Across the pulverized expanse of the volcanic avenue, the relentless clash of divine light and stygian darkness reduced an entire city block to smoldering rubble.
Deep trenches carved by shattered weapon heads and concussive shockwaves crisscrossed the flagstones, glowing with stagnant violet embers that hissed in the subterranean draft.
Thirteen minutes of brutal, bone-splintering combat ground both fighters to the absolute edge of their physical and spiritual endurance.
Every bone hut within fifty paces lay flattened into kindling, and the great basalt statues of forgotten demon chieftains crumbled into flying gravel.
Hajin stood fifty paces from the collapsed citadel entrance, his chest heaving with ragged breaths as pale divine steam vented from every open pore.
The effortless invulnerability of the Borrowed Divine State was rapidly slipping away, replaced by the crushing biological reality of mortal fatigue.
