The situation of Lin Fan and the two others was rather awkward.
Like a small fishing boat caught in crashing waves, a song could easily describe it:
"The cold rain slaps recklessly against the face!"
Painful, excruciatingly painful.
The oppression of a mighty force was truly terrifying.
Although the elder was merely the remnant will of an Immortal Venerable, the power he unleashed was astonishing. Meanwhile, the Holy Emperor, consuming the blood like he was on stimulants, was rejuvenated and launched continuous, devastating attacks.
The splendor of light, earth-shattering tremors, and countless towering mountain ranges crumbling into oblivion—under such power, who could possibly emerge intact?
The ancient mountains seemed to weep: We are so picturesque, enriching the world with our breathtaking beauty, yet your relentless battle is on the verge of destroying us. Is there no shred of humanity left?
"Brother Lin, have you noticed he's growing increasingly deranged?"
