548: Chapter 548 Pure Black Eyes

Amidst his laughter, the "arrival" of the second figure occurred without warning, without any process.

One moment, there were only distorted spatial ripples; the next, he simply "grew" out of the Void Realm—no process, no transition, as if his body were intrinsically a part of the Void Realm.

Xu Ming.

The existence in this generation of the Void Beast Clan with the deepest comprehension of the Law of space.

It is rumored that his talent is almost instinctual; every gesture he makes is a rhythm of space.

He maintained a humanoid form, yet he possessed four arms that were eerily long.

Each one, from shoulder blade to fingertip, was densely branded with silver-gray spatial runes.

These runes were like living things, flowing slowly, their light so dim and dark that it seemed as if even the surrounding light was greedily swallowed by them.

His face could not be seen—not because it was hidden, but because layer upon layer of subtle, constantly shifting spatial folds wrapped and refracted it, as if viewed through countless shards of overlapping crystal.

Only a pair of eyes pierced through these layered spatial barriers, clear enough to be heart-stopping.

Pure black eyes.

No whites, no pupils, only two pools of solidified, absolute darkness that devoured everything. That was the Void Realm itself, the path to the end of all things.

When he landed, his four arms were casually crossed over his chest; his posture appeared lazy, but in reality, every inch of muscle and every spatial rune was in a state of the most exquisite vigilance and coordination.

That was arrogance etched into the bone.

It was the scent of controlling everything.

"Heh."

A short, cold laugh emanated from his blurred face.

The voice was hoarse and strange, like rough sandpaper repeatedly grinding against decaying metal, yet the tail end was deliberately drawn out, long and drifting, carrying a sticky, scalp-tingling mockery.

"Ao Huang."

His pure black gaze fell upon the hundred-foot Devilish Qi dragon, unhurried.

"Put away that foul-smelling dragon stench of yours. It could suffocate a Void worm from eight chaotic Void Realms away."

He paused, his black eyes wandering over Ao Huang's ferocious Dragon body, as if evaluating an inferior, filthy creation.

"With a brain emptier than a rotting star core and slipperier than abyss moss, do you really think you're worthy of barking here?"

His fourth arm lifted gently, and a finger covered in runes pointed at Ao Huang from a distance.

"You say you're a Dragon?"

He tilted his head—an action that appeared exceptionally eerie within the blurred spatial folds.

"Why, the more I look at you, the more you seem like a... loach rolling around in a mire of Devilish Qi, with scales all crooked from the rolling?"

"No. Calling you a loach is giving you too much credit. At least a loach has a proper appearance and knows how to burrow in the mud. And you? You only know how to use that brute force to crash around everywhere, polluting the Void Realm."

The third figure arrived soundlessly, yet brought the deepest chill.

Hun Yan.

A monstrous talent from the Soul Race, rarely seen in generations. A monster who, at less than a hundred years old, touched the seventh-layer abyss of the "Netherworld Soul-Devouring Record."

His very existence was the ultimate provocation to the concept of "life."

He was tall and slender, perhaps even excessively so, as if a slightly stronger turbulence in the Void Realm could blow him away.

A faint, translucent dark blue robe wrapped around his body, and his skin was a sickly pale, delicate as cold porcelain, as if it had long been hidden from the sun.

His face was so handsome it was almost demonic, his brows and eyes as exquisite as a painting.

But these eyes—

What kind of eyes were these?

The pupils were a very pale gray-blue, like dust-covered ice crystals.

The gaze was hollow and indifferent; when looking at anything, it was as if he were examining a lifeless object, or... Soul fuel waiting to be devoured.

His lip color was an eerie purple-blue, like the face of one who had died of suffocation.

A thin layer of constantly shifting dark blue mist lingered around him.

Within the mist, one could faintly see twisted, painful faces and mouths silently screaming—those were the remnant Souls that had been devoured and refined by him but had not yet completely dissipated.

They would never be reincarnated, destined only to become a part of his power.

When he landed, his movements were so elegant they bordered on deliberate.

He even had the leisure to extend those pale, slender fingers and gently brush off his pristine dark blue robe.

This posture made it seem as if this terrifying battlefield, boiling with Devilish Qi and filled with murderous intent, was nothing more than a slightly messy corner of his own backyard.

And he was the master who had come here for a stroll.

His cold gaze slowly swept over Ao Huang and Xu Ming, and finally, it landed on Wutian.

He did not speak immediately. He just watched quietly.

The surrounding temperature seemed to plummet with his gaze.

Even the boiling Devilish Qi froze for an instant.

"Too noisy."

Three words. Light, without any weight.

Yet, like an ice needle quenched in cold poison, it pierced precisely into the depths of everyone's eardrums—stirring up a sharp, stinging pain on the eardrums of the Soul.

Then, he moved.

These cold, gray-blue eyes slowly shifted away from Ao Huang's massive, rage-burning Dragon body, sliding across the blurred, distorted, and dizzying spatial folds of Xu Ming.

Finally, they fixed in place.

The corners of his mouth curved upward at an extremely slow, extremely deliberate speed.

The arc was perfect, as precise as if measured with a ruler—a standard smile.

But there was not a hint of warmth in this smile.

There was only the extreme impatience of looking down upon the clamor of ants, and a trace of hidden, cruel interest.

Anyone who saw this smile felt a stream of ice shoot up their spine, instantly freezing the skin on their back.

"A lizard with wings."

The voice became lighter. Softer. Like a lover whispering in one's ear, coaxing an infant to sleep.

"A deformity that hasn't fully grown its limbs..."

He paused. The gray-blue pupils contracted slightly, like a focusing ice lens.

"Are you worthy of making noise in front of me?"

Each word was uttered softly, yet it seemed to condense into a solid entity in the air—those were not sounds, but blades of ice, thin as cicada wings and incomparably sharp, slowly and methodically slicing through the listener's nerves.

It brought a slow, clear feeling of cutting on the level of the Soul.

"Ao Huang."

He looked at the Devilish Qi Dragon, his gaze wandering over its scales, which shimmered with dark Devilish Qi, as if appraising an inferior handicraft riddled with flaws.

"Your dragon scales are almost corroded into a sieve leaking wind by that filthy Devilish Qi, yet you still treat them like some treasure, showing them off here...?"

The tail end of his voice rose slightly, carrying pure confusion—as if he truly could not understand such inferior aesthetics.

Then, he turned to Xu Ming. In that perfect smile, there was a hint of inquisitive cruelty.

"Xu Ming, these four arms of yours... are quite unique. Which one is real flesh and blood, and which one is a toy you molded with spatial illusion?"

He seemed to have suddenly remembered something; as if struck by realization, he softly said, "Oh."

"I forgot."

He shook his head.

His movements were elegant, carrying a compassionate regret.

"You Void Beast Clan are originally just a group of things manifested from illusion—you don't even have the qualifications to truly exist..."

He tilted his head.

When he did this, it carried a non-human, marionette-like stiffness.

In those cold eyes, they were now filled with undisguised, almost charitable pity—just like a deity in the clouds, looking down at two muddy stray dogs biting each other in a filthy mire for a few scraps.

"It really is pathetic."

As the words fell.

The pity was put away.

Only pure Void Realm remained.

And a cold, deathly silence.