For the first time, the Zephyro slowed its attack. The blazing white storm no longer pressed forward as it had before, but stopped a few feet in front of Phainon, quietly swirling.
The fiery blade had grazed Phainon several times, each time enough to kill, yet each time it narrowly escaped at the last inch.
Phainon was bewildered. He dragged his battered body forward again and again, only to be scalded by the white flames and forced to retreat each time. Yet, he gritted his teeth and charged again, but the Zephyro never delivered the final blow.
Just as Phainon was forced back once again, kneeling on the golden mountain of corpses, panting heavily, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth in a bright thread, a voice suddenly rang out from within the storm.
Extremely light, extremely flat, like embers falling into ashes.
"... Those who toil in vain are also those who hold the torch."
The voice was devoid of emotion and inflection, yet it carried more weight than any silence that had preceded it.
Zephyro raised his hand, slowly closing it to form a burning, spear-shaped blade. This next move was not about victory or defeat, but about respect.
The white blade rose, slowly aiming at Phainon's brow.
At that moment, the flow of time around them slowed down dramatically.
It wasn't a delusion that Phainon had as he lay dying; rather, the flow of this entire space was truly being suppressed by an unseen hand.
The storm swirling around the Zephyro seemed to have its gears pulled back, causing its rotation speed to suddenly become sluggish.
The fiery blade aimed at Phainon's brow faltered midway, its shrill roar suppressed into a muffled hum; even the dark purple Black Tide that was constantly collapsing in the void seemed to freeze in mid-air.
Zephyro's body trembled slightly, and for the first time, his body showed a fluctuation—a shock and doubt, a tremor as if an old wound had been struck.
Deep within the ceaseless flow of Imaginary Energy within his body, an invisible seal was suddenly placed upon him, cold, ancient, vast, and irresistible, like a hand reaching into his chest and grasping the ball of Destruction fire that had burned for countless epochs, gently squeezing it.
This power of the Zephyro was not unfamiliar; on the contrary, it was chillingly familiar.
" Eternity ".
Zephyro couldn't help but recall his battle with the " Eternity " Emanator; with each strike of that silver figure, the deity behind it would appear and disappear.
In other words, the Zephyro is more like fighting against the " Eternity " Aeon.
For the first time, the body of the Zephyro uncontrollably retreated half a step, the storm scattered for a moment, and the firelight dimmed by half a wisp.
Even this momentary error was enough for Phainon. He didn't think about why the Zephyro stopped, nor did he think about what had changed in that deathly silence.
All Phainon knew was that the enemy standing between him and Nanook was currently unable to move.
Zephyro was positioned to the left front, and the sword to the right rear. He no longer bothered to organize any moves—with a severed arm and missing half a wing, Phainon could barely stand upright.
Phainon knew exactly what he had to do next, and his gaze slowly turned to Nanook was quietly watching everything from a distance.
The crimson flames in his chest and abdomen suddenly contracted inward, then exploded outward, swallowing all his sinews, bones, spirit, blood, and everything he had honed through thirty million reincarnations, burning it into a raging fire that was no longer distinct, leaving only a vague outline.
Phainon spread his left arm, his five fingers pressed together like a knife, his broken body leaning forward, pressing all the power he could still muster and all the obsession that had not yet dissipated into this piercing blow.
" Nanook —I'm rooting for him!"
A crimson fire rose from the golden mountain of corpses, like a red-hot meteor breaking free from the earth, crashing headlong into the center of the still-spinning storm of Zephyro Wind.
laugh--!!!
There was no explosion, no deafening roar, only a minimalist, clean sound, like the piercing sound of a red-hot iron rod cutting through thin ice.
The Great Lord Ravager, who had annihilated countless civilizations, whose blazing white storm had spun for countless epochs, was pierced head-on by this crimson, incomplete, and intensely burning fire.
The storm lost its restraints the moment it broke through, and collapsed to both sides with a roar. Countless flames compressed to their limit spewed out, smashing onto the boundary membrane and burning large areas of charred marks that even the firewall could not format.
Zephyro slightly turned his body, looking at the crimson fire shadow that was no longer recognizable as human, and the fluctuation in his eyes lasted for a moment.
The next moment, the " Destruction " storm that had burned for millions of epochs exploded completely, turning into countless blazing white sparks that fell in a flurry into the quiet wheat field covered with golden corpses.
Phainon did not stop; he could still sense the aura of the Zephyro, but none of that mattered anymore.
He pierced through the Zephyro, through the collapsing flames, through the boundaries of the firewall, like an arrow that would never bend, shooting towards the deepest part of that collapsing void.
Even if it's all in vain, we must give it our all.
Beyond the distant stars, in absolute darkness, a thin, crimson line of fire swept across.
Snap!
A barely audible sound.
A cut appeared on Nanook's unchanging face.
A trickle of golden liquid, unlike anything else, seeped from the small wound and slowly slid down.
It didn't drip into the void, but condensed in mid-air, like a lonely, fallen star that didn't belong to this era, purer than the blood that flowed all the way from Phainon's severed arm.
That wound existed for only a moment.
In another instant, the two all-consuming black masses slowly rotated, like a sleeping giant being disturbed by a passing mosquito.
The wound instinctively closed and healed, the golden blood was swallowed up again, and the cut healed and smoothed out at a speed almost imperceptible to the naked eye, as if it had never existed.
Everything returned to a deathly silence, as if nothing had happened. Yet, everything had already happened.