Fang Tian exploded forward again.
This time, there was no feint, no probing, no holding back. The air itself seemed to scream as he closed the distance in three heartbeats. At exactly three meters, his right leg snapped up like a whip cracking through the night.
"Flying Thunder Kick!"
The name tore from his throat in a guttural roar.
A high-grade Sky-rank martial art unleashed at full power.
The kick looked deceptively simple—straight, direct, no flourish—but the momentum it carried was apocalyptic.
Invisible pressure waves rolled outward from the descending leg, pressing down on every chest in the arena. To stand in its path felt like facing the open maw of hell itself: suffocating dread, bone-deep fear, the certainty that something unstoppable was coming to end you.
The entire grandstand went deathly still.
"Here it comes…" someone whispered.
