584: Chapter 584 Mortals Slaying Gods: The Final Battle

The light dissipated completely.

This world—no, this place could no longer be called a "world."

It was as if an invisible giant hand had reached onto the scroll of "existence" and, in the most brutal manner, completely erased the corner that depicted mountains, rivers, the sun, the moon, and the stars.

What remained was not ruins, not dust, but a pale, hollow, absolute "Nothingness" where even the concept of "Void Realm" seemed superfluous.

Even the Void Realm itself emitted a soft moan here—a Soul-trembling, hollow echo left behind after a concept had been forcibly stripped away.

And right in the center of that "Nothingness"—the final condensed figure of the Lord of Annihilation stood frozen in mid-air.

At this moment, he no longer resembled the supreme god in charge of destruction; instead, he looked like a statue of a demon god being weathered by time, retaining only a majestic outline while its core disintegrated rapidly.

On his face, which was already so transparent it was nearly non-existent, only those signature purple-black eyes remained exceptionally clear, staring fixedly in the direction where Wufa had dissipated.

Deep within his gaze—first was frozen shock, as if witnessing the absurd spectacle of an ant overturning the firmament or a mayfly shaking a giant tree; the arrogant perception rooted in ages of time was forcibly cracked open at this moment;

Then came an all-consuming rage, like an abyss tide bursting through a dam in an instant, intent on tearing, devouring, and annihilating everything before him, along with this very humiliation, into the most basic particles;

Finally, in that innermost corner—the one he was least willing to let any existence (including himself) glimpse—a tiny yet incredibly real crack of fear was spreading silently and rapidly along the edges of his disintegrating consciousness.

"You... how dare you..."

The voice did not come from his throat, but was forcibly squeezed from the core of his consciousness that was about to collapse. Every syllable seemed to be chewing on his own failure, carrying the harshness of metal scraping against metal and a resentment that seeped deep into his bones.

His body began to disintegrate silently from the edges.

It did not turn into the familiar black mist of destruction, but presented a more thorough, more ultimate demise—like an illusion built from countless purple-black grains of sand, being blown away by a "Wind of Origin" from the Foundation of existence.

He tried to mobilize the last bit of Annihilation Origin within that wisp of Divine Sense, wanting to stabilize this Incarnation, wanting to counterattack, wanting to drag that damned ant into eternal annihilation...

only to discover that at the deepest part of his core, a flame as transparent as glaze but as tough as a supreme Law was clinging tightly to his "Anchor of Existence," burning quietly.

This flame had no temperature, yet it carried an absolute, unquestionable will of "negation." It negated his arrival, negated his authority, and negated the fact that he... existed here.

It was relentless, tearing apart his consciousness structure with extreme barbarity, ripping, dismantling, and burning every wisp of arrogant thought and every mark of destruction authority that constituted his existence into the most primitive dust of nothingness.

"Ant—!"

He was dissipating, irredeemably dissipating.

His broken, dilapidated body trembled violently. The terrifying arms that had once easily torn apart stars and destroyed thousands of worlds clawed frantically at the surrounding Void Realm, fingers curved like hooks, tearing through space, but grasping only emptiness. It was futile.

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it—!!"

The roar shook the fragile Void Realm. His hatred was monstrous, yet it could not hide the trace of panic that became clearer as his power rapidly flowed away.

He could clearly feel "himself" disappearing. That feeling of existence being stripped away made him more enraged, and... terrified, than any torture he had ever inflicted upon others.

"You lowly ant—!!"

At the very last moment, when all his power and consciousness were about to be completely devoured by that transparent flame, the surviving core of the Lord of Annihilation erupted with one final roar, pouring out all his resentment and malice:

"This Seat will remember you!!!"

Every word was like a brand burnt into the Laws of the Void Realm using his final authority and hatred, turning into the most vicious curse that echoed for a long time.

"Another day! When this Seat's true body descends upon this world!"

"I will definitely extract the Soul of you ant, imprison it at the very bottom of the Annihilation Abyss, let the undying fire of ten thousand kalpas burn your consciousness, and let the eternal silence of nothingness erode your memories until the end of time!!"

"This Seat will personally slaughter! Crush! Everything beautiful and every attachment you cherish, your blood kin, your close friends... right before your eyes!"

"Let you watch with your own eyes! How the things you guarded with your life, burning everything you had—turn into a despair humbler than dust before you!!"

The voice stopped abruptly.

The area of his lips had already turned into scattering purple-black light spots. The final vicious vow transformed into a silent yet incredibly malicious mental curse, slamming fiercely toward Wutian's direction.

Those purple-black eyes, which had once made all worlds tremble, stared fixedly at Wutian's location one last time before extinguishing completely.

This was not a simple gaze.

It was a mark, a brand. Using his final will as a carving knife, he etched this nearly broken figure before him, this battlefield where he had suffered unprecedented humiliation, and this unforgettable failure and hatred deep into the core consciousness of his true body far beyond endless dimensions, becoming a blood-colored mark of eternal pursuit.

Then—

Bang.

A soft sound, like the most exquisite glazed vessel shattering completely.

This wisp of the Lord of Annihilation's Divine Sense, which had descended across endless time and space intending to sow destruction and fear, finally became like a shadow illuminated by the purest light of destruction, turning into countless tiny, rapidly dimming purple-black light dust, floating powerlessly for one last moment in this twisted space that had been conceptually leveled and was now slowly gestating the prototype of "existence" again.

Then, it was completely annihilated.

Leaving no trace.

As if... it had never existed.

