The night was ablaze with golden flames, the ancient and majestic Qilin gazing down upon the earth.
The Ancient God stretched out his arms and softly uttered a single syllable!
The pitch-black Qilin roared skyward!
Ancient Divine Language!
Boom!
The dark world faltered, as though it were a broken mirror, cracking inch by inch, fragmenting into pieces!
This was the judgment of the Ancient Supreme.
Like heavens collapsing, earth shattering.
Falling into the depths of the abyss.
Faced with such overwhelming divine power, Zhang Shouheng—a Captain Level fighter grievously injured—didn't even have the strength to grip his bow and arrow; he could neither resist the force nor discern a direction to flee.
The iron bow in his grip trembled in terror, disintegrating into ashes inch by inch.
The arrows behind him splintering into fragments.
His pupils gradually clouded with ashen death, his consciousness growing muddled, his spirit endlessly plummeting.
