At this moment, thousands of cracking, violet lightning bolts rained down from the heavens in a rhythmic, frantic bombardment, striking the shadow dome created by Qing'er with the force of falling mountains.
Each impact sent a shockwave of thunder that threatened to shatter the eardrums of every living soul for miles.
High above, Qing'er's face was a mask of agony as she coughed up a spray of crimson blood that stood out sharply against the black of her bodysuit.
Yet, her red eyes burned with a terrifying, singular resolve as she gritted her teeth so hard they began to crack, forcing her Saint-realm cultivation to its absolute limit to maintain the barrier.
To her, every bolt of lightning was a hammer blow against her soul, but she was the shield of the Young Master, and a shield will protect its user until it is broken.
Down in the cratered street, Jiang Chen felt the first cold touch of true, final oblivion.
