In the desolate wilderness, the night wind wailed like the sobs of lost souls, scattering the lingering echoes of slaughter from Spirit City's midnight.
In a secluded forest valley a thousand miles away lay a desperate land untouched by human presence. Jagged rocks rose everywhere, ancient trees towered overhead, and thick layers of fallen leaves blanketed the ground, concealing every trace. Having finally escaped the detection range of every force in Spirit City, Tang Hao could no longer withstand his grievous injuries and utter exhaustion. His body suddenly gave out, and he crashed to his knees.
Half his body was a mangled mass of flesh and blood. Broken ribs pierced through his skin, exposed flesh mingling with clotted blood from his organs in a horrifying sight. The Clear Sky Douluo, who had once intimidated the entire continent, now breathed so faintly that he seemed on the verge of death. His Soul Power had completely collapsed, and he no longer had even the strength to maintain his spirit's protective barrier. He had truly become a dying man.
From beginning to end, heaven and earth remained silent, without the slightest trace of divine radiance. The Asura God's arrangement had been flawless—leaving no trace while paving the way and withdrawing with absolute finality, without a shred of divine power fluctuation for anyone to investigate. This scheme spanning dimensions had, in the eyes of the world, merely been an ordinary prison break in which lives were traded for lives.
"Dad..."
Tang San steadily supported the kneeling man. There was none of his former trembling or panic in the boy's voice; it was cold, dead, and devoid of warmth.
The pure, kind, faint light of compassion for all living beings that had once lingered in his eyes was utterly extinguished the instant Tang Hao coughed