One Sword

That surge was not a gradual climb, but an explosive eruption, as though something had detonated.

Three auras burst from the darkness at once, like three ancient ferocious beasts that had slumbered for ten thousand years before finally awakening, pouncing toward Chu Ming.

Wherever those auras passed, the void began to tremble violently.

It was no ordinary trembling, but as though something within the void were frantically corroding it, seeking to devour this entire space completely. Amid the tremors, countless tiny cracks began to emerge.

Those cracks differed from ordinary spatial fissures. They were not silvery white, but an eerie violet-black.

Violet-black light poured from the fissures and drifted through the void. Wherever it passed, the floating fragments of laws were corroded into nothingness, while the wandering spatial currents were dyed the same violet-black.

The fissures grew more and more numerous, denser and denser.

That stretch of void was covered in violet-black cracks, like a piece of porcelain on the verge of shattering.

Then, three figures slowly emerged from the darkness.

They did not tear through the void, nor did they traverse space. Instead, like evil ghosts crawling out of an abyss, they crawled out step by step from those violet-black fissures.

First came a hand.

That hand was withered as kindling, nothing but skin and bones, its flesh an eerie grayish-black.

The back of the hand was covered in densely packed, bizarre runes.

Those runes had not been carved there. They seemed to have grown from beneath the skin, bulging across its surface to form twisted patterns. The runes were moving.

With every circuit they made, fresh black mist seeped out from the depths of the runes, wrapping around that hand.

The three figures slowly crawled out from the three largest fissures.

They wore tattered black robes.

What color