Chapter 719: Reality Sundered
’Hey, bastard,’ Adam called out in his mind, the words echoing inside his soul sea. ’Time to pay rent. And don’t even try to extort me. You’re in more danger than I am.’
’I...’ A deep whisper began, then choked into silence.
Buried in the scorched earth of an island girded by rivers of fire, Aamon’s cleaver shuddered. Sulfur thickened the air, and the crimson gem embedded above its skull-hilt pulsed, alive with malice.
’I wish I could watch that celestial whore torture you, accursed liar, defiler of eternal relics. But...’ The cleaver’s tremors deepened, then stilled—as if steeling itself. ’Fifty millennia sealed in a coffin like Andras’s puppet isn’t part of my plans. You can use me—only this one time.’
With that, it vanished in an ocean of green flames.
Its weight instantly pressed on Adam’s right palm, the smirking skull facing Yuehua Ji. Demonic energy erupted from the green gem at its base, fueling the engravings until they painted a profane canvas on the nightmarish steel. The unholy heat unleashed from its curved, broad top spread in a five-meter radius, wrestling this territory as its own against Yuehua Ji’s frost.
Amidst the churning vapor, Adam smirked at Yuehua Ji’s constricting pupils. The desire to launch a scathing remark crossed his mind, but he suppressed it by clenching his jaw. This was no game; the cleaver increased his chances of survival, nothing more. Death’s jaws still loomed over his head, ready to tear off his neck.
Instead, his grip tightened around the hilt—right as a shudder jolted Yuehua Ji’s shoulders and her voice cracked. "A demonic artifact!"
Her chest tightened at the mere sight of it. At a glance, she knew it was as dangerous as the hateful puppet that had once ruined the realm. Ocean of fires, eternal rains of ashes, mountains of shared corpses, the stench gripping her throat in a suffocating agony—the memories were fresh as yesterday. If not for the void emperor’s foolish bravery, they’d all be...
A sudden whistle seared through her memories, her shock deepening. In front of her, sky blue hair rustled like the mane of a lunging lion, predatory eyes locked on her throat. The blade sundered a horizontal gash in the frozen space with speed no mage should possess—at least, none outside the high council of the archipelago.
In a fluid motion, she sidestepped, unsheathing the crystalline sword strapped at her belt. The icy hilt connected to her palm, becoming more than a weapon—an extension of herself as the cleaver wrestled for more territory. A burning flood tried to consume her, and rare sweat bedded on her perfect skin. But her posture sharpened. She had seen everything she needed.