The Martial Peak

'How long have we been fighting for?' The Martial Blade God had no idea.

The concept of time suddenly seemed meaningless in the clash between both him and a being that had transcended such shackles.

Only the sublime feeling of cutting through the Nether's body, and the evasion of fatal blows, filled his mind. And slowly, he began to experience another sensation he had forgotten.

"Haa… haa…"

He was running out of breath!

His swings became sluggish. His bones ached. His muscles hurt with each convulsion. His body was already showing signs of exhaustion.

'So this is how it feels! I had forgotten!'

The Nether now had the upper hand, pushing the Martial Blade God on the defensive. He had lost the advantage, and was now barely keeping up. He was in a very precarious position, drawing closer and closer to death.

Yet… the Martial Blade God was smiling—no, he was laughing.

Like a madman dancing in the presence of imminent destruction—he did not cease his cackles of insanity.