When water turns to steam, it expands by a factor of roughly one thousand seven hundred.
When one hundred thousand years of crystal-hardened Nether-Void frost is subjected to an instant injection of fifteen million Degrees of star-heat, it doesn’t merely expand.
It detonates with the fury of a dying star.
Deep within the underground cave of the World Core, Demon Monarch Mo Sha’s ten-thousand-foot avatar had ceased to look like a creature of shadow.
He had become an over-high-pressure boiler on the verge of total collapse.
His huge chest bulged like an over-inflated leather balloon, stretching so thin that the blazing bright solar fire inside burned through his hide like a thousand tiny supernovas.
“I CANNOT HOLD IT!” Mo Sha’s voice tore through the spatiotemporal fabric, no longer arrogant, no longer terrifying. But reduced to the pathetic wail of a doomed soul. “THE PRESSURE! FIFTY MOUNTAIN-CRUSHING PRESSURE IN MY CORE! MY Spirit veins ARE POPPING LIKE DRIED TWIGS!”
Every ancient void-rune etched into the demon’s skeleton was glowing white-hot.
