"Now," Haoran said, his voice carrying clearly even without the artifact. "We can finally talk."
"You!" Shen Fei hissed, his voice trembling with a cocktail of rage and disbelief.
He slowly pushed himself up from the debris, his robes—once pristine and symbolic of his status—now tattered and covered in the chalky white dust of the pulverized pillars.
Every joint in his body ached from the weight of that diamond palm, a strike that had felt less like a martial technique and more like the sky itself collapsing to punish his insolence.
"Bastard! I'll kill you! I'll tear you apart!" Shen Jian roared, his self-control snapping completely.
His aura, a turbulent storm of wind and fire characteristic of the first stage of the Nascent Soul realm, erupted from his body with such violence that the sand beneath his feet turned to glass.
He lunged toward Haoran, his fingers curved like claws, ready to rend flesh and bone.
But he never reached his target.
