The vault of heaven seemed like a torn bolt of silk, with purplish-red lightning weaving through the clouds. The Lord of Slaughter hunched his body, and the beads of blood seeping from the corners of his mouth struck the bluestone pavement like blooming red lotuses. His withered fingers dug deep into the ground, and every trace left behind raised corrosive black smoke, turning all the vegetation within a radius of ten yards into charred cinders.
The veins on the back of Ji Bozhang's right hand—the one gripping the short blade—were bulging, and the red rope wrapped around the hilt was snapping inch by inch. The clothing on his right arm, along with the knife, was disintegrating bit by bit.
The Lord of Slaughter lowered his head, his body almost paralyzed in a static state, and even the rise and fall of his breathing was extremely faint.
Chapter 1557