Mirror Memory City's prisms twisted overhead into a shattered glass dome, refracting hundreds upon thousands of overlapping phantom worlds. Chu Mo hung upside down above the abyss, bound by chains. Beneath him surged ink-black currents swirling with vortices; above him loomed blood-cloud demonic miasma roaring with lightning. When the Chaos Sword erupted with its first thread of golden light, every pore on his body trembled—it was radiance more dazzling than the stars, power more searing than molten lava, and a throb more thunderous than ancient war drums.
The instant twelve streams of Chaos Sword Qi burst from his body, the air let out a piercing shriek. The first stream shattered the false mirror images; the second tore apart warped space; the third blasted the dark blood clouds to pieces. The fourth reduced the prisms to dust, the fifth broke the chains into scraps of iron, and the sixth sent cracks seeping through the demon-god totems... The twelve streams of Sword Qi were like twelve ancient gods who had split heaven and earth apart, each wielding a scepter of chaos and carving inviolable laws into the void.
He shattered the chains and stood suspended in the air, while a nine-colored lotus dais slowly bloomed beneath his feet. The first petal gathered Chaos Power, surging like ten thousand galloping horses; the second flowed with primordial radiance, brilliant as a pouring galaxy; the third sealed the breath of demon gods, steady as heavy mountains pressing down from above; the fourth soothed Yun Che's wounds, gentle as spring wind and rain; the fifth awakened Mirror Abyss's consciousness, clear as morning bells and evening drums... The nine petals each chanted a different sword art, yet their resonance formed a battle hymn that shook heaven and earth.
When Su Hanxue's broken sword resonated with the Clone Remnant Scroll, Chu Mo unleashed the Chaos Sword Array. The countless sword shadows were blades that tore through darkness, great axes that cleaved open falsehood, and precious pagodas that suppressed and slew evil; they were heavenly nets crisscrossing above, earthly nets sealed so tightly not even water could pass, and impregnable barriers; they were the howl of golden spears and iron horses, the roar of ten thousand arrows launched at once, and a long cry that could swallow mountains and rivers. Wherever the sword array passed, space was ripped layer by layer like worn brocade, prisms were shattered piece by piece like fragile glass, and black butterflies were extinguished in clusters like tiny fireflies.
As he ran the Primordial Sword Art in reverse, Chaos Fire burned within his meridians. This fire was the ember left behind when Pangu split open heaven and earth, the molten lava where Nüwa mended the sky, the light and heat when Hou Yi shot down the suns; it was karmic fire that burned away falsehood, true fire that tempered souls, divine fire that remolded heaven and earth. Flames wrapped around his body, gold, black, and purple intertwining into revolving yin-yang fish. Wherever they went, Mirror Abyss's black mist retreated, the clone's runes crumbled, and Su Hanxue's cold sneer froze.
At the moment of final resonance, the Chaos Sword collided with the three-colored blade of light. The eruption of energy was like a tsunami swallowing a lone island, like a volcano spewing lava, like a supernova bursting into brilliance; like heaven and earth trembling, like sun and moon losing their color, like gods and demons perishing together. Space cracked amid the thunderous roar, webbed with spiderweb fissures; the prisms shattered in the intense light into stardust-like motes; the blood clouds dispersed in the heat waves into wisps of smoke as empty as nothingness—only Chu Mo's figure remained, like an eternal Sword God, taking the first step against fate amid power capable of destroying heaven and earth.
When the golden dragon devoured the black butterflies, when the blood-red lotus blossomed upon the prism fragments, Chu Mo heard his own heartbeat pounding like war drums. What this battle severed was not merely the enemy's scheme, but fate's shackles; what this sword split apart was not merely the falsehood before his eyes, but the fog of the future; what this roar awakened was not merely his companions' consciousness, but the Chaos Sword Body buried deep within his own soul. Watching the First Generation Sword Master's coffin gradually collapse beneath the earth, he finally understood: so-called destiny had always been a sword in the hands of the strong—write it however you wished.
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