571: Chapter 571 Heaven and earth were silent, only this sound remained.

"Wufa"'s brows—those two furrows formed from shadows, symbolizing the will of nothingness—flickered slightly.

Not moved.

Displeased.

What it wanted was pain, despair, and the intense emotional fluctuation sufficient to tear apart the Soul when a blood-related younger brother crushed his older brother's throat bone with his own hands—that was its sweetest nourishment, the ultimate feast that could make this void tremble.

Yet in the eyes of this dying man, there was nothing.

No fear, no resentment, not even the sorrow that should accompany one's own demise.

Only heartache.

Even in death, there was only heartache.

That gaze was terrifyingly clear, like a bottomless well, reflecting not his own approaching end at the bottom, but the sinking back of another person.

"Wufa" loosened his fingers.

Wutian's body plummeted for an instant, and just as the sensation of weightlessness gripped his heart, that hand composed of pure power of annihilation closed again, dragging him back violently.

His neck bone let out an unbearable groan.

It changed its posture, lifting Wutian before its eyes like a chicken waiting to be slaughtered, flapping its wings in vain.

Two pairs of eyes, mere inches apart.

One pair was the abyss itself, churning with an indifference that devoured all things.

The other pair were the eyes of a Mortal, on the verge of shattering, yet stubbornly burning with a final light.

"You are truly boring."

It said, its tone carrying a kind of almost naive, pure disappointment, as if a child were facing a toy that could not make a pleasant sound.

"You are thinking of him even at the brink of death. Can you not hate? Hate this fate, hate this world, hate this younger brother who took everything from you?"

"Can you not be afraid? Afraid of this eternal darkness, afraid of this absolute annihilation?"

"Can you not—"

It suddenly stopped speaking.

Because it finally noticed Wutian's eyes.

These dying eyes, covered in spiderweb-like bloodshot veins, with pupils already beginning to dilate and lose focus—from beginning to end, they had never looked at it.

Wutian had never been looking at the "Lord of Annihilation", not at this occupied shell before him.

His gaze pierced through that churning purple-black mist, ignoring the terrifying gaze of the abyss, stubbornly and even tenderly casting itself toward the deepest part of the abyss—there, in a place drowned by heavy shackles and despair, a faint, pale golden light, so weak it was almost extinguished, was struggling desperately.

From beginning to end, he was looking at his younger brother.

The real Wufa, trapped in a boundless purgatory.

In "Wufa"'s eyes, for the first time, a flicker of emotion flashed, one that did not belong to nothingness but to something more "concrete"—cold killing intent.

An irritation born from being completely ignored and thoroughly offended.

"Enough."

Its hand suddenly exerted force, its five fingers tightening like red-hot iron tongs.

"Since you are so boring even until death, then die."

Wutian's neck bone let out a final, sharp wail, like the sound of the last withered leaf in winter being crushed.

In that very instant—

The firmament split open.

There was no warning.

No rolling thunder as a prelude, no billowing black clouds to set the stage.

No wrath of heaven and earth, no divine punishment, none of those ostentatious rituals.

It was just a single instant.

It was as if even the concept of a "process" had been erased.

The dim firmament, solidified like the roof of an Ancient Tomb, was torn open from the center with a "rip" by a pair of invisible giant hands, in the most brutal and unquestionable manner.

A bolt of thunder fell from the crack.

The Cultivators of the Taichu Continent had seen too many types of thunder: the Heavenly Tribulation thunder with its dancing silver snakes, the heavy and dense earth-vein thunder, the colorful Five Elements thunder, the formless and intangible Heart Demon thunder that struck directly at the Soul... each had its trajectory, its prestige, and its irresistible Dao rhyme.

Yet this one, no one had ever seen.

It was purple.

It was not the light, shallow purple of a clear sky after rain, nor the gorgeous purple-red stained by the glow of dawn, but the deepest and richest color, as if the deepest night of the boundless Universe had been torn away, and the ultimate color that burst forth when a thousand galaxies collapsed and annihilated, extracted, purified, and compressed—finally condensing into a single beam of light, only an arm's width thick, solid to the extreme.

