Li Moxun's voice was soft, so soft it was almost swallowed by the thunderclouds churning overhead.
Yet the instant his words fell, purple lightning surged deep within the sky, like countless enraged pythons tearing the heavens apart.
Between heaven and earth, an illusory figure slowly began to take shape.
At first, it was only a hazy outline. Only afterward did the form of a middle-aged man gradually emerge.
The figure wore old, tattered clothes, with an equally ragged cloak draped over his shoulders. His hems snapped in the fierce winds whipped up by the lightning.
This was Tang Hao's original appearance, and the image most deeply etched into his obsession.
The figure looked so bedraggled because it had been born from Tang Hao's most painful memories.
After his wife passed away, he had already lost the will to live and wanted to follow her into death.
But his young son was still alive, so he could only force down the thought of dying for love and choose to protect his son alone as he grew up.
And so this conflict and remorse became the deepest roots of Tang Hao's obsession.
Now, as the figure fully solidified, a Clear Sky Hammer gleaming with seven-colored light slowly appeared in his rough right palm.
Terrifying lightning coiled wildly around the hammer, every arc carrying enough pressure to crush mountains.
Tang Hao's once-empty eyes now stared fixedly at the Small World below, filled with suppressed fury.
High above, purple lightning continued to churn, as though the entire canopy of heaven were trembling.
Then Tang Hao abruptly plunged downward, hurtling toward the Small World with overwhelming murderous intent.
At the sight, Li Moxun drew a deep breath, then bit the tip of his tongue without hesitation.
He spat out a thread of pale golden blood,