The confrontation within the imperial city was reflected clearly in the three pupils of Three-Eyed Lord Rufus, each eye mirroring the towering phantom of the Original Demon looming over heaven and earth. The instant Rufus confirmed its true form, all arrogance drained from him. His massive body slammed into the ground as he kowtowed repeatedly, each impact cracking the earth beneath his forehead.

"Great Lord Original Demon!" he cried in fervent ecstasy, his voice trembling with worship. "You have finally descended upon this filthy world! Kekeke—wretched humans, your extinction is at hand!"

But then—something changed.

Rufus's laughter died mid-breath.

His pupils shrank violently as his gaze fixed on a single, insignificant figure standing beneath the Demon's shadow. A man in plain white robes. Calm. Upright. Unafraid.

"No way…!!" Rufus gasped, his voice cracking. "Who… who is this man…?"

At that moment, the Original Demon's colossal eyes shifted.

The curiosity that had flickered there moments ago vanished, replaced by a glacial frost so profound it seemed to freeze causality itself. An ant had spoken. Not begged. Not screamed. Spoken—to him.

In all the countless ages since his birth from Creation Qi, never once had a lower being addressed him with such contempt.

And from the weakest realm, no less.

"Kekeke…"

A laugh rolled forth.

Not loud at first. Not violent. Just a low, bubbling sound that seemed to leak out from the depths of existence itself.

"Kekekeke…!"

The laughter swelled, and with it, the world began to break.

Clouds were torn apart as if shredded by invisible claws. The demonic domain convulsed, spatial layers overlapping and collapsing in waves. Survivors across the city screamed as crushing pressure smashed down on their minds, blood streaming from eyes and ears as though struck by unseen war hammers.

Within the protective formation, Sui Zheng staggered, nearly collapsing as the barrier shook like a leaf in a hurricane. His face turned deathly pale, heart pounding wildly as a terrifying realization set in.

This wasn't just demonic fury.

This was the world itself resonating with wrath.

Instinctively, Sui Zheng turned toward the All-Seeing Immortal, seeking reassurance—only to freeze. The immortal's expression was grim, his brows deeply furrowed, the usual detached amusement nowhere to be seen.

Wang Chen's words echoed again in his mind.

"A dead demon dares to speak to me like this?"

The All-Seeing Immortal's fingers tightened within his sleeves.

At their level of cultivation, Dao hearts were unshakable. Pride could not be stirred by insults, nor rage provoked by words. Mockery was meaningless before an existence like the Original Demon.

So why?

Why would Wang Chen choose this moment to provoke him so openly?

No matter how the All-Seeing Immortal turned the question over in his mind, no answer presented itself—and that uncertainty unsettled him more than the Demon's laughter ever could.

Even Demon Queen Zi Han's eyes flickered with conflicted emotion. She had been bracing herself to intervene at any moment, prepared to tear Wang Chen away from certain death—yet here he was, provoking the Original Demon with casual disdain, treating a legendary calamity like a roadside nuisance. It was infuriating. And unsettling.

She wasn't the only one thrown off balance.

Behind him, Wang Chen's disciples exchanged brief, uncertain glances. Their faith in their master ran deep, carved through countless life-and-death trials—but it was not blind worship. They could feel it just as clearly as Zi Han could. This was not an ordinary enemy. This was something that existed on an entirely different axis of power.

And that was the problem.

It wasn't merely Wang Chen's calm, almost mocking demeanor that felt wrong. Something far more disturbing lurked beneath the surface.

By now, the Original Demon's Domain of Original Sin had swollen far beyond the imperial city, its borders bleeding outward like an infection. Nearly half of the Azure Dragon Continent lay submerged within it. Every trace of resentment, greed, guilt, and despair from countless mortal hearts was being harvested, refined, and fed back into the Demon's core. With every passing breath, its presence grew heavier, denser—more absolute.

The pressure pouring from its colossal form was suffocating. Even Zi Han, an existence that had stepped into realms beyond mortal comprehension, felt her breathing tighten. The domain gnawed not just at the body, but at the Dao heart itself, whispering doubts and magnifying hesitation.

Against something like this, strategy felt meaningless.

And yet—

Wang Chen stood unmoved.

He seemed utterly indifferent to the doubts gathering around him, indifferent to the weight of despair pressing down from the heavens. His posture remained relaxed, his gaze steady, meeting the Original Demon's abyssal eyes without the slightest tremor.

If only they knew.

Inside, Wang Chen was screaming.

Holy hell… how can it be this strong?

Cold fear surged through him, sharp and undeniable. For all his composure, he could feel it—this thing was vastly beyond what he had anticipated. Far beyond.

