Words like these carried a bloody stench, utterly merciless. He had once severed the Dragon Saint's body, and now he had cut apart his son's as well.
Father and son, both Saints—this should have been a fine tale, one worthy of a bold stroke in the history books of the Supernatural World. Yet reality was so cold, so cruel.
Under the forbidden-level blade light, dragon scales shattered and scattered. Every fragment of scale was larger than a planet, stained with shocking blood and wreathed in the light of laws.
Blood surged like a breached galaxy, dyeing the Sea of Origin red.
Nine-headed Dragon raised his heads. His muffled roar tore through the tranquil present world. After more than half his severed body crashed into the sea, even the depths of the Sea of Origin turned crimson, its waves battering the heavens.
One boundless continent after another sank beneath the sea.
Nine-headed Dragon's eyes nearly split at the corners. Blood sprayed from his wounds and steamed upward, making numerous Great Stars sway, crack, and then explode.
He was in pain and despair. His enemy from long ago had not died, but had appeared again to intercept him as he crossed the True Saint Tribulation. Yet he had no power to fight back.
He struggled, his incomplete body twisting as he tried to drive the blade light from his wounds. Across his mangled remains, every dragon scale had opened, dripping with blood. Some scales rapidly fell away, leaving him a blur of blood and flesh.
He gazed into deep space. A man whose blood had yet to grow cold, who still held feelings in his heart and gratitude for the past—was he destined for such a tragic ending?
That person had come again, intercepting his father, destroying the Dragon Court, his hands