Six days later.
The Taya Kingdom and the island it stood on had been completely erased from the map. In their place was a massive sinkhole plunged deep below sea level.
The walls of the pit were steep, exposing rock layers that had been crushed and compressed by unimaginable force.
The once-prosperous towns, orderly farmlands, castle that symbolized the kingdom's glory... every trace of human civilization had vanished.
It was as if an invisible divine hand had crushed the island's core like a soft cake, leaving behind only a shocking scar.
At the bottom of the enormous pit, an unnaturally lush jungle had already blanketed the ground.
Giant Ferns spread their thick leaves, twisted vines coiled around towering ancient trees like giant pythons, and all manner of flowers emitting faint glows or strange fragrances bloomed in the shadows.
Meteorite fragments of varying sizes were scattered throughout this abruptly formed jungle, some deeply embedded in the ground, others lodged between the branches of giant trees.
Even more horrifyingly, the incomplete, long-cold corpses of Taya Kingdom residents could be seen everywhere across the jungle floor and among the bushes.
Their expressions were frozen in utmost terror, their limbs twisted unnaturally, as though they had still been desperately trying to flee in their final moments.
They had not been targets of the battle. The mere aftershock of that extraordinary clash had stripped them of their right to live, killing them on the spot.
These corpses illustrated, in the cruelest and most direct manner, the bloody iron rule of these seas—weaklings did not even have the right to choose how they lived, or even how they died.
At the edge of the massive pit, two young figures stood in midair, looking into the distance and taking in the sight below, where hell and paradise