Northern was insanely angry.
The Leviathan's hand still hung from the rift, fingers slightly curled. Its position had shifted. Black smoke seeped from its skin, and where it lifted, black flames crawled along its surface, healing the exposed whitish muscles beneath the ravaged flesh.
Northern stared, disgusted and deeply irritated.
A clone had just exhausted all the Void essence gathered from the Void Palace and there was nothing to show for it.
He closed his eyes again, diving deeper into the sanctum of his mind.
Then he began.
He remembered it clearly. During the raid with Paragon Dante, he had somehow unraveled the true form of Chaos Flame—transforming it from black to white.
The effect had been so catastrophic, it completely erased a creature's existence.
How did he do it?
Chaos Flame had always been a fragmented ability, broken into Black Flames and Black Lance.
