The sky was torn apart by streaks of divine light and blood, the battlefield a chaotic swirl of energy, screams, and death. The Sovereigns clashed in the heavens, their power shaking the world itself, while Bai Xiaochun commanded the forces below, his voice carrying over the endless war cries.

Li Qinghou was at the front, his robes tattered, his face grim. He had held the line for so long, defying the enemy’s advance with every ounce of his strength. But even he had limits. A blinding spear of energy, wreathed in dark flames, shot through the air—too fast, too sudden. It struck him clean through the chest, the force sending him tumbling backward. Blood sprayed, a stark contrast against the storming heavens.

His body faltered, and for the first time, Li Qinghou fell.

From the sky, his form plummeted, his breath ragged, his vision dimming. The enemy surged forward, their eyes gleaming with victory, sensing the collapse of the defensive line. The other leaders rushed to intercept, but the tide of war pressed in on all sides.

Somewhere in the madness, Bai Xiaochun’s voice roared with authority. “Get him out of here! Now!”

Li Qinghou barely heard it, his mind hazy with pain.