“Ao Kun, meet your end!” Dustin’s sword pointed straight ahead, his voice cold as ice. Xuan Chengzi raised his whisk, and the Taiji diagram slowly pressed downward. The child cracked his knuckles, eager to strike. But just when everyone thought the battle was decided, Ao Kun’s expression twisted into something grotesque — a grin laced with madness, cruelty, and grim resolve. “Meet my end? By the likes of you?” Ao Kun laughed hoarsely. His gaze swept across the sealed and fallen figures of Houtu, Xuanming, and Qingmu. A flash of naked greed and merciless intent gleamed in his eyes. “To force me to use this art… you should indeed feel honored.” Before anyone could react, he spread his arms wide and began chanting a dark, ancient incantation — words that seemed to crawl out from the depths of the Nine Hells. As the chant echoed, the gold and platinum light around him darkened into pure black. A sinister aura — purer, fouler, and more oppressive than any dragon’s malice — ...