Each of Zhuo's blows left a mark on the very boundary that separated this world from the higher realms.
The domain barrier cracked with every strike.
Primordial winds howled like wounded beasts. The stars above flickered, blinking in and out as the void itself bent beneath his fists.
His bones broke, healed, and broke again. His life force spilled out with each breath, as if a calligrapher had knocked over a bottle of ink onto an untouched scroll—bold, irreversible.
The sky wept light.
And then, it tore open.
Not a tear in the clouds, but a jagged wound in the world's very shell. From it poured a light that no mortal eyes could fully comprehend.
Golden-violet strands of energy drifted down like divine blood.
"A hand has risen where none dared reach.
A mortal of dust has struck the gate of dominion. Who dares such judgment?"
"Zhuo, son of no clan.
Born beneath broken roofs.
You who broke the sky with flesh—
Be known."
