Mo Shiyun looked down at Gabriel with deep, smug satisfaction. Behind her mask carved from pale bone, her dark eyes curved into a thin, mocking crescent. She carried herself with the untouchable arrogance of an old predator that had watched its prey walk straight into a perfect, centuries old cage.
To her, the "White Phantom" was nothing more than a useful tool, a strong, clueless fool who had blindly cleared the last thing in her way. The mini giant guardian, which had kept her sect locked away from the core of the spike for generations, was now nothing but a fading pile of silver dust around Gabriel's boots.
"You really did quite a wonderful job, White Phantom," Mo Shiyun said, her rough, leaf scraping voice dripping with polite amusement as the seven black iron nails floated lazily behind her back. "We didn't even have to lift a finger."
She raised her hand slightly, her black sleeves rustling in the stale draft. "Now, step aside. The spike is ours, and your purpose is done."
