Concoctor Of Worlds

The Celestial Realm. A place where people would ascend to once they achieved the dream of mankind and became Immortals. Such a holy place, how could anyone spill blood on top of the sacred grounds of the Celestial Realm? How could anyobody within their right minds do that here, on the spot where the Heavenly Palace, the Palace where the Gods of Heavens rested, appeared and granted mortals the power to cultivate? And yet, at that moment, above one of the countless floating islands that make up the Immortal Archipelago, the innermost amongst the nine regions making up the Celestial Realm, a few hundred people surrounded a bloody figure. The crowd of people had looks of greed in their eyes as they stared at the pouch hanging from the bloody figure's belt. This person was tall, much taller than the people surrounding him. Standing well above four meters in height, the man looked more than sixty years old. On his face were a pair of completely blank eyes. The orbs were completely white, without any pupils or irises to adorn the eerie white of the cornea. The owner of this vicious-looking pair of white eyes was currently gazing nonchalantly around himself. He did not waver in the least, as if the deep gashes on his body and the many weapons embedded within posed no real threat to his life, as if everything could be resolved with a single flick of the wrist. Around him were an ocean of people, standing on flying weapons, sword, spear and the like. They emitted pressures that varied greatly, some barely noticeable amongst the others, while some more where so powerful wind currents would rise and batter their clothes, giving them the appearance of a descended war god. However, amongst all those who had varied cultivation, eight people stood out, flying hundreds of feet above the battlefield, staring at the wounded giant below with both arrogance and fear. "To think that he would have so much power after being wounded like so... I can't imagine what would have happened had we not ambushed him just now!" These words were from a fierce-looking, burly, red haired man. He was standing on top of a large battle-axe, his arms as thick as logs crossed in front of his chest. "Named Immortal, Grey Beilord, the Immortal Alchemist. We have indeed underestimated his power..." An old man, his face so full of wrinkles his appearance couldn't be discerned, also spoke. His raspy voice was like a sharp needle, pricking into the listener's brain. His weapon of choice was a long sickle. Despite his age, he stood on top of the long and thin handle flawlessly, his back as straight as a spear; both his feet planted on the sickle's body firmly, he was perfectly balanced. "To think that a single man made us all gather here... he truly is a foe worthy of my respect! It is unfortunate that we had that... disagreement." An handsome man with long, green hair and a thin body also expressed his own opinion regarding the current events. After gazing at the bloodied body of the giant below however, he shook his head and simply sighed, "I wouldn't have minded sparring and drinking together as brothers... however I am afraid that is now impossible!" The man stood on a long and curved blade, a katana more than three meters long. He looked young, in his early thirties, but the knowing glint in his eyes showed that the youth's circumstances were much, much more than it met the eye... "..." A person clad in azure robes, his features hidden by his cloak, said nothing as he stood on top of a large greatsword. As the others spoke, his gaze didn't, even for a second, leave the pouch hanging from the belt of the four-meters-tall giant...