Lang Tu stood in the arena, gasping for breath.
His five-foot-tall wolf body had shrunk by nearly a full size after burning his killing intent.
His grayish-brown fur had been scorched into ragged patches by the dark red flames of light. Beneath the broad swathes of charred black lay dark red flesh.
His right claw still gripped the axe, but the dark red glow on its blade had gone out completely.
All that remained was a dull, battered old axe.
The bloody light in his dark green slit pupils was slowly fading. Deep within them, those two clusters of dark green light had grown extremely faint, like an oil lamp about to burn out.
But he had won.
That writing bookworm had been chopped into a skyful of scattered light, his soul utterly destroyed, without even a wisp of it remaining.
He stood in the center of the arena, looking up at the slowly dissipating fragments of ink-black light.
The two rows of sharp teeth in his grayish-brown muzzle parted slightly, and he let out a hoarse laugh.
"Haha."
"Hahaha..."
"Lost again?"
"How is that possible? How could we have lost again? I don't believe it. I don't believe it!"
"I don't believe it either. There's no way we lost. Absolutely no way. I wouldn't believe it even if you beat me to death. It has to be fake. It has to be fake."
"Fuck, how could we have lost again? How is that possible? I don't believe it. I don't believe it!"
"Sigh..."
Watching Xie Approaching the Abyss's soul shatter into oblivion, countless cultivators remained silent, but some wore looks of disbelief.
They had lost again.
They seemed to have fallen into a vicious cycle of consecutive defeats. It seemed they really, truly could not win anymore.
Was