Malakor raised both of his frail bleeding hands high into the air.
He took a deep rattling breath, drawing an unfathomable amount of dark mana into his fragile core.
The veins on his neck bulged glowing with a sickening purple light.
This was the magic that had earned him the title of Demon King.
He wasn't just going to open a portal… he was going to forcefully link the spatial coordinates of the mountain ridge directly to the deepest most corrupted abyssal dungeon networks located beneath the continent.
"Reality is but a fragile pane of glass," Malakor rasped. "And I am the hammer."
He slammed his hands downward, his fingers curling into claws as if grabbing the very fabric of the air itself.
With a terrifying gut-wrenching scream of physical effort, Malakor violently ripped his hands apart.
KRRAA-KOOOM!
The sound was absolutely deafening.
