On the Mystic Sky Sword Sect’s side, stunned awe had mutated into a near-numb ecstasy. Linden’s sword hand trembled, not from fear but from an exhilaration so fierce it bordered on worship. His gaze climbed to the lone figure in the teal robe, swirling with relief, gratitude, wonder, and a raw hunger to touch such absolute might.
High above, Jared lowered his blade, and the devouring vortex of chaos closed as gently as a sigh. With a flick of his sleeve, as if brushing away invisible dust, he fixed Sheldon and Garth with a look that now carried an unmistakable, teasing contempt.
“I really meant to stop showing off,” Jared said, voice lazy, almost apologetic. “But what can I do? My strength simply refuses to cooperate. And now, it’s your turn. Who wants to die first, or do you prefer to come together?”
The calm words tolled inside Sheldon and Garth like the final bell of judgment.
Garth snapped back to himself; raw terror inverted, igniting into a hysteria of rage. He could not accept that the Melded Beastkin Sacred Sect he had built through betrayal and blood had been shredded like paper before this monster.
“Argh! I, Garth Thornscale, will die before I yield!”
His frame swelled, muscles ballooning beneath scales the color of dried blood. Each plate rose like a serrated blade, and black demonic flames roared across them.
Clutching his flame-wreathed axe, he poured in every drop of beastly power, demonic aura, and the strange power obtained after consuming the Enlightenment Pill.
The axe screamed under the overload; along its edge, the fire condensed into the phantom of a black Demon Dragon, exhaling ruin enough to tear sky from earth.
“Demon Dragon Skybreaker! Die!” Garth stamped on empty air.
Space rippled, then burst, as his mountain-sized body became a streak of onyx lightning. The axe, carrying a force fit to birth worlds, came screaming down on Jared.
It was, without a doubt, Garth’s strongest blow to date. After all, it was forged from madness, despair, and an iron vow to destroy.
The winds howled over the shattered plateau, flinging dust against Jared’s robe, yet he stood as calm as still water, facing the attack that would have forced any Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Seven cultivator to recoil.
He did not even bother to raise the sword hanging at his waist. Instead, he lifted his right hand and extended a single forefinger toward the onrushing, roaring axe energy shaped like a ravenous obsidian dragon.
From the tip of that finger, a Chaotic Fire Spark was born—no bigger than a firefly, yet forged from primordial chaos. Within that faint ember slumbered a power capable of burning heavens, of remaking earth, sea, flame, and wind into whatever shape its master desired.
The spark kissed the colossal axe energy.
There was no thunderous detonation, only a sharp hiss, like a branding iron pressed into fresh snow.
The spectral dragon shrieked, its serrated jaws frozen mid-snarl, and then the entire mass of black energy crumbled, inch by inch, into wisps of smoke that the wind carried away.
The Chaotic Fire Spark, untouched, followed the collapsing trajectory of the axe energy, flowing upstream until it settled on Garth’s scaled forearms, where they gripped the giant weapon.
“Argh!” Garth’s howl ripped across the cliffs, so raw it barely resembled a human voice. The sound echoed off distant peaks, scattering flocks of birds into the cloud-streaked sky.
The Chaotic Fire Spark adhered to him like a parasitic flame and spread with terrifying speed.
Scales as hard as spirit-steel, the sinew beneath, even part of the demon soul anchored in his flesh—everything melted, vaporized, or burned to ashen dust beneath the inexorable Law of Chaos.
Agony beyond description flooded every shred of his consciousness. And with the pain came something worse: a primal terror as he felt his strength stripped not merely away but out of existence itself.
The giant axe slipped from lifeless fingers and tumbled earthward. Garth’s massive body followed, limp and weak as it cartwheeled out of the air and crashed into the mountainside, carving a crater wide enough to swallow a cottage.
At the pit’s bottom, his forearms were simply gone, stumps glazed black with swirling chaos that refused all hope of blood or regeneration.
The arrogance and rage that once burned in his eyes had drowned beneath layers of pain and uncomprehending fear.
Jared teleported to the crater’s rim, a ghost of motion, and looked down on the broken beast like a man considering an inferior being.
“Your life isn’t mine to collect… Mr. Riftclaw will come for it in person,” Jared said coldly.
With a casual flick of his sleeve, Jared wrapped the dying creature in a soft current of force, hoisted him from the pit, and flung him toward the distant gates of the Mystic Sky Sword Sect as though discarding refuse.
An elder of the Sword Sect quickly reacted as he caught the mangled opponent in mid-air and shackled him with rune-etched chains and layered seals.
Watching that scene, Sheldon felt the last wall inside his mind collapse.
Garth, whose strength nearly matched his own, had not survived even a single exchange. Terror washed over anger, pride, and everything else.
Escape! I have to escape immediately!
This Jared Chance is no longer human! He’s a monster… No, he’s the devil!
If I stay any longer, I’ll be doomed!
