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Xuan is dead.

At least, the being named "Xuan", who was the 72nd generation holy son of the Jin clan and possessed a cold, cruel and aloof will, died.

His holy body, the flawless body made of dark gold energy, is currently suspended in the void of "nothing", like an abandoned, magnificent and desolate metal statue.

The tender green grass between the statue's brows is still swaying gently.

It was too small and too fragile. Compared with this holy body that was hundreds of feet tall and exuded terrifying pressure, it was like a speck of dust falling on a mountain peak.

However, it was this dust that killed this mountain peak.

The root system of grass is so tiny that it is almost invisible to the naked eye.But they are growing crazily, like countless greedy parasites, piercing deeply into Xuan's holy body, absorbing the majestic energy belonging to the Jin clan that remains in that body.

Xuan's holy body is rusting.

It's not the red rust of ordinary iron, but a weirder and more heart-stopping "withering".

On the dark golden skin, gray-white, moss-like spots began to appear.The spots rapidly expanded and spread. Wherever they passed, the indestructible body began to become fragile and loose, losing all luster and strength.

"Uh..."

An extremely slight sound, as if coming from the depths of the Nine Nether Hell, came from the deep throat of the holy body.

Xuan is not completely dead.

In other words, his will has not completely dissipated.

At the moment when the grass grew, Chen Mo's last consciousness was not completely annihilated.He divided himself.

Part of it turned into the grass, taking root in Xuan's eyebrows, absorbing nutrients and maintaining the will to "live".

The other part followed the roots of the grass and sneaked into Xuan's holy body, into the ruins of abandoned memories that Xuan called "impurities".

This part of Chen Mo's consciousness was very weak and hidden, like a ghost, wandering silently in Xuan Na's huge and empty Holy Body Palace.

He saw a lot.

He saw Xuan's memory.

It is no longer those lofty scenes about the glory and killing of the Jin clan, but earlier, more primitive memories belonging to "people".

A thin boy fell down and got up again and again on the rigid training ground of the Jin tribe. His knees were broken and the blood that flowed out was golden.

A young man, who committed a murder for the first time, hid in a corner, vomited and trembled, and was ridiculed as a "coward" by his companions.

A cold saint, alone in a palace late at night, looked at the starry sky. What was revealed in his eyes was not pride, but boundless... loneliness.

It turns out that Xuan was once a human.

It turned out that he had been afraid before.

It turned out that he had also been... lonely.

This part of Chen Mo's consciousness quietly "watched" these memories.

He had no sympathy and no forgiveness.

He just...understood.

I understand how this loneliness turns into coldness, how coldness turns into cruelty, and how cruelty turns into a pathological pursuit of "perfection."

Xuan is not a born devil.

He just... went astray.

Too far, too far.

"Tsk——"

A soft sound.

The grass on Xuansheng's body seemed to have absorbed enough nutrients and stopped growing.It trembled slightly, and a crystal, dew-like seed fell from the leaves.

The seed fell and fell into the socket of Xuansheng's long-dried left eye.

Then, in the eye socket, it took root, sprouted, and bloomed...a small flower.

A small white flower.

The petals are small, plain, and have no fragrance.

But in this dead, metallic ruins, this little white flower looks extremely dazzling, extremely... ironic.

Xuan's remaining will seemed to be completely angered by this flower.

"No...can...forgive...forgive..."

The sound was intermittent, like a broken bellows, full of endless resentment and shame.

He, the holy son of the Jin tribe, was destroyed in the hands of a grass or a flower.

This was more unacceptable to him than death.

"I...curse..."

"Curse you...eternal life...reincarnation..."

Xuan's last will issued the most vicious curse.

Then, complete silence.

The hundred-foot-tall holy body lost all support and began to collapse and disintegrate inch by inch from the inside.

Not an explosion, but... weathering.

Like a sand sculpture that has stood for thousands of years, it slowly turns into countless golden sands in the wind.

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