Above the altar, the crimson vortex kept expanding, threads of scarlet as fine as hairs stretching out like tentacles in all directions; every time they brushed ground or air, a dreadful shudder was born, sending the dust of the ruins and the rotting Demon carcasses scattering and rising, billowing into thick, veiling smoke.
In the distance, those Native Magical Beasts on the verge of death also quivered in faint resonance; they trembled with their colossal bodies as if trying to tear free from the shackles of fate, yet appeared pitifully fragile and disordered, as though they might shatter to pieces at any moment and vanish into the long river of history!
David's gaze was razor-sharp as he fixed on the center of the vortex; he could feel that what dwelled there was not merely all the residual power of the Demon race's final authority, but a torrent of evil that swept heaven and earth, a flood of force that even the Laws of the Multiverse could scarcely withstand.
