Novel Full Chapter 1008 Potato
Chapter 1008: Chapter 1008 Potato
The chains inside Cyrus seemed to pulse with anticipation as Cyrus, forced by Ross’s will, slowly rose.
His body moved with a grace that belied the turmoil of his mind, hands tracing precise sigils in the air.
Mystical energy erupted, glowing lines and runes spiraling outward, intertwining with the very fabric of the world.
The ground beneath him quaked as spiritual power surged through the land, rivers of energy flowing like molten silver into the sky.
Cyrus Thorn chanted, his voice booming and commanding, yet every note carried the invisible weight of Ross’s control.
The spells he cast were magnificent and terrifying, capable of reshaping the environment, altering the flow of energy, and bending the very essence of life.
The World Heart—a crystal of unimaginable purity and power—was something both delicate and indestructible, depending on how one perceived it.
To the wise, it was the soul of a world, the core that sustained the flow of time, energy, and life itself.
To the greedy, it was a treasure beyond value, a source of boundless power that could elevate even a mere mortal into a god.
A being of unimaginable power!
Finding one was a feat so rare that entire civilizations had risen and fallen without ever glimpsing such a marvel.
Even across the vast ocean of stars, through the infinite scale of the multiverse, only a handful had ever been discovered.
And each of those had brought both miracles and calamities to the worlds that housed them.
The power sealed within a World Heart was beyond imagination.
It was the very rhythm of creation—the pulse that breathed vitality into mountains, oceans, skies, and the living beings that called them home.
But such power was never meant to be owned.
Those foolish enough to attempt to seize it by force often found themselves erased from existence, their souls devoured by the very force they sought to control.
Cyrus knew this truth.
He had studied the ancient records that spoke of how World Hearts had reacted to greed and ambition.
Some had shattered in fury, detonating in divine explosions that consumed countless universes, their essence scattering back into the void to reform elsewhere in time.
Others had gone silent, sealing themselves away from all who dared approach.
And so, when Cyrus discovered that this Earth hid a World Heart beneath its surface, he did not act rashly.
His instincts screamed caution.
The energy he felt radiating from the planet’s core was alive—watchful, even intelligent.
It had chosen to give birth to humanity, to breathe awareness into clay and grant them will. That was when the idea came to him:
If I cannot take the Heart, I will taint its pulse.
He would corrupt its creation—its children.
By infecting the hearts of men with greed, lust, fear, chaos and hatred, he would twist the harmony that the World Heart maintained.
Once its children turned against one another, its energy would falter, and its purity would rot from within.
A corrupted World Heart could no longer defend itself.
It would become vulnerable, pliable, easy to control.
Cyrus stood at the center of a desolate field, ancient runes glowing faintly beneath his feet.
Black smoke coiled around him, thick and suffocating, carrying whispers from realms unseen.
His body trembled, veins glowing faintly red as the corruption ritual reached its peak.
He raised both hands to the sky.
"By the blood of the fallen stars... by the will of the forgotten gods... awaken!"
The world responded.
Bang!
A shockwave tore through the air, shaking mountains and rending clouds apart.
Lightning flashed without thunder, rivers reversed their flow, and even time seemed to hesitate for a heartbeat.
The land screamed beneath the strain of power unleashed.
When it was over, Cyrus collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.
His chest heaved violently; sweat and blood mixed on his face.
The technique had taken everything from him—his spirit, his vitality, his strength.
He lay there trembling, staring up at the fractured sky.
And then, a voice cut through the fading echoes of his struggle. Smooth, cold, commanding.
"Well done, slave."
Cyrus’s eyes widened. He knew that voice.
A figure stepped out from the darkness—a tall man with a faint smile that seemed to hold both mockery and amusement.
His presence bent reality itself; the ground wilted beneath his feet, and the air turned heavy with dread.
"I will summon you when I have need of you," Ross said, his tone casual, almost kind, yet every word carried the weight of an unbreakable command.
Before Cyrus could speak, Ross vanished, disappearing as suddenly and mysteriously as he had appeared, leaving behind only a faint echo of his laughter—and the lingering dread that something far greater had just awakened in this world.
"What a stroke of bad luck," Cyrus muttered, his voice trembling with a bitter laugh that soon erupted into full-blown hysteria.
The sound echoed through the broken landscape like the laughter of a mad god.
His chest heaved, his body still scorched from the power he had unleashed, yet it wasn’t pain that haunted him—it was humiliation.
He had never imagined that he, Cyrus the notorious Bone Emperor, a cultivator who had walked through dimensions and defied entire sects, could be enslaved so easily.
No battle, no resistance—just a word, a look, and his entire will was bound like a puppet’s string.
His laughter died down to a low, trembling murmur. His eyes darkened as he stared at the void sky above him.
Who... no, what... is that man?
The memory of that man’s face alone made his soul shudder.
The man’s voice carried a resonance that felt older than the stars—an authority that bent existence itself.
No mortal, no god, no ancient creature of chaos or immortal emperor should have been able to wield such effortless power.
Yet Ross had appeared before him, smiled like a bored monarch, and enslaved him as though it was nothing.
Cyrus clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms until blood ran down his fingers.
"I will not remain anyone’s servant," he growled. "Not now, not ever."