585: Chapter 585 Nothingness and silence, only deathly stillness endures.

"Dead... dead..."

After a long time, Wufa's voice sounded like a ghost crawling from the depths of a grave, trembling.

The sound was as light as dust falling on the tip of a heart, yet heavy enough to shatter the final silence of the Void Realm. In the empty nothingness, it sent out a silent ripple.

Wufa's already translucent, glass-like remnant body began to tremble violently and uncontrollably.

Crack, crack...

Those spiderweb-like cracks covering his entire body, resembling the fissures of fate, began to expand and spread silently yet with immense determination.

Fine crystalline bone fragments peeled away, turning into weak yet beautiful specks of light in the Void Realm, drifting, flickering, and finally extinguishing like sparks of life blooming and withering at the very end.

He was completely unaware.

That gray, hollow left eye, which had long lost all luster, was now locked tightly, oh so tightly, onto the patch of the Void Realm where the Lord of Annihilation had finally dissipated.

This empty place now looked to him like a mirror reflecting all his past, all his glory, and all his sins.

"You are dead..."

He repeated, his voice filled with an incredulous daze, a sense of emptiness that arrived after slaying a great enemy, far greater than he had anticipated.

Then—some emotion that had been suppressed to the extreme, repeatedly calcined by pain and hatred, and long boiling hot, finally broke through the last dam of his reason, erupting like a burst River of Hell!

"Ha... Hahaha... Hahahaha—!"

The laughter was dry at first, like dead leaves rubbing in the cold wind, like rusted gears forced to turn.

Then it suddenly rose and warped, tearing at his already ruined vocal cords, transforming into an almost inhuman, crazed roar, filled with the primal power of destruction and catharsis:

"You are dead!! You are finally dead—!!!"

This roar rampaged through the empty, dead world. There was no echo, only a deeper silence silently swallowing and contrasting his cry, making it seem even more miserable and lonely.

"I killed you!! I killed you with my own hands—!!!"

His broken body trembled violently with excitement, more fragments peeling from the edges, as if he were about to completely disintegrate along with this roar.

He used his last bit of strength, trying to straighten his already shattered spine, roaring again and again at that Void Realm, and at some direction that might be watching from the unknown, like a dying lone wolf howling at the moon:

"Did you see it?! Did you all see it?!"

His voice rose abruptly, shrill as a night owl with its Soul torn apart, carrying a bloody piercing power that stabbed deep into the Void Realm:

"Qingyan—!! Mo Yu—!! Mo Mu—!!!"

He shouted these names, every word seemingly carved out from the deepest part of his flesh and blood, from the most painful part of his Soul, carrying a scorching temperature and a longing that reached into his marrow.

"Did you see it—!!! I avenged you—!!!"

"I killed that beast... I killed that scum who ruined everything..." He paused, using the last strength of his Soul to roar that word:

"Killed him—!!!!"

"Hahahaha hahaha—!!!"

The wild laughter rang through the Void Realm, crazed, wanton, and twisted, as if he wanted to burn his last bit of life, his last shred of Soul, in this hysterical laughter.

This laughter was mixed with the twisted pleasure of revenge, the catharsis of hatred accumulated over endless years, and something even deeper, darker, and more heartbreaking.

As he laughed, his voice was suddenly choked off by an invisible hand.

It stopped abruptly.

That gray left eye, which had been shedding blood and tears, suddenly twitched violently, and then, thicker, near-black blood, mixed with some crystalline yet broken specks of light, gushed out!

These were not tears; this was the blood from the deepest part of his Soul finally bursting its banks, the Origin sorrow overflowing as the Foundation of his existence disintegrated.

The thick, bloody tears streaked across his charred, cracked cheeks, dripping onto his exposed, cracked sternum, making a "hissing" sound, even burning faint marks, as if even the bones of his remnant body could not withstand such extreme pain and regret.

The mask of wild laughter shattered suddenly, revealing the riddled, blood-soaked truth beneath.

"But..."

His voice dropped suddenly, low as a dream, yet terrifyingly clear, every word piercing the heart in this silence.

"But the one who killed you all..."

"Was me."

The madness receded like a tide, and the flames of rage extinguished instantly.

What remained was an absolute, dead silence more suffocating than any roar or howl.

Beneath this calm lay boundless regret and despair capable of swallowing the sea of stars and annihilating light.

Wufa slowly, with extreme difficulty, lowered his head, his gaze falling on his own hands that were so transparent they were almost vanishing, about to turn into specks of light.

