"Stinking Birdman, there's a road to Heaven you refuse to take, yet you insist on barging into Hell without a door. Haha, today you're in for a big disaster, destined to become insect food for countless vicious insects and ferocious ants..."
The Nine Xuan Cold Dragon Ice Coffin Weapon Spirit laughed wildly through voice transmission, clearly adept at psychological attacks.
A hint of coldness and solemn murder flashed across the Creator of Light's face, a slight sneer appearing: "Do you really think you can treat me, Ye Duzun, like a soft persimmon?"
"Haha, dead bird, take my ice sorbet..." the Nine Xuan Cold Dragon Ice Coffin Weapon Spirit laughed wildly, and suddenly the coffin lid opened wide, spewing out countless white, soft ointment-like things.
Ice Sorbet?
What the heck?
The Creator of Light was utterly mystified.
