In the deathly stillness, everything seemed to freeze.

The blood rain falling from the sky was frozen by the frost that shot up into the sky, hanging still in the icy wind as the world fell into solemn silence.

Only beyond the Sky Dome did roars and thunder sound.

When a dazzling flash passed from beyond the heavens, a sharp, piercing collision noise resounded from the fissures in the blood-red sky.

The world trembled mightily before this incomprehensible force from nowhere.

Then, the clouds shattered, and an endless blaze gushed from beyond the heavens. Flesh bloomed like trees, with the doomed child's hands struggling to grasp at the cracks in the sky.

It was as if in impatient anticipation of birth.

But was it the joyful cries of birth, or the painful wailing of demise?

Amidst those shrill cries, mingling jubilation and despair that no one could decipher, a colossal wreck then fell from the sky, burning and shattering the crumbling clouds, radiating a vast glow of aging and despair.

That was the Sun. The Sun was falling, for the eternal night was coming.

"Come, Luo Xian." Huai Shi gripped the sword hilt tightly and murmured softly, "I will wager my all—"

In that instant, the White Horse bathed in blood followed the Prince's roar, hooves thundering down, charging toward the enemy, pursuing the last glimmer of light.

The Sword Blade was raised, leading the last gleam, shattering the darkness ahead.

With his back to the wailing Sun, he moved forward, his figure seeming to Melt into that glorious yet mournful orb, just like the Prince, shining brightly.

The numerous afterglows scattered upon the ground also seemed stirred by the horse's advance. They rose like fireflies, following the glow, soaring into the sky, and vanishing into the darkness.

"How blinding, Prince," Luo Xian gazed at the burning trail, smiling softly, murmuring with either longing or anger, "Please, grant me redemption, Lord Prince…"

The darkness roared!

From the rolling darkness, the gruesome Pumpkin Carriage violently shook, thundering forward.

The blood rain twisted upwards, defying gravity, flying toward the sky.

Those fierce, writhing red tendrils, adorning the spreading darkness, were the Power overflowing from Luo Xian's shattered Soul, erupting and finally breaking through the invisible barrier.

They clung to this tangible patch of blackness, drawing in the consuming fog of pain and coalescing into a solid form. Their wings unfurled, iron-like scales spreading open to reflect the last gleams of the Sun. They shrieked to the heavens, ferociously subduing all other sounds beneath this enraged roar.

This was the Disaster Miracle born from the despair and pain accumulated within a human shell over twenty-four long years, born from a soul from the Abyss.

Just a fleeting glimpse was enough to command the terrifying authority that made the Abyss Horde submit; even the mere gestating embryo of Disaster possessed a sinister essence that filled all onlookers with horror.

It was a Dragon—a Demon Dragon of darkness!

At this moment, not just the audience before the screen but even Di Ting couldn't help but feel his eyelid twitch frantically.

"Just the Soul alone achieving such a Metamorphosis into a Demon Dragon—isn't this talent a bit too exaggerated?"

He scratched his face in distress. For the first time, he felt that commentary was a difficult job. When he turned back to Bai Ze, he couldn't help but sigh.

"Do you think he can win?"

Bai Ze looked back at him as if he were a fool.

"Is that even a question?" she regretfully concluded. "He is sure to lose."

The God Beast, capable of seeing countless historical divergences, had already glimpsed the one inevitable outcome among a hundred thousand different branches. This was an end that no amount of Luck or wisdom could alter.

In what seemed like admiration, Bai Ze sighed softly.

"He's doomed."

In that instant, as the carriage thundered along and the spectral Demon Dragon spread its wings, raising hurricanes and blood rain, the ground ahead, the clouds, the sky—all insignificant specks of dust—crumbled.

Bearing this already overwhelmingly heavy Abyssal love, it opened its maw to the Prince before it, baring its heart and then letting out a deafening roar.

The terrifying Source Fluctuation gathered in the dragon's throat. Pain and despair ground against each other, colliding to spark blinding flames.

Then, with a roar that shook the heavens and earth, white-hot firelight emerged from the depths of darkness. It swept magnificently onward, engulfing the last glimmers of the falling, waning Sun.

Dragon fire blazed, rushing forth!

In that instant, the White Horse leaped into the air.

It neighed, galloping through the wind, nearly soaring, its long mane billowing like a banner.

Huai Shi, clutching the sword hilt, suddenly found verses from the Abyss rising in his consciousness.

[Do not go gentle into that good night.]

[Old age should burn and rave at close of day.]

[Rage, rage against the dying of the light.]

[Rage, rage against the dying of the light.]

In that instant, the Sword of Virtue transmitted a fine vibration, and as Huai Shi chanted silently, it emitted a metallic roar.

The Stigma of the Mountain Ghost suddenly extended thousands of tendrils, entering the myriad ancient inscriptions inside the hilt, transforming the surging vitality into pure radiance, adhering to the Sword Blade.

Like the first ray of hope at dawn.

"With my whole Soul committed to this sword, Virtue shall live on in our legend—"

Amidst the reverent chanting of countless voices in a trance, Huai Shi raised his arm, exposing the Sword Blade's blazing light before the destructive dragon fire.

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