These hands, with twisted knuckles, were covered in charred marks like cursed brands left by the burning of the power of annihilation—this was the glory and the scar left behind when he instinctively, without hesitation, opened his arms at the final moment, trying to shield the person behind him from even a shred of impact.

Once, these hands had held a sword to protect everything he wanted to protect, and had also clumsily and preciously taken the warm Spirit Medicine soup handed over by his companions.

But now, in his eyes, these hands were stained with thick, indelible crimson—that was the blood of his companions, the sin he could never redeem.

"Void Realm rift..." He muttered to himself, his voice drifting like a phantom about to dissipate, speaking his last words, "It was me... who insisted on opening the Void Realm rift..."

"If... if I had been more cautious... if I had listened to the warnings... even if I had listened to just one..."

"If I hadn't stubbornly opened that door... that thing... that devil... would not have appeared..."

"If I hadn't... you would all still be alive..."

His voice suddenly carried a hint of illusory, post-mortem warmth, as if he had fallen into a brief delusion:

"Qingyan would still be standing with her hands on her hips, laughing and scolding me for being reckless... Mo Yu would still be wearing that handsome face of his, seemingly impatient but carefully handing me the best medicine... Mo Mu would still be using that loud voice of his, hooking his arm around my neck and shouting: 'Let's go! Kid, we drink until we drop today!'..."

"No..."

His voice began to tremble violently, and in that gray left eye, blood and tears gushed out like a spring, almost flowing into a black stream.

"It wasn't an 'if'..."

He shook his head violently, a motion that caused more fragments to fall from his body, like broken porcelain struggling at the very end.

"I was the one who brought it."

He said this sentence with extreme clarity, every word like a nail quenched in deadly poison, hammered ruthlessly into his own Soul, carrying the determination of self-torture.

"I was the one... who brought the disaster to your side with my own hands."

"I was the one... who made everyone... accompany me to the grave..."

Before his eyes, the final moment reappeared, that scene which could never be erased for all eternity—

Flames burning the heavens, Mo Qingyan looking back suddenly amidst the soaring fire, her long hair flying, saying that sentence to him.

Even if he couldn't hear the sound, the lip-reading was something he would never mistake:

"Wufa... don't be too..."

Don't be too self-blaming.

"Qingyan said at the end... told me not to blame myself too much..."

He repeated this sentence, his voice filled with self-tearing, almost spasmodic pain.

"But how could she not let me blame myself... How could I... not blame myself?! "

The volume rose sharply, carrying a bloody question, but broke off at the peak, like a string snapped after being stretched to the limit.

His voice was completely choked up.

This transparent body curled inward violently, as if hit hard in the heart by an invisible giant fist, or as if something was about to tear him apart from the inside.

He opened his mouth wide, veins bulging on his neck, but could not make any meaningful sound, only large gulps of thick black blood, mixed with tiny fragments of internal organs, uncontrollably gushing from the depths of his throat, like a burst dark river, floating in the Void Realm around him, painting a cruel and silent picture of death.

"I killed you all..."

He looked at the floating bloodstains symbolizing the final traces of life, his eyes terrifyingly hollow, as if his Soul had been completely hollowed out.

"It was me..."

"Haha... Hahaha..."

The crazed laughter returned.

But this time, there was no warmth in the laughter, only boundless coldness and a bone-deep desire for self-destruction.

Like a Soul falling into an endless ice abyss, laughing its last laugh before completely freezing and sinking eternally.

"I killed Qingyan! I pushed Mo Yu into a desperate situation! I caused the death of Mo Mu!"

Every name was a poisoned blade, repeatedly torturing his already broken Soul.

"I implicated Mo Jiao... I failed the trust of Brother Mo Yuan!!"

"It was me... I was the one who dragged everyone into Hell!!!"

"Hahaha hahaha—!!!"

The laughter grew louder, shriller, and more broken, finally turning into a discordant, beast-like wail and howl.

He twisted and struggled crazily in the Void Realm, as if his Soul were being burned by invisible karmic fire, enduring a punishment more painful than annihilation.

The cracks that were already all over his body spread, deepened, and intertwined crazily under this violent movement, making a faint yet dense, rain-like cracking sound.

He was like a peerless glass vessel that had been smashed hard on the ground and trampled upon crazily, on the verge of completely exploding and turning into dust.

"It was me!! It was all me!! It was all my fault—!!!"

