Yun Lintian became a storm of destruction.
The White Dragon Spear danced in his hands, each thrust precise and lethal. With the battlefield balanced and his energy constantly replenished, he moved like death incarnate. Warriors fell by the hundreds, their life essence fueling his relentless assault.
Linlin's lightning carved paths through the enemy ranks, while Qingqing's wind blades severed limbs and shattered weapons. The once-invincible army now crumbled before them.
Zhan Tian watched from his throne, the iron creaking under his tightening grip. His pupil-less eyes tracked every movement, every calculated kill.
"Interesting," he rumbled. The word carried across the battlefield like distant thunder.
