The blinding tip of the Ancient Annihilation Bolt didn’t merely go down. It tore through the fabric of mortal reality like a heavy dark metal rod punching through parchment.
Spacetime around the spear’s flight path shattered into millions of jagged, crystal-clear fragments that spun in kaleidoscopic rings. It reflected the dying screams of dead galaxies.
The heat streaming from the dropping bolt was so intense that the granite flat stone slabs fifty feet beneath Frank’s boots began to turn into glass. That turned into bubbling green glass.
On the spectator terraces three miles away, five hundred thousand fighters threw their hands over their ears as the sheer sky shifted weight produced a low, deep bone-shaking wave that shook the marrow inside their bones.
“Close your eyes!” shrieked Grandmaster Tie Ji, shielding his face with the hem of his soot-stained tunic. “To witness the Primordial Severance with mortal eyes is to burn your soul to ash!”
Saint Preceptor Kong fell backwards onto the porch floorboards. His long white beard stood on end from the violent static field.
“It’s over...” Kong cried into the cedar planks. “The First Epoch is reclaiming its clay... We were but dust in the machine...”
Frank didn’t close his eyes.
