He was like a rampaging, invincible thunderbolt, an unstoppable tornado, a wildly crushing derailed train.
In a word, everyone who stood in Yang Fei's way got knocked down.
No one could catch his fists.
Nothing could stop his advancing steps.
From the rooftop above.
Yang Fei and Chen Ke, like cleavers effortlessly slicing through bamboo, charged forward with unmatched sharpness.
All those who stood in front of him were sent rolling all over the ground by a tremendous force.
Or they were like kites with broken strings, flying away.
His hands and feet were like hammers weighing hundreds of pounds.
They seemed to smash about wildly, yet every strike hit a vital spot.
And the angles and methods of his attack were exquisitely ingenious.
To describe this melee as a group fight would not be fitting.
Because none of the masters who rushed over could withstand a single punch or kick from Yang Fei.
And their sticks and slicers.
