Chapter 941 Goodness Still Prevails

• At that very moment, deep in the heart of the Swamp of the Deceased, an endless sea of lightning boiled and crashed.
• Finneas sat cross-legged at the storm's nucleus. Charcoal black skin peeled and cracked as billions of lightning arcs lanced straight through him, twining with the faint gold tracery of his veins.
• He did not flinch, nor did he scream. He did not even seem to breathe, a motionless statue scorched past recognition.