"And now?" Wu Heng's tone was like he was reading a financial report. "In seven days, your seven demon legions occupied ten cities in the human world and devoured more than five million souls. Hell's power has expanded by at least forty percent. And this throne of yours—"
He raised his eyes, his gaze settling on the backrest pieced together from seven dragon ribs. "A foundation that would originally have taken thirty years to stabilize was filled in within seven days."
Crowley set down his wineglass.
"So, you came to congratulate me?"
Wu Heng did not answer.
He gave a light push with his thumb.
The angel energy crystal core slipped from his fingertips, turned half a circle in the air, and landed in his palm.
Then he closed his fingers.
Crack.
The sound was soft, like a brittle dead branch snapping beneath a foot in winter.
Crowley's pupils suddenly contracted.
The instant the crystal core shattered, the angelic essence sealed within erupted in an extremely violent, unstable release.
Golden light burst from between Wu Heng's fingers, like tens of millions of hair-thin blades of holy light spraying indiscriminately in every direction!
The closest target was the throne itself.
Those bone spikes, tempered by Hell's energy for centuries, gave way beneath the angelic essence like butter beneath a hot knife.
Starting from the point of contact, web-like golden cracks appeared over the black bone surface. The cracks rapidly spread and widened, while the carbonized outer layer peeled away, revealing the loose ash-white structure within.
At the center of the throne's backrest, a finger-thick crack ran from the top all the way down to the base.
Almost on instinct, Crowley sprang from the throne, retreating three steps and knocking over the small drinks table behind him.
The bottle of 1982 Romanée-Conti