Chapter 125: Devouring

"So what if you have taken form? I shall simply scatter you once more." Yi An gazed at the phantom, his eyes narrowed, his heart filled with disdain.

At that moment, the phantom was brimming with eagerness, as if it could not wait to slaughter Yi An.

Yet, just then, a dazzling golden light suddenly erupted within the black mist, brilliant as the stars, instantly dispelling the surrounding darkness.

This golden light did not cease; instead, it rapidly coalesced into a blade of light with visible speed. Radiating a blinding glow and imbued with waves of crushing pressure, it loomed over the phantom, ready to descend at any moment.

Under the radiance of this brilliance, the phantom was stunned, and even the baleful aura that had permeated its form was significantly diluted.

"Impossible!"

"How can you command the primordial essence?" The phantom’s pupils contracted sharply. Its massive body trembled, filled with disbelief. Under the illumination of this light, its divine abilities had lost all efficacy; its entire form felt frozen, unable to manifest the very powers it prided itself upon.

The phantom felt a terror rising from the depths of its soul—a pressure that transcended its own existence. Though it could not pinpoint the origin of this pressure, it sensed an aura of impending death. As a being of primordial origin, for it to feel such a thing, the source must be of a stature no less than its own.

While the phantom remained momentarily dazed, Yi An seized the opportunity. He unleashed a powerful surge of energy, striking down heavily upon the phantom. With a single blow, the phantom's form began to dissipate.

"So what if you can command the primordial essence? I can do the same!"

"If nothing else, we shall perish together!"

The phantom, finally panicked, roared with thunderous fury, its eyes burning crimson. It poured all its remaining primordial strength into a final desperate lunge at Yi An. But suddenly, its form locked in place as if frozen.

The next second, the blade of light above it descended, nearly shattering its consciousness in an instant. Had it not been for the desperate mobilization of its essence beforehand, it would have been executed on the spot.

Recovering his senses, the phantom found that both his rage and coldness had been replaced by the shock of that sudden, powerful strike. If he had still been at full strength, he might have dared to fight to the death, but having been struck by that terrifying blade, his desire to engage in battle withered by ninety percent.

His techniques had been broken, and Yi An was at the height of his power. To continue the assault would be no different from suicide.

Subconsciously, the phantom began to retreat. In his mind, there was no shame in fleeing; only those who survived to the end were victors. Throughout history, this had always been the way. To avoid the enemy's sharpness and strike when they were sluggish—that had always been his guiding principle.

But just as he prepared to flee, he found his movements stiffened, as if he had been shackled. He paused, realization dawning: why did this predicament feel so familiar?

He suddenly understood—this was the very effect of the divine ability he had just mastered. However, while the two had similar effects, there was a fundamental difference. What he had used was a divine ability, while his opponent was leveraging a trace of the world's own momentum to bind him.

This instantaneous change filled the phantom with despair. Even with his limited perspective, he knew that in the face of the world's momentum, he was nothing but prey waiting to be slaughtered.

His heart was filled with grief, indignation, and unbearable bitterness. Yet, even knowing the terror of this momentum, he would not give up until the very last moment. This was a matter of life and death. He struggled frantically to escape, but no matter how he fought, the shackles binding him remained unmoved, unaffected in the slightest.

The phantom's heart sank, and a sense of encroaching dread threatened to drown him. *Damn it, what is that? How could the opponent possess such a supreme treasure!*

He would never know the answer. At that moment, a pair of iron palms descended from behind him, accompanied by fierce pulses of energy. The moment they touched the phantom, the energy permeated his form, tearing through him as if he were mere paper, meeting no resistance.

As Yi An’s palms fell, the trembling phantom lurched forward. Not only was his body on the verge of dissolution, but his consciousness flickered and dimmed, falling into a state of hazy, vacant confusion.

He gritted his teeth, clinging to his remaining sliver of consciousness, struggling to recover. But Yi An would not grant him the chance. A moment later, he felt a sharp pain, and a fist flashed and vanished.

On the brink of total mental collapse, he lacked the strength to evade. All he could do was watch helplessly as his consciousness slowly faded, until it was extinguished entirely.

He felt as though his body had betrayed him; even moving an arm had become an impossible task.

Perhaps it was the final flare of life, but in his last moments, he struggled to raise his right hand. He wanted to point at Yi An, but he could not. Finally, he managed to lift his hand a few inches off the ground. He opened his mouth, wanting to speak, but only strange, incoherent gasps emerged, his face frozen in a dying expression.

A moment later, with a dull thud, the hand he had struggled to lift fell back to the ground. Simultaneously, the phantom's form began to dissolve. Soon, that wisp of the world's purest Primordial Yin-Yang Essence would be gone forever.

Seeing this, Yi An quickly absorbed the fading essence. He could not afford to hesitate; if he waited any longer, all his previous efforts would have been in vain.

Though it felt somewhat unsettling, compared to the prospect of growing stronger, such discomfort was negligible. Moreover, the Primordial Yin-Yang Essence taking form had merely added a layer of consciousness; its essence remained unchanged. By shattering that consciousness, he was simply returning it to its source.

After absorbing for roughly the time it takes to burn an incense stick, Yi An finally drew all the remaining Primordial Yin-Yang Essence into his body. There was no time to refine it; he glanced at the sky. Time was running out; the two hours were nearly up.