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'It should be enough to defeat both of them.'

With that the domain that surrounded battlefield began to shrink. The domain shrunk until it integrated with Naline king's body.

The eerie silence disappeared and everything returned to normal. But, both Naline king and Mordain looked Natine king with astonishment and fear, because Natine king's aura began to increase and it doesn't seem to decrease anytime soon.

It soon reached to the point where both Naline king and Mordain trouble standing.

"We have to take this fight seriously, I never thought that his domain would be a deviant one." Naline King looked at Mordain and warned.

The Domain of saint realm cultivators differ based on the personality, but they all came under three categories.

The first one was called elemental domain, which was common and majority of the cultivators have it. The elemental domain was made using the law that cultivator comprehended in divine realm.

The second one was called fusion domain. This domain cannot be formed by ordinary cultivator and only a genius with high talent can achieve it. It is formed by combining two or more elemental law that comprehend by the cultivator.

The fusion domain was stronger than the elemental domain and if enough elements were added, it should be similar to a mini world.

The last type was deviant domain. This type of domain doesn't come under any of the above category and every one of them was unique and weird.

The Natine's king domain absorbed the vibration of particles produced by sound waves and used it to strengthen himself. It was a overpowered ability; as much as it was powerful, it also has a potential drawback, which could be anything.

For example, after using the deviant domain, the cultivator could be weakned for a certain period of time. Although, this won't be same for everyone and differ based on the power of domain.

In simple term, the strength of drawback is related to the power of deviant domain.

The tide of battle shifted as the Natine King, fueled by a surge of newfound strength, launched into a counteroffensive that was nothing short of awe-inspiring. His every move was a blur, a symphony of power and precision that turned the battlefield into his stage.

The Naline King and Mordain, sensing the change in momentum, responded in kind. They opened their domains, realms of power that were extensions of their very essence. The air around Mordain darkened, shadows coalescing into a tangible aura that pulsed with menace. The Naline King's domain was a stark contrast, crackling with electric energy that danced across the sky like living entities.

The Natine King's counter was a series of rapid strikes, each blow landing with the force of a thunderclap. He moved through Mordain's shadows as if they were mere wisps, his blade cutting swathes of light through the darkness. Against the Naline King's lightning, he was a conductor, his sword directing the flow of energy away from him, turning the potential destruction into a dazzling light show.

Mordain, his form a silhouette within his dark domain, struck back with a fury. The ground erupted with spikes of shadow, each one aimed to impale the Natine King. But with a leap and a bound, the Natine King soared above the assault, his descent marked by a devastating strike that sent a shockwave through Mordain's domain, causing the shadows to tremble and dissipate.

The Naline King unleashed a torrent of lightning bolts, each one a streak of death aimed at the heart of the Natine King. But with a roar that shook the heavens, the Natine King swung his blade in a wide arc, creating a barrier of force that deflected the bolts skyward, where they exploded in a spectacular display of light and sound.

The battle between them was a clash of titans, a contest of champions whose powers were so evenly matched that the very earth beneath them bore witness to their might. The Natine King's onslaught was relentless, a cascade of blows that forced Mordain and the Naline King to fight with every ounce of their being.

As the Natine King pressed his advantage, his movements became a blur, a cascade of motion that was both beautiful and deadly. Each strike was a masterclass in warfare, each parry a testament to his skill. Mordain's shadows grew erratic, struggling to keep pace, while the Naline King's lightning became a desperate flurry, crackling wildly in an attempt to stem the tide.

The spectacle was beyond the comprehension of the ordinary soldier; it was a battle that transcended the mundane, a display of power that would be spoken of in hushed tones for generations to come. The Natine King, a force of nature, was a tempest that neither Mordain's darkness nor the Naline King's storm could quell.

The balance of the battle had begun to shift, the scales tipping ever so slightly in favor of the Natine King. His relentless assault had pushed Mordain and the Naline King to the brink, their domains wavering under the onslaught. But in the midst of the chaos, the Naline King's desperation clawed its way to the surface, his ruthless nature revealing a path to victory soaked in sacrifice.

With a cold, calculating gaze, the Naline King turned to Mordain. "Do what must be done," he commanded, his voice devoid of hesitation. "For the glory of Naline."

Mordain, ever the obedient harbinger, nodded. His eyes, once filled with the thrill of battle, now held a grim resolve. He knew what was asked of him—a final gambit, a sacrificial play that could turn the tide back in their favor.

The Natine King, sensing a lull in the battle's rhythm, hesitated. It was this moment, this fleeting pause, that the Naline King had been waiting for. With a swift incantation, he unleashed a spell of binding, a spectral chain that shot forth and coiled around the Natine King, catching him unawares.

The Natine King's surprise was palpable. The chains constricted, their ethereal links cold and unyielding, sapping his strength. He struggled against the bonds, but the more he fought, the tighter they became, draining his power, leaving him vulnerable.

Mordain advanced, his form a shadow of resignation. His hands, once the instruments of relentless assault, now trembled with the gathering of a different kind of power. It was a power born of sacrifice, a final act that would leave its mark on the fabric of the war.

The air around him thickened, shadows coalescing into a vortex that spun with increasing ferocity. The darkness seemed to draw in the very light, the energy pulsating with Mordain's life force. His eyes, reflecting the turmoil of his soul, cast a last look upon the field where he had fought with such fervor. It was a look that spoke of regret, of a destiny embraced and a path chosen.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Mordain brought his hands together, the space between them alive with writhing shadows. The vortex reached its crescendo, a maelstrom of dark energy that screamed in silence. And then, with a release that felt like the breaking of a dam, Mordain unleashed the explosion.

The blast was a cataclysm, a shockwave of pure darkness that erupted from Mordain's core and radiated outward in an unstoppable tide. It swept across the battlefield, a wave of annihilation that sought to consume all in its path.

The Natine King, caught in the path of the dark tide, reacted with a warrior's instinct. His blade, a beacon of his indomitable will, was raised in defiance. But the force of the explosion was overwhelming, battering against his defenses with the fury of a storm. The light of his sword, a symbol of his unyielding spirit, flickered under the onslaught, dimming with each passing moment.

The impact resonated through the battlefield, a thunderous echo that spoke of change, of a turning point in the war. Soldiers from both sides halted, their breaths caught in their throats as they witnessed the spectacle.

As the dust settled, the Natine King stood amidst the devastation, his figure hunched, his armor scarred. He was severely injured, the vitality that had once coursed through him now ebbing away. The explosion had changed the course of the battle, leaving the outcome hanging in the balance, and the fate of the Natine King uncertain.

The Naline King watched from his vantage point, a mixture of triumph and regret etched upon his features. He had played his hand, and the cost was etched in the crater left by Mordain's sacrifice. But in war, victory often demanded such prices, and he was willing to pay them.

The battlefield fell silent, the soldiers of both kingdoms pausing in a moment of shock as they didn't expect such situation.