The lightning didn’t smell of ozone alone. It smelled of scorched mathematics and dying stars.
Three bolts of violet star-fire—each three feet thick, dropping at one hundred and eighty thousand miles per second—tore through the ruined rafters of Sub-Vault Zero in a timed together, three-sided formation: the Purple Heaven Sunderer.
In traditional scripture, the Purple Heaven Sunderer was the ultimate headsman’s gavel.
It was sent by the Heavenly Dao only. Just then, a fighter had practiced demonic cannibalism or violated the deepest cosmic order, designed to burn their spirit veins to black cinder and scatter their soul into eight directions.
Lin Ke looked up at the dropping wall of violet light.
He didn’t tremble. He didn’t beg the heavens for mercy.
Fork test sandbox, he commanded behind closed eyelids.
In the quiet dark of his Sea of Mind, Lin Ke parsed the lightning for what it truly was.
