The moment their gazes locked, the world lost all meaning beyond the two of them.
Mark moved first.
The godlike crownbearer lifted one hand, and the skies of Acaris folded inward as if gripped by an invisible fist. Entire regions of space collapsed toward his palm, compressing into a sphere of impossible density.
Rivers of world essence streamed into it, carrying the screams of mountains, oceans, and continents being stripped of their existence. With a casual motion, Mark hurled it toward Max, and the attack tore through reality like a falling star meant to end an era.
Max did not retreat.
The seven colored lightnings surged beneath him, roaring as one, while the Concept of Severing Sword sharpened to its absolute extreme. He swung his sword once, clean and simple, yet that single motion carried infernal destruction and sacred judgment at the same time.
