WUAH!
The sound was less of a cry and more of a primal rupture, a guttural detonation of agony that tore through the heavy silence of the deep.
It was a noise so discordant, so laden with raw spiritual suffering, that it forced the massive Frost Demon Wyrm and the surrounding Yang Kings to momentarily abandon their own standoffs.
Necks craned and eyes narrowed as they sought the source of such a desperate sound.
Xiao Ming's hands moved with the rhythmic grace of a puppeteer. His fingers flexed and rotated, twisting the nearly invisible soul strings that had already burrowed deep into the spiritual essence of his opponents.
Because they had been so blinded by their own arrogance, the Demon Lords had left their soul gates wide open, allowing the gray, runic chains to latch onto their core identities like parasitic vines.
As the chains tightened, the creatures' physical bodies mirrored the devastation occurring within.
