He stepped forward, passing the bodies and smoke, and the massive black gates of the Demon King's throne hall opened with a groan that shook the skies.
Inside waited the final fight.
The gates of the Demon King's hall groaned as they opened, spilling a wave of suffocating heat and shadow into the battlefield.
Wuxie walked inside, his boots echoing against the obsidian floor. The air was thick, every breath heavy with malice. The vast chamber rose like a cathedral of night, its pillars carved from black stone, writhing with veins of fire. At the end of the hall stood a throne sculpted from bones and flame.
On it sat the Demon King.
He was colossal—twice the height of any man, his body draped in a cloak of shadow that pulsed like a living storm. His skin was as dark as coal, veins glowing red like molten lava. Horns twisted from his skull like jagged towers, and his eyes burned like two suns of blood.
When he spoke, his voice rattled the pillars themselves.
