As one of the Mist Eye Sect's Qi Refining disciples staggered back, his arm smoking from a direct strike, Han Yu flicked his wrist. A needle of condensed soul qi shot forward, piercing the youth's consciousness. The boy froze, his eyes rolling back for a split second.
That was all it took.
A bolt from an altar slammed into him, lifting him off his feet and hurling him against the far wall with a sickening crunch. He did not rise after that.
"One down."
Han Yu moved again, his spirit sense locked onto the faint marks of Qi.
He struck at those whose movements faltered, choosing moments when the altars themselves would finish the job. A second soul needle, this time aimed at a disciple desperately trying to form a defensive seal. The man stiffened and a bolt burned straight through his chest, leaving a gaping hole.
"Haha!"
The chaos was absolute and Han Yu thrived in it.
To his companions, it seemed like luck or ruthless precision.
