"No matter how your demonic might towers to the heavens, as long as you haven't advanced to Exterior Scenery, losing your head means certain death."
Qin Tian and Duo'ercha swept past each other. A column of blood shot skyward, staining the ancient, solemn temple red.
The battlefield fell utterly silent.
The renowned Duo'ercha had died just like that.
Half of Duo'ercha's neck had been severed, leaving only a strip of flesh connecting his head and keeping it from parting from his body.
Everyone watched this scene. In their understanding, even the strongest martial artist was still human and still had weaknesses. The head, chief of the six yang, was undoubtedly among the most important.
"Is... is he dead?"
Someone asked hopefully. Everyone stared at the center of the battlefield, hoping for the answer they wanted.
Duo'ercha, who had ravaged the Central Plains and become the martial world's nightmare, had died at Shaolin Temple.
Yet a strange, coarse voice rang out, breaking the deadlock.
"I haven't lost yet!" Duo'ercha dropped his one-legged bronze figure and clutched his neck with both hands. Although Qin Tian had clearly severed his artery and throat, he bizarrely managed to speak.
"The great **** will always protect me!" Duo'ercha declared as a strange, oppressive aura rose.
Rumble!
"Come with me to the grave!" Duo'ercha growled. Terrifying lightning spilled from his nine apertures, profound and intricate, flowing with a strange, filthy power.
"****!" Strange sounds and indistinct words emerged from Duo'ercha's mouth in a chant.
The next moment, pitch-black demonic light burst from Duo'ercha's body. Uncanny, evil, depraved, and bloody, it made anyone who merely looked at it feel an unimaginable hatred.
Hatred for heaven's impartiality, hatred for earth bearing all things, hatred for human joy, hatred for all that was not oneself.
Qin Tian frowned. "That