That slash.
It wasn't just a swing—it was the embodiment of every ounce of his strength, every drop of comprehension, every second of struggle inside the Dimension of Time.
The glowing black scales on his arms shimmered with draconic might, veins glowing beneath like rivers of molten power.
As the sword moved, the very air split open with a high-pitched hum, the pressure of the slash tearing through the atmosphere like a celestial blade descending from the heavens.
His strike carried the full weight of his level 2 Concept of Severing Sword, now sharpened with the faintest, terrifying edge of invincibility—a whisper of a future dominion over all things that dare oppose the sword.
The massive golden Six Hands Buddha Palm, radiating divine brilliance and crushing spiritual pressure, descended like the will of an ancient god. But Max's sword, small in comparison yet overflowing with defiance, cut upward into the oncoming divine force.