It was silent.

Yet it was faster than time itself.

When you saw it appear at the other end of the crack, it was already here.

There was no process of "falling", only the result of "already being here".

It struck "Wufa".

In the same instant before the word "here" could even surface in consciousness, this purple thunder had already accurately and irresistibly branded itself onto the center of "Wufa"'s crown.

Boom—!

It was not a sound.

But a more essential impact, exploding directly at the level of the Soul.

The purple-black void power shrouding "Wufa"'s entire body, symbolizing consumption and ending, like ice touched by a red-hot iron, let out a sharp hiss and violently contracted inward!

The mist that had been unfurling like the wings of a demon god a second ago was instantly compressed into a thin, trembling film clinging to his skin, as if an arrogant giant had suddenly encountered its natural predator, fearfully curling up its haughty body.

The hand gripping Wutian's throat suddenly stiffened, its five fingers loosening abruptly.

Wutian's body fell from mid-air, crashing onto the cold ground, dust and blood foam splashing up.

He coughed, the excruciating pain in his neck nearly causing him to faint, yet he seemed not to feel it, using all his strength to suddenly lift his head and look at the figure enveloped in thunder.

"Wufa" was pinned to the spot by that purple thunder.

That was not a metaphor.

The purple beam of light seemed to possess substance and infinite weight, penetrating from the crown of his head, piercing through every inch of flesh and spiritual marrow, then surging out from the soles of his feet, driving deep into the earth.

His entire body began to tremble violently.

It was not a trembling of flesh, but the two forces constituting the essence of his existence—the external nothingness and the internal Origin—began a frantic collision and slaughter under the burning and catalysis of the purple thunder.

The purple-black mist rolled, roared, and struggled on his skin, attempting to extinguish the invading purple light, but instead, it was forced back and refined inch by inch by the purple light.

And in the center of this Chaos and confrontation that was enough to tear the Soul apart—

A voice rang out.

This was the weakest voice Wutian had ever heard in his life.

So weak it was like a wisp of thread about to be blown away by the wind, like the first murmur of a Soul that had exhausted all its mental energy in an endless nightmare and finally struggled to the edge of dawn.

Dry, hoarse, with breath as thin as a thread, every syllable seemed to be burning the final remnants of life.

Yet at the same time—this was also the firmest voice Wutian had ever heard in his life.

Firm as a nail forged from the core of a star, driven into the cornerstone of time by an invisible giant hammer; like a flag fluttering in the doomsday storm until the very last moment, even if the flag was torn, the flagpole would never fall.

In the weak voice, there was a power of absolute determination, a resolve that would not regret even in the face of death, piercing through the groans of pain, piercing through the interference of nothingness, clearly echoing between heaven and earth:

"I... am... here...!"

Every word seemed to be accompanied by the shattering and reconstruction of spirit and flesh.

"Never... again..."

The roar of the purple-black mist became increasingly violent, attempting to drown out this voice, but it was suppressed tightly by the thunder piercing through the body.

"Let... this... kind... of... thing..."

The last two words, carrying blood, carrying tears, carrying an unshakable will that spanned life, death, and erosion, exploded with a bang in Wutian's ears, and also exploded under this firmament shrouded in darkness—

"Happen...!"

The voice, indeed, came from "Wufa"'s mouth.

But this was no longer the cold, mocking tone of the "Lord of Annihilation", nor entirely the clear and bright voice of Wufa from years past.

It was between the two, strange and shocking.

Like a string on the verge of snapping, held down by two hands at the same time—one belonging to darkness, cold and slippery, attempting to play the final chapter of destruction; one belonging to light, trembling yet persistent, desperately trying to play the prelude of protection.

The two forces tugged, fought, and collided between the vocal cords...

Finally, under the illumination of this purple thunder that split Chaos, they actually vibrated simultaneously, emitting the same sound.

This was the final and strongest declaration issued by a imprisoned Soul, at the bottom of the boundless dark abyss, using all its strength, to its closest kin.

Heaven and Earth fell silent.

Only this sound remained.