Collapse of the Blessed Land

The throne room shuddered with the sound of splintering wood—Adam's fists clenched, his knuckles blanched bone-white against the armrest. Veins writhed like serpents beneath his skin, his jaw locked, lips peeled back in a silent snarl.

This Xueyin, 'whatever blade,' boded nothing but trouble, especially when only a minute separated him from Yuehua Ji's glacial fury. He had to leave. Now. 

As he controlled the flying fortress to move, however, Xueyin raised his palm like a blade. 

"I've rewound the countdown to your death by years, yet you don't seem to appreciate my clemency. So be it. You'll wear the fate you've earned: collars and chains, beaten like the disobedient dog you are." 

He swung his palm down.