"It seems they cannot bear the cost of your death."
Indifferently deep, the figure in dark bone armor suddenly spoke.
Luo Wantao's brow furrowed slightly, and then he felt a sharp pain coming from his neck.
The flesh tore, blood vessels compressed.
As his legs left the ground, breathing in that moment became a luxury, reduced to the physiological instinct of a flushed face and a futile struggle to grasp the opponent's wrist.
Indifferent gaze for a few seconds, Chen Feng raised his head slightly, looking askance at the crowd surrounding him.
The giant axe in his hand transformed into a golden round shield, one hand horizontal, the other holding that middle-aged figure.
Alone against many cold eyes, and the ever-approaching new Sixth-Order Transformed People in midair.
His tone was deep, the electronically synthesized voice resonating.
"Utopia, must prevail!!"
Punch!!
His arm suddenly exerted force, the neck exploded, head fell to the ground.
