"The second strike."
"Bodhisattva Lowers His Brows."
As Blood Chan Zi spoke the name of the second strike, the phantom of a second monk's blade descended from above his head.
This slash bore no resemblance to the first. Its edge moved slowly and lightly, like a bodhisattva with lowered eyes gently brushing dust from a lotus flower.
Yet beneath that slow-moving edge lay killing intent more than ten times heavier than before.
Where the blade passed, space itself began to unravel, like a sheet of paper set alight at its edges and slowly burning toward the center.
Blood Slaughter raised the axe with both arms to meet it.
This time, his body finally swayed.
A gash more than two fingers deep appeared in the face of his great axe. Blood surged from it, then instantly evaporated into crimson mist.
The Carved Tear on his left shoulder shook violently. A hairline crack appeared along the edge of the teardrop.
"The third strike."
"My Buddha Is Compassionate."
By the time Blood Chan Zi spoke those four words, his voice had grown so faint it was almost inaudible.
His entire body turned into a beam of dark red light.
It merged with the phantom of the final monk's blade above him, condensing into a blood-colored ray as thin as a fingertip.
The ray flew toward Blood Slaughter at an unhurried pace. It was not fast; it moved almost as slowly as someone out for a stroll.
But everything along its path vanished.
The Gold-Patterned Restriction vanished.
The air vanished.
The Saintly Breath vanished.
Even space itself was erased along its path, leaving a pitch-black gouge of vacuum where nothing existed.
Blood Slaughter watched the ray approach.
He did not dodge.
He held his axe across his chest and turned the Carved Tear on