What if the Destruction Qi fails?

What if it isn't enough?

The thought hit him like a blade to the chest.

He had no contingency. No hidden trump card waiting behind this gamble. Worse still, a flicker of regret crept into his mind—regret that he had provoked such an existence at all.

What if Destruction Qi can't kill it?

The question echoed again and again, spiraling faster, darker, threatening to drown his clarity beneath sheer, mounting dread.

And just as that spiral threatened to consume him entirely—

Wang Chen felt it.

A tiny presence.

Light. Curious.

Not fearful. Not hostile.

A small, almost evaluative gaze settled gently upon him.

Who?!

Like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, Wang Chen snapped fully alert. His heartbeat spiked—then steadied in the same breath as cold reason took over. Whatever that gaze was, it wasn't the Original Demon.

It was something else.

Something… watching.

Not hostile. Not friendly. Merely curious.

Someone at the Demons level.

A name surfaced in his mind like a blade breaking skin.

The Original Angel…?

His jaw tightened. Great. As if one ancient calamity wasn't enough. Another primordial freak observing him now, of all moments. Fate had a vicious sense of humor.

From his first provocation to this instant, barely a breath of time had passed. Yet Wang Chen's internal state shifted completely. The doubt, the spiraling fear—gone. There was no room left for hesitation.

He shook his head sharply, severing every stray thought.

Enough.

If the Original Angel chose to intervene now, this would become a death trap. The only path forward was simple and brutal: erase the Original Demon first. Once it was gone, he would still have room to maneuver. Hesitate now, and everything ended here.

Still, even at the edge of annihilation, Wang Chen refused to let his image crack. If he was going to gamble his life, he would do it as an ancient, unfathomable expert—not a cornered mortal.

Every heartbeat mattered.

His lips parted.

"You talk too much."

His voice was calm. Flat. Absolute.

"Be gone."

The moment those words left him, something unseen but immense stirred. A vision of dense, curling purple smoke bled out from Wang Chen's figure, coiling around him like a silent omen.

The world hesitated.

The Original Demon froze.

For the first time since its manifestation, panic flashed across that colossal, inhuman face. It felt it—the instinctive terror of a predator realizing it had already been marked for death.

With a thunderous roar, its six flickering eyes flared wide. A titanic arm rose, blotting out the heavens, carrying enough force to pulverize continents as it prepared to crush Wang Chen into nothing.

But Wang Chen had never intended to give it that chance.

He was already moving.

"Chronoblade."

The word fell like a verdict.

A supreme law unfurled in response, vast and merciless. Color drained from existence itself. Sound vanished. Time screamed—then shattered.

The world turned still.

The Original Demon—mere heartbeats ago poised to erase him from existence—froze mid-motion.

Its titanic arm hung suspended in the air, demonic energy locked in place like amber trapping an ancient beast. The six abyssal eyes flickered wildly, rage and disbelief crashing together as time itself refused to obey its will.

Wang Chen did not relax. Not even for a fraction of a breath.

This was not victory. This was an opening.

Without hesitation, the mirror-like amulet resting against his chest pulsed once, silently. There was no explosion of qi, no dazzling light—only inevitability. The amulet detached from his body and vanished, reappearing an instant later inside the Original Demon's frozen form.

Kacha!

The sound was sharp, unnatural, like glass cracking under unbearable pressure.

From the point of impact, fractures spread across the Demon's colossal body in a spiderweb pattern. The cracks raced outward, faster than thought, splitting demonic flesh, authority, and existence itself.

For a single suspended instant, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Then—

The Original Demon shattered.

Its immense form collapsed into thousands upon thousands of fragments, each piece dissolving before it could even fall. Black motes scattered like dying embers, fading into the air, sinking into the land, dissolving back into nothingness as if they had never been.

No roar of defiance.

No resistance.

The Original Demon was gone.

Dead.

Erased.

Silence crashed down upon the battlefield like a tidal wave. The suffocating pressure vanished. The demonic domain recoiled, then began to crumble, its influence unraveling as if the world itself were rejecting the memory of that existence.

Wang Chen stood alone at the center of it all.

He did not smile.

He did not exhale in relief.

His posture remained taut, his senses stretched to their absolute limit.

Because the battle was not truly over.

That gaze still lingered.

The unseen, ancient attention that had brushed against him moments earlier had not disappeared. If anything, it felt closer now—more focused. No longer indifferent. No longer merely curious.

The gaze of the Original Angel was still upon him.

Only now… it carried something new.

Not hostility.

Not fear.

But a measured, cautious reassessment—

as if an eternal existence had just been forced to reconsider the rules it thought governed this world.

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