"Let me face you."
"Let's see what kind of crutch you, this waste, rely on."
Pang Yan's eyes locked onto Ye Tian, letting out a light chuckle.
After speaking, he stomped fiercely, his form swelling by three feet, his entire body seeming to be surrounded by black mist, faint lines ready to burst forth from within the mist.
Pang Yan's hands were in the air, like playing a pipa, each pluck creating a sharp sonic boom.
Though he was a big man with a beard, his fingers were as slender as those of a woman in her twenties, brushing through the void, the black mist turning into threads and lines along with it.
These threads pierced through space, seemingly capable of cutting gold and breaking stone.
If they entangled a human body, the flesh and bones would surely be torn apart.
