Yan Xing, wielding the Sword of Glory, extended his wings and hovered in the air.
The eastern sky revealed the pale light of pre-dawn, and under the starlight, seven enormous figures rapidly approached.
The roaring grew louder and louder.
Heize City was blanketed with flames, guiding the bombers in their flight path.
Standing amidst the ruins, the three-headed Werewolf faced Yan Xing. He was not in a hurry to attack, his eyes showing lucidity.
"I'm surprised by your strength... your personal power and that of your army."
"Ironhead?" Yan Xing recognized Ironhead's voice. "I didn't expect it was you. The power you've gained from your forced sacrifice must mean you won't live long. It's not too late for you to surrender now. I have no intention of exterminating you all."
The aerial units and the soldiers who had fired their rockets retreated on Yan Xing's orders.
The bombs, once dropped, would not discriminate between friend and foe.
