The flames madly licked at the black vortex, trying to disperse it, both sides eroding each other, intertwining fire and darkness to form a strange and terrifying scene.
Situ Leng, with the help of Wu Wushuang, finally broke free from the shackles of the Power of Silence, but his face was as pale as paper, his breath weak. The thirty-six pieces of metallic wings behind him shattered inch by inch, the blade-like feathers turning into rust fragments under the Power of Silence.
Wu Wushuang's expression was grave, beads of sweat as large as beans rolling down his forehead. He suddenly shouted, actually spitting out a mouthful of Essence Blood.