He roared, using his last strength to curse himself, every word dripping with blood and hatred:

"I am the disaster star! I am the root of trouble that shouldn't exist!!"

"I am the one... who deserves to go to the deepest Hell, never to be reincarnated—!!!"

He raised his head suddenly, the bones of his neck making an unbearable, teeth-grinding groan.

That left eye, soaked in blood and tears, as if weeping blood, glared fixedly into the depths of the firmament, as if trying to pierce through the endless Void Realm, questioning that supreme yet cold and ruthless fate, or searching for those Souls that had long dissipated but remained forever in his heart.

"Did you hear me—!!!"

This cry was hoarse to the extreme, and shrill to the extreme, as if his Soul were completely torn in two by this shout, all pretended strength, all suppressed pain, exposed nakedly in this Void Realm at this moment.

"The one who should die is me!! The one who should be cut to pieces and Soul Flying Away and Spirit Scattering is me—!!!"

"Not them... they shouldn't have died... they were clearly meant to live well..."

His voice dropped suddenly, turning into a bloody, desperate plea and repentance, weak, yet heavy as a thousand pounds:

"It was me..."

"Qingyan... Mo Yu... everyone..."

"It was me... I'm sorry..."

The last syllable dissipated in a completely exhausted, almost silent sob.

His body trembled violently, like a marionette with cut strings, all strength to struggle, all crazed emotions, all will to survive, were instantly drained at this moment.

Then, the final, existential dissolution began.

This was not burning out after a battle, but the complete disintegration of existence itself, the core of consciousness, and the imprint of the Soul.

Starting from the edges of his body, those translucent fragments began to peel away silently, one by one, drifting away lightly, yet with immense weight.

Every fragment, the moment it detached, would flash with a weak yet clear light—this was not lightning, but fragments of memory, the most precious, warmest, and now most painful scenes of his life.

In one fragment, Mo Qingyan was looking back suddenly in the sunset glow, her hair dyed a warm golden red, a smile of teasing and warmth that he would never forget hanging on the corners of her mouth, her eyes bright as stars.

In another fragment, Mo Yu was wearing a stern, handsome face, but his earlobes were slightly red, his eyes dodging, yet carefully and preciously holding a bowl of freshly brewed, steaming Spirit Medicine soup, handing it to him, saying clumsily and stiffly: "Drink it while it's hot."

In another fragment, Mo Mu's broad, powerful, calloused hand was slapping his shoulder heavily, making him wince, followed by Mo Mu's hearty, deafening, vital laughter: "Good kid! That's it! Tonight, we drink until we drop, my treat!"

Light and shadow flickered; it was the peculiar yet light and lively tune hummed by Mo Jiao, accompanied by her focused and joyful profile while she tinkered with Formation runes, that was her unique way of showing happiness when she succeeded in her own research.

There was another fragment, the back of Mo Yuan practicing Sword Qi quietly under the towering Ancient Demon Tree, steady as a mountain, yet the Sword Qi was restrained like an abyss, that was the figure he once looked up to, chased after, and regarded as a goal...

These light and shadow fragments, these memories carrying warmth, sound, smiles, and tears, were drifting away, dimming, and finally disappearing into the Void Realm as his body disintegrated, like sand that could not be held, like wind that could not be kept.

"No..."

Wufa's remaining, last bit of blurred consciousness caught this scene, letting out a weak, almost pleading whisper.

"Don't go..."

He tried to lift that hand which was almost completely transparent, about to turn into specks of light, wanting to grab those drifting specks of light, but his fingertips only passed through the Void Realm in vain, grasping nothing.

"Don't leave me behind... I haven't yet..."

Hadn't had time to say sorry.

Hadn't had time to say goodbye properly.

Hadn't... seen the dawn he promised to welcome together with you all.

The last glimmer of light, in that left eye of his which had gone completely gray and hollow, flickered extremely weakly.

Like a candle in the wind, flickering for the last time.

Then, finally, it extinguished completely.

The remaining body turned into the last piece of silently drifting transparent dust, merging into this empty and silent Void Realm that he had helped shape with his own hands.

Only the dripping blood beads and the floating pieces of black blood remained stubbornly solidified in the Void Realm, like an eternal epitaph, silently telling:

There was once a Soul that burned everything here, slew the gods, but finally returned to eternal silence in endless regret and bone-gnawing longing.

The Void Realm is silent, only dead silence remains.