The colossal, cosmic pupil carved into the torn firmament pulsed with incandescent, celestial fury.
Around the jagged tear in reality, the atmospheric pressure reached levels capable of turning iron into liquid slag, yet the eye's burning, golden gaze remained fixed on the solitary silhouette hovering in the sky.
Haoran simply stared at the eye.
He did not tremble, nor did he lower his head in reverence. His three divine eyes met the gaze of the cosmic entity with cold indifference.
The straight, pitch-black blade of Azathoth rested loosely in his right hand, its tip dripping with wisps of consumed tribulation thunder, reflecting the celestial light with hollow hunger.
The Heavenly Dao stared back.
At this moment, Haoran had really angered it.
To the supreme, fundamental will governing the balance of the mortal and immortal planes, what Haoran was forging was an unforgivable sin against creation itself.
