Turning the Tables and Walking Away
Your soul withers because of me; your flesh is granted eternal peace.
Fu Qian had never forgotten the second half of King of Prison Break's Honored Name.
And one fact after another had proved that the way to make a soul wither seemed to be to burn it.
Since all conditioned things were like dreams, illusions, bubbles, and shadows, better to let the Madness Flame blaze and burn away my lingering thoughts.
This prison of the mind was indeed extraordinary, and the little ones were pretty good at hiding.
So if they were hard to find, he might as well stop looking.
His attack radius was far more exaggerated than usual, and the golden flames were definitely more than a visual effect.
And because he was using the Tyrant Form, even the tentacles seemed to have a different structure to them from usual, at least as far as Fu Qian could tell.
Instead of moist flesh, they were more like riveted steel whips.
With King of Prison Break's full support, all of this drove deep into a darkness that seemed to have no end.
Boom!
The sea seemed to convulse. It was an odd way to describe it, but in that moment, it was exactly right.
No sturdy barrier had been broken. The thing imprisoning him was far more abstract than that, like the seawater that could never be cut apart.
But now the sea had been set ablaze.
At last, the metallic onslaught subsided. His field of vision was still confined to the span of his arms, so Fu Qian couldn't see any more of the damage—but he believed there was plenty more.
The Tyrant had set the Sea of Mind ablaze, and the apocalypse advanced with even greater abandon.
He still couldn't