579: Chapter 579 Trading Injuries for Injuries

Wufa did not dodge.

He didn't even turn his body to deflect the force—that had never been his style, let alone his way of fighting!

He merely tightened the muscles in his ribs, compressing all the flowing, boiling, roaring lightning within him into that single point about to be struck—as if forging himself into a shield of thunder actively meeting a hammer.

Then, he puffed out his chest.

He took the punch head-on.

"Crack—!!!"

The sound of his lightning armor shattering was as crisp as breaking glass, followed immediately by a dull "snap" like rotting wood breaking—his ribs had broken!

The two sounds almost overlapped. The purple-black spiral drill violently tore through the final line of defense of his lightning, blasting a fist-sized hole in his ribs!

Before the blood could even gush out, it was seared into a charred scar by the lightning. His flesh curled back, the edges flickering with dark red electric light, like a hideous, blooming flower of a brand seared into his body by lightning.

But his hands—from start to finish, they had never been idle!

The very instant the Lord of Annihilation's fist embedded itself deep into his ribs, his left hand had already clamped onto the opponent's wrist like an iron pincer, his five fingers sinking deep into that purple-black mist!

His right hand gripped the lightning longsword, and from bottom to top, he slashed out a desolate and resolute arc of light—it wasn't him swinging the sword, but the long-accumulated thunder using this arm to vent its millennium-old rage upon the world!

The blade sliced across the entire arm of the Lord of Annihilation, cleaving from the wrist all the way to the shoulder, like a red-hot holy blade cutting through congealed grease, cleanly severing the arm!

"Splurt—!!!"

The purple-black mist gushed out from the severed limb, viscous and roiling, like spite-filled resin pouring from the wounds of an ancient evil tree that had been felled!

Deep within the eyes of the Lord of Annihilation—those two eternally burning ghost fires—a crack finally appeared.

It was not fear. It had long since forgotten that emotion.

It was surprise.

A cold, almost bewildered surprise. It had not expected this young man to fight in this way—not defensive counterattacks, not trading evasions for offensive opportunities, but with a madness bordering on self-destruction, using his own ribs and his own bleeding wounds to trade for one of its arms!

"Trading injury for injury."

The Lord of Annihilation retreated three steps. The mist at the site of the severed arm surged wildly, and a new arm was growing at a speed visible to the naked eye—but the speed was noticeably slower.

"Are you… trading injury for injury with me?"

For the first time, something else mixed into its voice—not a question, but more like some form of confirmation. Confirmation of how this burning life before it could possibly subvert its calculations.

Wufa did not answer.

He had already charged forward.

Blood was still seeping from the hole in his ribs, and every step he took tugged at his broken bones. The sharp pain was like a red-hot iron rod stirring within his body—yet no expression of pain could be seen on his face, or indeed, any expression at all.

All emotions seemed to have burned out in those eyes. Only a pure, Soul-chilling cold remained.

This was the cloudless night sky after a thunderstorm, the absolute will that remained after burning away all distracting thoughts, focused solely on destruction itself!

The lightning longsword constantly changed form in his hands, at times condensing into an unblockable thrust, at times stretching into a sweep that could mow down an army, and at times transforming into an arc that slashed open death from bottom to top!

Every sword strike went straight for the Lord of Annihilation's vitals—not the throat, not the heart.

The Lord of Annihilation did not have vitals in the true sense; its body was merely a vessel. As long as that sliver of consciousness that had escaped from the Abyss of Annihilation remained, it could reorganize itself infinitely.

Wufa knew this.

Therefore, every one of his sword strikes contained the purifying power of the lightning spirit—not to destroy the Lord of Annihilation's body, but to burn the carrier of that sliver of consciousness within the Lord of Annihilation!

With every sword strike that landed, a patch of purple-black mist would be ignited by the lightning. Those mists would scream, twist, and struggle in the burning, emitting non-human hisses that reached directly to the level of the Soul, before turning into nothingness as blue smoke.

The Lord of Annihilation began to counterattack.

Fists, elbow strikes, knee strikes, headbutts; every blow was heavy and powerful. The purple-black mist would condense into various forms with each attack—spikes, sharp blades, hammerheads, chains—smashing toward Wufa's body from all angles.

Wufa did not dodge.

A fist smashed into his face; the sound of his cheekbone shattering was clearly audible. His head jerked to one side, and a trail of blood droplets flew from his broken mouth, looking like scarlet agate under the reflection of the lightning.

But his sword simultaneously pierced into the Lord of Annihilation's abdomen. The lightning exploded with a muffled sound inside it, blasting half of its abdominal cavity into a boiling, burning purple-black fireball!

An elbow smashed into his back, and his spine let out an unbearable groan. His body staggered forward two steps, and a mouthful of thick blood mixed with pieces of internal organs sprayed from his mouth, sizzling as it splashed onto the scorched earth.

But his elbow tip simultaneously struck the Lord of Annihilation's temple. Concentrated lightning poured in from that point, and half of the Lord of Annihilation's head exploded, with purple-black mist gushing out like a poked hornet's nest!

The Lord of Annihilation's knee strike drove into his stomach. His body folded in half, and the acid from his stomach mixed with blood surged up his throat—he swallowed it back down, suppressing that fishy sweetness into his belly as if swallowing a mouthful of burning steel slag.

But his forehead simultaneously smashed into the Lord of Annihilation's bridge of the nose!

Two hard bones collided, emitting a dull "snap." It was unclear whose bones had shattered—perhaps both of theirs had, achieving a cruel equality in this exchange of extreme violence!

Were they fighting?

No.

They were not fighting.

They were—mutually destroying each other!

Every moment was spent paying in pain, every instant was spent harvesting damage, and every contact was a mad exchange of flesh and mist, life and nothingness!

And the Lord of Annihilation—was retreating.

This was a true retreat, not the tactical step-back from before, but a step-by-step, continuous retreat, forced out by sheer brute strength!

Its body's repair speed was getting slower and slower, the purple-black mist was getting thinner and thinner, new wounds appeared faster and faster, and old wounds healed slower and slower.

After one of its arms was severed, the mist surged for several breaths before it grew back—whereas before this, the process hadn't even needed a single breath!

"Come on!!!"

Wufa finally spoke, his voice hoarse like shattering thunder, carrying blood foam and scorching breath:

"Aren't you the Lord of Annihilation?"

"Don't you want to devour everything?"

"Come!!!"

"Let's see if you devour me first—or if I chop you into ashes first!!!"