The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6350

A deep-violet chaotic radiance tore through the heavy cloud cover like a world-ending comet, ripping open the dead-still sky.

Its trailing blaze dragged crackling purple lightning and ashen vapor of rebirth that looked ready to wipe out everything in its path. The sound of it hit like the furious howl of some ancient demon god waking from its sleep as it came smashing down toward the heart of the battlefield, where corpses already carpeted the ground.

The air ignited from the sheer speed of it, leaving behind a purple scar that stretched across the world.

Even space itself seemed to twist under that force.

Like a falling star, it streaked toward the heart of the battlefield with a long tail of fire behind it.

That violet radiance flared to its absolute limit.

It was so bright it stabbed the eyes, so bright every other light in heaven and earth turned into nothing but a backdrop.

The golden holy radiance that the celestials had always been proud of dimmed to firefly light in front of it. Even the sharp silver-white spear glow in the cultivators' hands looked frail, as if that overbearing violet power could swallow it whole at any second.

It was bright enough to wash the golden holy radiance pale.

Bright enough to leave even the silver-white spear glow looking dull.

In that instant, the whole sky drowned in a deep violet so thick it seemed impossible to disperse. It looked as though a purple sun carrying chaotic nascence had burst up from beneath Cloudrest and risen into the highest heavens, its pressure sweeping in all directions until even the laws of the realm across the Fifteenth Firmament trembled faintly, as if bowing before that supreme power.

It looked like a purple sun had risen from beneath Cloudrest and hung above the sky.

Every living being still left on the battlefield, no matter the race, no matter the side, no matter how badly wounded, had their eyes dragged helplessly after that violet streak. Hearts seemed to stop. Breathing locked in their chests.

Between heaven and earth, only that purple trail remained, cutting straight through despair.

The celestial cultivators stopped attacking.

They lifted their heads and stared at that violet radiance, dread written all over their faces.

Their legs shook on their own. The divine arms in their hands quivered as though they too feared the world-ending pressure carried by that violet figure.

Something they could not fight down rose from the bottom of their chests, a crushing urge to submit, and the kind of bleakness that left no room to breathe.

The beast-race warriors tightened their grip on their war axes.

Hope burned in their eyes.

All the pressure and despair that had piled up for so long were swept clean away. Veins stood out along the arms clamped around those war axes, and a vengeful fire surged into their eyes, like they were finally seeing the first light of victory.

The Ghost Clan warriors straightened where they stood, their eyes shining. Around the demon cultivators, the demonic aura churning over their bodies gradually settled, while expectation gathered in their gaze.

The human cultivators gripped their longswords tighter.

What showed in their eyes was pure respect.

Jared dropped into the heart of the battlefield.

His feet slammed into the ground and blasted out two deep craters.

Broken stone sprayed in every direction. Dust shot skyward.

From him as the center, a violet shockwave burst outward and sent the surrounding celestial cultivators flying.

Those celestial cultivators tumbled through the air several times before crashing hard onto the ground.

Blood burst from their mouths, and none of them got back up.

He straightened slowly and raised his head.

His violet eyes swept across the battlefield.

Wherever that gaze passed, the celestial cultivators took a step back before they even realized it.

There was nothing in that look.

No warmth. No ripple. Only a cold indifference that crawled straight into the bone.

He looked at the bodies lying in pools of blood.

Warriors of the beast race. The Ghost Clan. Demons. Humans.

Some were old. Some were young. Some he knew. Some he had never seen before.

His hand clenched into a fist.

His nails bit into his palm until blood slipped through his fingers.

His knuckles had gone white.

Those sharp nails drove deep into the flesh of his hand, and hot blood dripped slowly through the gaps between his fingers. It struck the blood-soaked ground below and broke into tiny red sprays.

He stood there without a word, but the force gathering under his skin made the air around him feel tighter by the second.

His gaze shifted to Hadrian.

Hadrian lay facedown on the ground, covered in blood.

His left arm was broken. A hole had been punched through his chest. His war axe stood buried in the earth beside him, and the blade was chipped all over.

His eyes were still open.

He looked at Jared, and there was the faintest trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

His lips moved.

No sound came out.

Jared still understood.

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