It was so scorching, so terrifying.
It was as if lava were flowing endlessly.
His body trembled continuously, as if every inch of his skin were tearing and reforming.
This pain nearly obliterated his soul.
Several times he wanted to hunch over and fall down, but in the end, he forced himself to stay upright.
He stood there firmly, without so much as a twitch.
He was the Demon Lord, destined to sweep across the eight wastelands and rule the world... the beauties.
If he fell now, how would he protect those by his side in the future?
The demonic path is brutal, the righteous path deceitful.
He must stand, to smash these people with his fists, one by one.
His muscles trembled incessantly, and he didn't know how much time had passed.
Fang Yang felt as if his body had been torn apart once, and then the pain began to gradually subside and disappear.
In its place was a wild and fierce heat, strength surged within him, that rolling, flowing power.
It made him so obsessed.
