Like a breached dam, the dark flood of demonic energy surged inward, instantly shattering a significant segment of the golden spiritual power defense line. The protective grand array collapsed with a resounding boom!

The light extinguished, leaving only swirling dust and an overwhelming demonic aura.

At this critical juncture, the cultivators’ hearts plunged into an abyss of despair. A chilling frost enveloped their bodies, and some simply collapsed to the ground, their eyes vacant. They stared blankly at the demon-infested sky, having completely lost the will to fight.

Others remained frozen in place, allowing the otherworldly demons to draw near. Their magic artifacts hung limply, their spirits seemingly departed, leaving behind mere empty husks, submerged in the overwhelming despair of impending destruction.

The otherworldly demons, witnessing this scene, let out savage laughter and stormed into the city, their claws and teeth bared, descending upon the terrified populace in the streets and alleys.

The people were overcome with terror, their cries blending into a mournful song of despair. Children were paralyzed by fear, while the elderly closed their eyes and trembled, seemingly awaiting their demise. Able-bodied men clenched their fists, knowing their resistance was futile, their faces etched with sorrow and helplessness.

And in that precise moment.

The sky appeared to be ripped open by colossal hands, and magnificent beams of light pierced the night sky!

Xu Wendong, accompanied by the formidable powers of the Thirteen Immortal Clans, descended like divine weapons from the heavens. A divine might radiated from their bodies, as if intending to dispel the suffocating gloom.

The humans within the city witnessed this sight, their eyes instantly brightening, a surge of hope for survival igniting within them!