"Why won't you open the gate!?"
On the solemn, ancient sacrificial altar hung a gigantic orb of light in which Chaos surged. At times when the Chaos parted, birds and beasts could be seen, rivers and cloud‑capped peaks. At times when the Chaos gathered, there were green thunder and purple lightning, scarlet flames and ashen gloom.
Beneath the gigantic orb of turbulent Chaos, an angry voice was growling low.
The suppressed pain within it was like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
The one growling was a monk with clear, sharply‑cut features.
A face that should have brought many rays of brightness was, in this moment, buried under suffering.
On his face were wounds carved open by wind‑blades; especially his left brow, where the left third was broken by a narrow gash.
He had come too fast; when he crashed through space, he was wounded by a stray current of wind.
He had almost triggered the counterattack of The gate of all demons and had his Dharma Body ground to dust.
