In the heartbeat before Pangaea Castle was completely swallowed by the light, Imu hardened his resolve.
He made his choice!
He ceased maintaining that frail human facade.
A surge of immense, dark energy erupted from within his body.
In an instant, the light was completely devoured.
The magnificent hall plummeted from the scorching brilliance of day into a darkness deeper than the absolute void.
Upon the throne, the frail figure vanished.
In its place stood an unspeakable, gargantuan monster.
Composed entirely of darkness, it had no fixed shape—only countless writhing, twisting limbs that reached frantically toward the "energy ball" about to explode against the ceiling.
Imu had revealed his final, demonized true form.
He had actually chosen to use his own body—a vessel forged from the purest essence of darkness—as a cage to seal this "sun"!
Countless pitch-black tentacles reached the ceiling in a fraction of a second.
Like a colossal web blotting out the sky, they completely and airtightly enveloped the golden energy ball, which had expanded to its limit and was poised to unleash its devastating power.
He intended to use his undying, rapid regeneration to forcibly trap the full brunt of the explosion within his own body.
By doing so, he would preserve this sanctuary, the symbol of the world's pinnacle of power.
The next second.
There was no earth-shattering roar.
No world-shaking shockwave.
Not a single shred of energy leaked out.
The golden "sun," concentrating Lucian's terrifying power, exploded violently within Imu's demonized shell.
The resulting explosion of energy was held in a death grip by the ultimate darkness.
"AAAAAAAAAGH!"
Muffled wails of excruciating pain, forcibly suppressed deep in the throat, echoed from within that massive silhouette of darkness.
The sound was not human; it sounded more like an ancient evil from the depths of hell being subjected to the torture of a thousand cuts.
From the outside, the gargantuan demon of pure darkness was illuminated from within by billions of blinding golden rays.
Those rays were sacred blades, frantically cutting, piercing, and tearing through every inch of his flesh formed from dark energy, seeking to carve him into pieces.
The sacred solar energy and Imu's dark essence triggered a terrifying annihilation reaction within his body.
Imu could feel his body collapsing, evaporating, and turning into nothingness inch by inch from the inside, only to instantly regenerate.
Every second was pure torture.
He could feel his dark essence being scorched relentlessly by that domineering power of light.
The light ravaged the great dark cage for a full ten seconds.
Then, it dissipated.
Finally, everything returned to nothingness.
The darkness shrouding the hall began to recede, and light returned.
The shockwave of energy had been completely tanked by Imu's own body; not a single spark had leaked.
The magnificent Empty Throne hall was almost unscathed, save for a few deep cracks that had appeared in the walls.
The Holy Land was saved!
But Imu had paid an unimaginable price.
The massive demonized form had vanished.
In its place was a shattered figure falling helplessly from mid-air, slamming heavily onto the cold floor with a dull thud.
Imu's condition was utterly catastrophic.
Of his massive demonized body, less than half remained.
From his left shoulder to his right waist, a massive, clean incision had completely erased a section of his body, sliced diagonally by an invisible, divine blade.
His broken frame was covered in countless golden scars that refused to heal.
The golden solar energy was like a parasite, clinging stubbornly to his essence, continuously scorching his soul and suppressing his prized regenerative abilities.
He struggled, attempting to return to the human form that symbolized majesty and mystery.
He failed.
He could only barely maintain a fragmented silhouette.
Half of his body was simply gone.
His so-called "immortal" recovery speed had become agonizingly slow in the face of trauma derived from a higher dimension of power; he could only barely prevent his injuries from worsening.
He lay sprawled on the ground, propping himself up with his remaining right hand, gasping violently.
Every breath pulled at the agonizing pain deep within his soul, nearly driving him to unconsciousness.
Humiliation.
Unprecedented humiliation.
In eight hundred years, this was the first time he had been driven to such a wretched state.
Even Joy Boy hadn't managed to beat him this badly!
And this was on his own turf.
Slowly, using every ounce of strength left in his body, he lifted his head. His remaining crimson eye, flickering with the patterns of samsara, glared viciously into the distance.
That damned man in the white mask.
At this moment, he must be hiding in some corner, gloating over this pathetic sight.
A fire mixed with excruciating pain, weakness, and boundless rage exploded in his chest.
"Damn... you..."
He squeezed out the last bit of strength his broken body could offer; every word was forced out with immense effort.
His voice was hoarse and distorted, filled with the most vicious hatred and curses.
"This grudge... will be repaid!"
He roared, his fragmented body trembling violently from extreme rage.
"Just wait... just wait until I break the seal and curse of Davy Jones and sink the entire world... into the depths of the ocean!
When that time comes... let's see how much ability you have... you won't even be able to make a ripple!"
This oath, saturated with endless malice, exhausted the last of his energy.
As the words fell, he could no longer hold himself up. His remaining right arm gave way, and his broken body collapsed back onto the floor.
It was no use; the injuries were too severe.
Trauma at the level of the essence would likely take decades, perhaps even longer, to fully heal relying on his own power alone.
He couldn't wait that long.
Struggling, he used the remaining half of his body to drag himself across the cold, smooth floor, leaving a long trail of mixed dark energy and blood. Staggering and faltering, he crawled step by step toward the shadows in the deepest part of the hall.
He had to reach his secret garden.
Only there, in that specific environment, would it be possible to recover quickly from such a fatal wound to his essence.
He didn't even have the energy to glance at the Five Elders or Saint Garling, who were still lying on the ground nearby.
Although their bodies were slowly recovering under the nourishment of dark energy, they remained unconscious.
Right now, he didn't even have the strength to wake them.
The back of the King had never looked so frantic, so wretched.
That shattered figure was eventually swallowed by the endless shadows deep within the hall and vanished.
The empty hall returned to a deathly silence.
The towering Empty Throne still radiated its eternal aura of majesty, overlooking everything.
But its master, the king who had ruled the world for eight hundred years, had made a pathetic, almost shameful exit.
Beneath the throne, the highest authorities of the World Government lay sprawled in every direction.
The Five Elders and the Commander-in-Chief of the Holy Knights.
They lay there like a bunch of thugs knocked unconscious in a street brawl, collapsed on the ground without a shred of dignity.
The entire scene was absurd to the extreme.
The sanctuary symbolizing the pinnacle of world power appeared utterly derelict in this moment.