The Demon Beneath the Sword
Shan had completely lost his sense of propriety when he faced the Demon from the Nine Nethers.
The world seemed to narrow into a single point.
Above the arena, black and crimson sword light churned like a storm birthed from the underworld itself. Selena stood at its heart, silver-white hair flowing against the violent winds of Mana, blue eyes cold and unwavering. Her fitted snow-white robe fluttered around her like frost-born mist, yet the pressure emanating from her felt like a mountain crushing down upon all things below.
And before her—
Shan.
A lone figure resisting an apocalypse.
His breathing was ragged, blood trailed from the corner of his mouth, his fingers trembling where they gripped the False Sword. Yet in those dark eyes burned stubbornness so fierce it bordered madness.
Below the stage, Shera's face had long lost its calm.
