While the blood-soaked soil of the Rising Dragon Sect buckled beneath an apocalyptic sea of flame, venom, and severing blades...
Shen Haoran remained hovering in the air, his robes completely undisturbed by the howling drafts rising from the slaughter below.
His fingers remained locked around the hilt of the Black Imperial Sword, Azathoth, its blade still buried deep inside Chen Feng's hollow, mangled sternum.
The White Dragon Emperor's head hung like a dead weight, his eyes glassy, his vital fires completely extinguished.
Within the boundless, primordial expanse of Chen Feng's fading spiritual sea, the final phase of assimilation had reached its apex.
The titanic silver dragon lay entirely pinned beneath the spiritual gravity of Haoran's might.
The tripartite halo of incandescent gold, silver, and deep abyssal purple continued to turn behind Haoran's soul-form like the cosmic gears of creation.
