One hundred million clones, plus the original Ethan, simultaneously released their auras.
It wasn't a shockwave.
It was a physical weight that crushed the breath out of every candidate.
The pressure was so immense that the weaker candidates' bodies simply imploded, turning into clouds of red mist instantly.
The stronger ones fell to their knees, their bones snapping under the gravity of a hundred million Origin Paragons.
The mocking laughter was gone.
In its place was a silence so heavy it felt like lead.
"The Will told you I was an anomaly," Ethan said, walking through the air.
The candidates in his path were pushed aside by his sheer presence.
"But it didn't tell you what that meant."
"It meant that I am the end of your story."
The slaughter that followed was not a battle.
A battle implies that both sides have a chance to win.
This was a harvest.
Ethan didn't give them a second chance.
He didn't want to hear their pleas or their excuses.