Between heaven and earth, or rather, in this Void Realm that had returned to Chaos and was waiting to be reshaped, the wild winds ceased, and all sounds died down.

Only two people remained, along with a suffocating emptiness after a pyrrhic victory.

Wutian knelt halfway in the Void Realm.

His posture was as stiff as a damaged stone statue, like a war god nailed to the spot after exhausting all his strength.

From head to toe, not an inch of intact flesh could be found. His left arm was severed at the shoulder, the stump ghastly, as if torn by immense force or repeatedly scorched by lightning, revealing charred and broken bone shards and meridians.

His right knee was bent backward, the stark white leg bone piercing through charred flesh and exposed, stained with nearly coagulated black blood, a shocking sight.

Between his chest and abdomen, several penetrating wounds looked like the gaping mouths of demons, with flesh curled at the edges, allowing one to directly glimpse the outlines of the internal organs inside, which were dim, covered in cracks, and had almost stopped beating.

His blood had long since drained away.

Not because it had healed, but because the liquid capable of flowing no longer existed. The wounds were dried up, exuding a grayness and dead silence that followed the complete burning out of life.

The purple lightning Divine light that had originally been dazzling, surrounding his body, and symbolizing the Peak of his Lightning Spirit Body, now only had a few scattered, dim sparks left, occasionally and weakly jumping on his skin, which was covered in cobweb-like cracks, making a faint "crackling" sound.

Like the last wisp of a candle flame in the winter cold wind, flickering uncertainly, ready to be extinguished completely at any moment, taking away the last bit of light and heat.

He lowered his head, his messy, blood-stained black hair covering most of his face, leaving only his tightly pursed, chapped, blood-stained lips and his jawline, sharp to the extreme yet filled with exhaustion, exposed.

Viscous, nearly coagulated dark red blood beads slowly condensed from the deep-to-the-bone wound on his forehead and dripped down, yet they hovered and remained stagnant on the "ground" of the Void Realm below.

It was as if even the rules of this world were silently recording the last drop of blood he had shed.

"..."

His chapped, blood-stained lips moved weakly.

It seemed he wanted to say something, wanted to roar, wanted to curse, or perhaps just wanted to exhale a breath of pent-up foul Qi. But his throat only emitted a hoarse, unpleasant "hissing" sound of airflow rubbing against torn wounds, without any formed syllables.

Then—he used every bit of strength remaining in his body, bit by bit, extremely slowly, to lift his head.

This simple action now seemed to consume all time, heavy as a mountain.

When his face was finally fully revealed, the sight was enough to make anyone with an unsteady mind Soul Flying Away and Spirit Scattering.

A face, covered in bloodstains, scorch marks, and dust.

One eye (the left) had completely lost its luster, the pupil dilated and cloudy, reflecting the hollow Void Realm, as if it were already dead.

And the other eye—the right eye he used for his sword, the one that insightfully seized the initiative—was burning with a final light that was nearly insane, a light that one dared not look at directly!

In this light, there was no ecstasy of victory, no relief of surviving a disaster. There was only a near-paranoid resolution and release, burning to the end of life and Soul, and a bottomless coldness.

"Ha..."

A short, airy laugh.

"Haha..."

A hoarse, broken laughter, like the final wheezing of an old bellows, squeezed out intermittently from his broken chest, sounding lonely in this silent Void Realm.

It was desolate, yet carried a sense of extreme exhaustion and gratification after slaying a powerful enemy.

Not far in front of him, Wufa's body floated quietly.

But the word "body" was already an overly kind description.

The perfect form of the Lightning Spirit Body, once shining and entwined with lightning, had long since burned out and vanished in that final sword strike that transcended limits and destroyed the Divine Thought.

What remained was a nearly transparent human outline outlined by countless fine cracks. Like a glazed vessel of supreme craftsmanship that had been ruthlessly struck, it was exquisite yet fragile, covered with traces of impending complete shattering.

The crystal-clear spirit bones were mostly exposed, having lost their usual warm luster, appearing dim and fragile.

The majestic lightning energy that should have been surging and roaring inside the bones now only had a few wisps of dim lightning light, as weak as hair and flickering unsteadily, struggling and slowly wandering between the empty bone marrow cavities and cracks, like a stream that could dry up at any moment, or a remnant lamp that could be extinguished at any time.

Flesh and blood?

They had long since been burned out completely in that final sword strike, serving as fuel and will.

Now, what barely covered the bones was only a layer of charred, shriveled, cicada-wing-thin skin, like paper licked by raging flames, barely adhering to the bones, wrapping around those internal organ phantoms that were also covered in cracks, their light almost completely extinguished, merely maintaining the last bit of their shape and outline.

His left eye—the eye that, at the final moment, burned everything, gathered his life's cultivation, will, and even his very existence, turning into a resolute sword strike that pierced the core of the Lord of Annihilation—was still open at this moment.

But the scorching light that had once been dazzling and made the lightning across the sky lose its color had completely extinguished.

Only an empty, gray, lifeless pupil remained, gazing blankly yet stubbornly in the direction where the Lord of Annihilation had finally dissipated.

As if still confirming that the arrogant enemy had perished.

Or as if gazing at what he had exchanged for by burning everything, including his future and possibilities... this desolate scene of "victory" in the Void Realm.

This static posture was like an eternal question mark, questioning the cost and meaning.

It was also like a tragic, blood-colored brand about to be erased by time and the Void Realm.

Engraved here.

Engraved in this, the Mortal Slays the God, the Final Battle of the End.