The sky roared with the sound of grinding iron and shattered reality.
Thirty six pillars of radiant, golden crimson light continued to hammer down from the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, screaming through the chaotic rift where the two worlds tore at each other.
Millions of rusted blades from the Sword Emperor's domain surged upward in a screaming, metallic storm, meeting the descending beams in blinding flashes of raw destruction.
The air was thick with the stench of ozone, molten stone, and vaporized metal.
Every millisecond, tens of thousands of swords turned into hot ash, yet the old monster's ancient intent forced thousands more into the breach, holding the apocalyptic barrage in a trembling stalemate.
As the clash was happening, Haoran immediately turned towards Wei Zhingyi, and his figure blurred into a streak of pale gold and purple light, skipping across the smoking, cratered boundary between the two realms with effortless grace.
