Shouldn't.
A small, hopeful smile tugged at Wang Chen's lips as the demons advanced, their shadows stretching across the empty village like the opening jaws of night.
This thought had barely surfaced in Wang Chen's mind when suddenly—
Whoooo—!
A sharp, piercing whistle tore through the magical curtain's projection.
Wang Chen's heart plummeted. A suffocating premonition—cold, instinctive, absolute—rose inside his chest.
Something terrible is coming.
Li Mei lifted her gaze at the same moment, her senses instantly sharpened.
"What is that…?"
Her voice trembled faintly as her pupils constricted.
High above the village sky, an iron pillar, more than ten feet long and thick enough to crush an ox cart, was plummeting downward. It wasn't falling—it was cleaving through the air like a divine weapon hurled by an angry god.
Its descent warped the wind around it, leaving a spiraling tail of force in its wake.
Old Man Fang… didn't look up.
