He was shocked and attempted to dodge, but found his lower body flung away while his upper body remained suspended in mid-air, severed at the waist.
Black energy swept through him, consuming flesh, blood, and soul alike.
Sacrificing a hundred years of life for each life taken—how many lives could Trevon Neal afford to lose?
Easton Thorpe and others felt a chill down their spines, retreating hastily and shouting commands to disable Trevon without killing him.
"Neal family descendants must die in battle, not be captured. As the Young Master of the Northern Army, I inherit my father's honor. I may die today, but I will never be taken alive!"
Trevon's resolve was resolute.
In the next moment, his face paled, and several strands of white hair sprouted from his head—a visible sign of life force depletion.
A teenager with white hair?
It was a stark reminder of the price he was paying.
