Chiyan stumbled back, clutching the charred hole in his chest as the veins beneath his ashen-grey skin bulged like earthworms.
He glared at the rebounding chain of fire. The "Holy Flame Chain"—a weapon he had spent twenty years taming with blood sacrifices—was now acting like a rabid dog whose soul had been ripped away, baring its fangs at its own master.
"Rebel? What do you mean, rebel?!" He dug his fingernails deep into his palms, gold dust and blood dripping down in a patter.
Chapter 116