At the very center of that endless pit lay a colossal figure.
Chains thicker than mountains wrapped around him, glowing with divine seals. His once-radiant body was blackened by corruption. And yet… his eyes.
They weren't malicious. They were tired. Worn. Suffering.
The deity had taken it all into himself—the filth, the corruption, the darkness that once belonged to the Devil Lord—so the worlds could live.
"Buzhao…" Wuxie's voice was soft, almost respectful. He rested the DreadBlade on his shoulder. "The final quest."
The deity stirred. His voice rolled like thunder across the abyss.
"Mortal… you dare approach me? Leave. The darkness inside me cannot be undone."
Wuxie tilted his head, lips quirking into that familiar grin.
"Not leave. Just finish the game you started."
He raised the DreadBlade. All its shards had united at last. It burned with light fierce enough to blind gods, brighter than suns, alive with a will older than time.
And Wuxie swung.
