The collapsed icy mountain lay in ruins, with the Frozen Throne suspended in mid-air. The golden light at its base rolled like magma, gripping tightly onto the pulsating dark heart.
However, cracks had spread across the throne's surface like a spider web, with more and more black aura gushing from the gaps, coalescing mid-air into distorted demonic shadows, even making the air sizzle with corrosion.
Majara's avatar stood high in the sky, the black aura forming scale armor that shimmered coldly. His scarlet eyes swept over the people below—from the bloodstained Four Divine Beasts to the pale-faced geniuses of the Empire—the greed and Killing intent in his gaze were almost tangible.
These lively souls and strong physiques were all nourishment for his return to the peak.
The Holy Blood Prodigies gripped their weapons with sweaty palms, their hearts sinking to the bottom.
