78. The Fake and the Coward (End, 6K)

Angron breathed heavily.

He had to admit it: fighting the daemon version of himself was the most challenging battle he had ever fought in his life.

His stamina was being drained at a terrifying rate, and even this armor, forged by He Shenyan himself, could not keep the stench of blood in the surrounding air from invading his lungs.

So thick it could drown a man. He thought, frowning in disgust.

The daemon's roar rang out—again. He had long since stopped bothering to count.

He raised Lightning Axe, and the crackling Thunderbolt kept the poison sweeping over from the giant runic sword from advancing even an inch, but because of that, it could no longer harm the daemon's hands gripping the blade.

Angron could clearly see the savage grin on its face. It was the grin of someone who thought victory was already in hand, and so he smiled too.

He drew back the axe and abruptly retreated, deliberately leaving an opening for his opponent.

The daemon would not let this chance go—even if it knew full well it was a trap, it would never allow it to slip away. The impulse to kill and make its foe bleed overwhelmed everything else.

"Die—!"

It roared wildly and charged straight ahead, its pressure unmatched, as if a Titan were charging toward Angron.

The Lord of the Red Sands silently lowered his axe and let it touch the ground. With a boom, raging Thunderbolt surged forward, forcibly stopping the Titan's charge and sending it crashing to the ground.

The foul reek of carbonized flesh rose, but the miserable sight lasted only a single second. The daemon sprang up from the ground, the blessing of the Lord of War surging through its veins. Its ruined body regenerated at terrifying speed, already beyond the