Amidst the deafening clash of blades, Aimou seized the fallen Bologue. She knew Bologue was under the influence of the Confession Song, his mind entirely dominated by delirious hallucinations.
No ti to seek Bologue’s consent, even if he gets angry afterward, she would apologize. The intricate light tracks once again took control of Aimou’s body. This ti, it wasn’t a superficial overlap; Aimou had to delve deep into Bologue’s psyche to rescue him from the power of the Seeker of Glory.
"This ti, it’s my turn to save you."
As if to muster courage, Aimou shouted loudly.
"I’m here to save you, Bologue!"
Secret Energy·Heart Overlapping Shadow.
Their figures overlapped, and imdiately the Sword of Confession swept through the spot where Aimou had just stood. Billowing white mist swept past, and Bologue’s flesh began to rapidly decay, pus continuously oozing.
While Nesanel was entangled in battle, he didn’t forget to kick Bologue away, sending him flying several ters, followed by another terrifying blast of heat.
"Why not just die, First Seat!"
Nesanel roared, the Immovable Sword shrouded in intense heat, stabbing bloody gashes on the First Seat’s grotesquely deford body. The blood barely seeped out before the wounds quickly charred.
After the fierce battle with the Shadow King and the plague’s onslaught, facing the full-strength Nesanel, the defeat of the First Seat was only a matter of ti.
The First Seat was now in dire straits, while the lion before him raged furiously, presenting a rare opportunity to obliterate the King’s Secret Sword, the King’s Shield Guard, and the Wandering Crossroads into the Abyss of the Great Rift.
For a mont, Nesanel seed to agree with the Decision Room’s choices, using this brutal cost to completely sever the festering wound growing on Oath City Oubos.
The scorching intent of death almost bored into the First Seat’s heart, and he collapsed, involuntarily letting out a terrifying scream.
It couldn’t continue any longer.
In the next instant, everything halted, be it the raging winds or the mist. Even Nesanel’s strikes froze in the air. In this frozen scene, even the scattered blood droplets and dust beca clearly visible.
Sothing was coming, a frenzied and eerie presence from the eternal night, striding vigorously towards this place.
The First Seat moaned in agony, the wound on his chest gradually breaking apart and expanding, with blood gushing out, not falling to the ground, but defying gravity and rising upward.
The blood in midair painted an elegant arc, and a bloody arm first took shape, the hand delving into the wound and extracting a white bone. Then more bones proliferated, flesh covering them. Quickly, a woman draped in blood erged from the First Seat’s wound, her waist slightly bent, like a crescent moon.
The First Seat gazed at her, pleading, "Lady, I have offered you everything."
The sound of bells laughed, and she smiled, reaching out her hand, teasingly inserting it into the First Seat’s mouth. Before he could feel the warmth and softness of her fingertips, the First Seat bit off her fingers, chewing the precious flesh.
As the flesh went down, the woman vanished as if she had never existed, and the frozen space-ti was riddled with cracks. Simultaneously, the First Seat felt that sothing was missing deep within his heart.
Once again, the First Seat lost a fragnt of his soul, like shattered stained glass, but as long as he could live, it wasn’t a problem for him.
As long as he could live, many things could be discarded.
Living was everything, a realm of infinite possibilities.
In an instant, the First Seat’s ceaseless hunger was filled. The flesh and blood granted by the Devil bestowed upon him an unparalleled vitality. The wounds from Nesanel’s slashes and cuts healed rapidly, tendons reconnecting, flesh restructuring, and even a dense bony layer covered the First Seat’s body surface, resembling draped White Bone Armor.
The stasis shattered entirely, and the First Seat jubilantly swung the Sword of Confession, playing a thundering lody.
At the mont of tal collision, the bursting blade song turned into a dizzying rhythm. Chaotic hallucinations flashed before Nesanel’s eyes, yet he refused to imrse in the beauty. Every ti her figure appeared, he felt the First Seat was desecrating his mories, only fueling Nesanel’s intense hatred.
"Damn bastard!"
Nesanel roared, sweeping his blade, the surging heatwave transforming into a deadly scorching wind, instantly clearing a large swath of mist, drying the ground. The shockwave extended for several kiloters until it struck the edge of the Great Rift, collapsing a massive expanse of rock.
In his fury, the First Seat vanished from the spot. Nesanel tracked his movents, only to see him charging directly toward Geoffrey. From the beginning, his target was Xilin’s corpse.
Rather than the King of Slaughter needing Xilin’s corpse, it was the Crimson Queen who required it.
Only then could the royal rule continue, allowing her to maintain control over this colossal entity. The First Seat had to bring Xilin back; only then could he live longer.
The battles between Seekers of Glory were asured by the second. When Nesanel pursued, the First Seat was already nearing Geoffrey. Xilin was within arm’s reach, and at this crucial mont, the fallen, almost corpse-like Bologue suddenly twitched. His eyelids fluttered slightly, as if about to open.
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