The golden spiritual radiance completely dissipated. Wang Qi slowly descended onto Linghuang Island with a human head in hand, staggered beneath his feet, and nearly fell. But the movement tugged at his injured organs, and Wang Qi could no longer suppress his wounds. He spat out a mouthful of blood.
Still, it was good that he had not died.
Pure white negative-entropy flames enveloped Wang Qi's entire body. He was too badly injured. The Holy Emperor's immortal power had nearly destroyed his vitality completely. If such injuries had befallen any cultivator who did not understand the Flame of Life, death would have been certain. The Holy Emperor's immortal power still remained within him, continuously inflicting damage. This power could not even be refined.
Still, Wang Qi had ultimately won.
At the final moment, the Holy Emperor had already lost control over ninety-nine percent of his own power. He could not even self-destruct—his remaining capacity for thought was utterly incapable of using less than one percent of his power to detonate more than ninety-nine percent of it.
Wang Qi's final sword, borrowing the computational power of Linghuang Island's Human Dao collective, had covered countless possibilities. It was as though Sword Light had cleaved through the innumerable possibilities of overlapping histories, creating an unbelievable miracle. The Holy Emperor's fleshly body had been divided into several pieces like an ox taken apart by a master butcher.
On closer inspection, a section of spine was indeed still attached beneath the Holy Emperor's head. It did not look as though it had been severed by a single stroke.
Yet the Holy Emperor still had not "died." From a biological perspective, he was still alive. Immortal power possessed inconceivable functions, perhaps even faintly surpassing the Flame of Life. His soul, which had already fused with his