That bit of fierce light was merely a death-defying final flare. Let alone battling a Saint, even holding on for one more breath was sheer stubborn endurance.
As for Su Yang? This body of his was merely a wisp of divine soul condensed from the light and ethereal qi of the Nine Heavens, and its mana was indeed meager. But his comprehension of the Dao had long since reached its peak. Not to mention that his main body remained in the Primordial World, forcibly tearing open the River of Time and Space with the cultivation of the Heavenly Dao Stage, dragging time itself over to aid him. Lacking mana? With such a foundation, what need was there to make up the shortfall?
Most crucially, his mastery of the Dao had already reached that level. Against a Chaos Demon God relying on self-destruction to exchange for power, he did not need to exert himself at all; a raised hand was enough to suppress him.
The Wild Wasteland Demon God's light flame suddenly soared around his body, a sign that his mana had climbed to its limit.
His black robes billowed fiercely, gales howling around him and tearing through the air with shrill, piercing cries. Then, obscure dharmic chants suddenly rang out in the void. Every word was awkward, every sentence incomprehensible, yet they carried a profound mystery that pierced straight into the soul.
Boundless mana, like a breaching flood, poured entirely into the Book of Fate. In an instant, a blinding radiance burst forth from its pages.
The light flowed through nine colors, so resplendent it seemed not to belong to the mortal world.
The Wild Wasteland Demon God roared at the sky, fiercely pointing his index finger at the Book of Fate. At once, an indescribable fluctuation spread out like