The dense fog dissipated.
On the coastline of the Eighth Defense Zone, only a dark red iron idol remained, standing in silent majesty. In the deep crater beneath its feet—crushed by Hundredfold Gravity—the once-imperious King of Heart-eaters could no longer even be called a "corpse." It looked more like an oil painting violently erased, leaving only a smudge of ice crystals and flesh deeply etched into the scar of the earth.
The king was dead. Both kings were dead.
The moment the second king's life force was completely extinguished, every surviving Heart Eater along the seven-hundred-kilometer coastline—whether elite individuals or low-level grunts—froze in unison. The bloodline brand of the kings within them, the mental link that drove them to rally, charge, and fight without fear of death, had snapped.
Chaos ensued.
