Shi Hao was heartbroken and disheveled, looking up at the sky with blood streaming down the corners of his eyes. He roared with despair, his voice resembling thunder, shaking the vast heavens and all domains, his aura unparalleled and mighty.
Friends and unfamiliar powerful figures, one after another, had fallen; in this vast world, few of his contemporaries remained.
Even his own child had perished, transformed into blood and soul, feeling profoundly sorrowful, sacrificing oneself in a chaotic era. Desolate could only watch helplessly, grieving immensely.
Standing at the pinnacle of the Quasi-Immortal Emperor, he should have overlooked the heavens, arrogantly gazed upon history. Yet he could not see his loved ones, could not protect his child. Friends and elders were sealed one by one; some died, some were wounded, continuously falling.
This chaotic era is too ruthless; all kings are wailing in grief, bleeding tears, ending in tragedy and sadness.
