Mo Changsheng watched the combat footage streaming before him, his knuckles white. The cold metal armrest beneath his hand warped slightly, reflecting the tempest raging in his eyes.
The footage continued to play. It couldn't be called a battle; it was more like a one-sided slaughter.
Qinghe's transformed, black, draconic Exotic Beast was dozens of meters long. Its body coiled and writhed, each twist accompanied by the sickening CRUNCH of shattering bone. The long, elegant form carved arcs of death. Like a black bolt of lightning, its tail suddenly lashed out, dispersing a Spiritual Energy blast aimed at its back. The aftershock instantly vaporized the attacker into a cloud of blood mist.
The massive dragon head turned. Its amber, slitted pupils swept coldly over the camera, seeming to pierce through space and time to meet Mo Changsheng's gaze. In that look, there was no anger, no cruelty—only a calm indifference.
