The aura from the sickle was completely different from the aura of the weapons he had seen; it seemed to surpass even ninth-grade divine artifact.
The soul sea of his churned violently.
The invader's fragmented consciousness—despite being shattered moments ago—laughed eerily, as if fused into the sickle itself.
"You thought you won, kid. But you didn't expect I would have something like this."
The fragment's voice grew eerie, almost joyful.
"You should feel honoured, kid. I couldn't use this when I was alive... But now, in death, I have nothing left to lose."
The sickle spun slowly, and with every rotation, cracks began to spread in Apollo's otherwise impregnable soul sea. The dozens of soul-forged swords that had defeated the black chains now trembled, as if afraid.
KACHA!
A small fracture appeared under Apollo's feet.
The fragment laughed wildly:
"You see? Even you cannot resist the will of something from beyond the three universes!"
