"THUMP!"
"THUMP!"
A heartbeat echoed across the void, each pulse growing heavier, louder—more absolute. It rolled outward like a cosmic storm, every beat carrying enough force to make worlds tremble and skies fracture. Reality itself seemed to recoil with each reverberation.
At the center of this phenomenon stood the gargantuan body of the True Primordial of the Void.
An event horizon, stretching for thousands of kilometers, had formed around him due to the overwhelming rise in World Strength. It warped light and space alike, making his figure resemble a living singularity—an embodiment of collapse and infinity intertwined.
And yet, despite all that immeasurable power, Anark's face was deathly pale.
Even the crown of Stars of Origin above his head had dimmed, their brilliance fading as if starved. The immense energy he unleashed was not strengthening him. Every ounce of power he generated was being drawn inward—funneled relentlessly into his heart.
