Qin He did not stop walking. Each time his toes touched the ground, it was as though they lightly brushed the pervasive demonic mist, producing a barely audible rustle.
Though his expression remained calm, force was constantly gathered at his fingertips. The moisture in his palm had long since been silently sucked away by the Demonic Energy drifting around him.
Demonic corruption brought not only a surge in strength, but also a savage brutality seeping from the depths of his marrow, crashing ceaselessly through every limb and bone.
When the Divine Envoys had withdrawn earlier, he had nearly failed to suppress the killing intent churning in his eyes—a compulsion to tear apart every living being and grind them into dust and smoke.
That feeling was far too unfamiliar, and far too dangerous.
He knew perfectly well that if he turned back to pursue them now and allowed his killing intent to run free, his demonic thoughts would spread like wildfire across the plains, becoming impossible to contain. Even if he managed to strike down the Divine Envoys, he would inevitably fall completely into darkness, reduced to a puppet that knew only slaughter.
Qin He drew a deep breath and forced himself to look away, no longer gazing in the direction the Divine Envoys had departed.
Power itself knew no good or evil. The demonic path or the immortal way, in the end, depended on the Obsession of the one who wielded it.
He had traveled from the Eastern Land to the Abyss, then stepped from the Abyss into the Upper Realm. Never had he been controlled by any existence.
Yet suppressing himself now was far more difficult than resisting the devouring pull of the Demon Abyss.
The Demonic Energy within him still churned, as if dissatisfied that he had abandoned