In the shadowy ruins, a nearly shattered figure lay in the crevice of the rocks.

The Shadow King’s plan was very successful; using himself as bait, with the explosive power of the Devil, the Decay Plague he unleashed, even the First Seat, a Seeker of Glory, was torn apart and heavily wounded under such terrifying force.

If the Fourth Seat had not arrived, the killing array designed by the Shadow King might really have dealt with this enemy, trapping him in this dark and despairing place.

Unfortunately, variables abound everywhere.

"Ha...ha..."

The Shadow King’s breathing became increasingly rapid, as if he were suffocating. Each breath accompanied by intense pain, making it unbearable.

Even with preparations beforehand, facing this explosive Extraordinary Disaster, at the moment of facing the decay surge, all of the Shadow King’s defenses crumbled together.

With each breath, the Decay Plague invaded his lungs. Even with Etherealization, his organs were irreversibly deteriorating, the skin festering, pus continuously seeping out. Pain and despair continuously entangled the Shadow King’s consciousness, plunging him into a deep sense of helplessness.

The Shadow King could not control his body; every cell in him was screaming to release his inner anger and sadness.

Under the corrosive poison, the helmet was melted through at one corner, and the next layer of silver-white mask had long merged with the flesh, entrenched in the skull.

In this moment of despair, the Shadow King suddenly felt an inexplicable emotion, making him cry and laugh at the same time.

Ultimately, the Shadow King fell in this dark place. He could not cleanse the royal disgrace nor avenge those evils, despite so much he gave, he still could do nothing, just as he did in his childhood.

But on the other hand, he found it somewhat absurd; Leviathan’s promise still echoed beside him, swearing to himself that he would retrieve Xilin’s body, but now it seemed that everything was impossible.

The Devil is not omnipotent, this added more slender hopes for the Shadow King toward this world, perhaps there will be successors to win this longstanding, insane game.

For now, the Shadow King quietly awaits the arrival of death, in the remaining time, resentful towards himself.

He still failed.

Thinking about these, he felt as sad as a child.

Everything seemed to have lost meaning, even death was no longer the most important issue, he just wanted to escape from this bitter life, get rid of this painful bondage.

As the breath gradually weakened, the Decay Plague first consumed all the Ether within the Shadow King, without the support of Etherealization, the mortal flesh was being corroded and destroyed, vital organs turned into a mess of filthy blood lumps, organs failing one by one.

Time seemed to accelerate upon the Shadow King’s body; he quickly aged, like a mummified corpse weathered by wind.

The Shadow King had reached the end of his life, unable to take another step.

In the blur before his eyes, he seemed to see a dark void, where there was no light, no hope, only eternal silence.

The Death God was long in coming, the Shadow King’s mood grew more despondent and despairing.

The Shadow King’s mind lingered with those cursing words, he criticized himself like an ascetic monk, why did so many die because of himself, why did even the soul sacrifice, why endure such prolonged pain...

Why...

Why...

Why did he still fail.

Was it because he did not do enough?

Under the self-criticism and doubt, for the Shadow King, the only comfort was that he did not give up resistance until death, knowing full well there was no chance of victory, yet he still dealt a heavy blow to the First Seat, under the Devil’s play, formed the King’s Shield Guard, continuing the struggle.

The Shadow King felt he did everything a mortal could do.

It was time to rest.

The Shadow King did not know how much longer he had to endure; he only wished to end this painful, prolonged torment as quickly as possible. Despair lingered in his mind, seemingly becoming his only companion.

As if wielding an invisible long whip, lashing out blood marks on the mind, just as about to shatter, the glow of Ether lit up in the void darkness.

In an instant, scarlet stars flickered, countless Ether exploded at that moment, forming a gigantic Cross Sword Light, as if to rip open the entire darkness.

In the glaring glow, a disheartened figure stepped out of the Cross Sword Light, striding to the front of the Shadow King.

The Shadow King had thought about what he might see upon his death; perhaps the legendary Death God, or maybe the Devil, but he had never imagined it would be such a fellow.

He looked like he had endured a long travail, the young face carried a sculpted wind-weathered sense of age, eyes hollow, without any focus.

The sword hilt was covered with thorns, piercing through his palm, where blood gathered and dripped down.

The Shadow King remembered this sword, Blood Transfer Sword, Jia Meng’s sword.

Looking again to his back, the sword from memory, once pure, was now covered by black Voodoo, its surface abolished with many corrosion pits.

The Shadow King recalled his name.

"Gray?"

His voice was hoarse, throat seemed glued together.

Gray, Mammon’s Debtor, his messenger, at this moment of dying, his appearance clearly explained many things.

The head moved with difficulty, he murmured, "Go quickly, Gray, go back and tell Mammon, I have nothing left to offer."