The Slave Trade Guild members nearby screamed and retreated; afraid they would be dragged into the spell by mistake.
Even the two Scorpion Men paused for a brief instant, their savage eyes reflecting the raging blood storm. And without hesitation, they retreated with large steps.
The Young Lord's face had turned pale, but his eyes burned with madness.
The spell consumed a lot.
Too much mana and spirit.
But he no longer cared.
If he allowed the Grim Reaper to continue controlling the battlefield, everyone would be slaughtered one by one.
Thus, he had to tear open the battlefield with overwhelming force.
He had to crush the undead elites.
He had to force him to make mistakes.
To make him realize he was nothing before him.
"Devour them!" the Young Lord roared.
Immediately, the blood tornado surged forward like a crimson beast opening its massive maw.
Wherever it passed, undead Dune Scorpions were lifted into the air and torn apart.
Their shells cracked.
