Fists fell dense as raindrops, as if they were pythons about to swallow Lin Xuan whole.
The sounds of bang, bang, bang kept ringing in his ears—the spiritual light on the surface of the Black Gold Dragon Scale Shield was being beaten until it wavered and flickered.
On that hard shield surface, fist imprint after fist imprint had actually been left behind.
The gap in strength was enormous. Lin Xuan did not even have the slightest power to fight back.
Ever since setting foot on the path of immortal cultivation, Lin Xuan's encounters had been extraordinary, and his magic power and divine abilities had far surpassed cultivators of the same rank. Challenging those above his level was, to him, as common as everyday meals. In all these years, this was the first time he had been pressed down and beaten so miserably by an existence of the same rank.
As expected of a Devil Ancestor from the upper realm—even a wisp of Split Soul could not be slighted or insulted.
Lin Xuan's face was filled with shock and fury intermingled, as if he was already somewhat unable to hold on.
"Kid, die!"
The Ancient Demon's fists became even swifter and fiercer, while on the other side, Wang Tinglou was being obstructed by several demonic-shadow clones the opponent had conjured. For the moment, he simply could not free his hands to give Lin Xuan any powerful support.
Those few demonic shadows—who knew what kind of spell they were? They themselves were not very strong, but they were like maggots clinging to the bone.
When shattered, they fused back together again, almost no different from an undying body.
Of course, this was merely an illusion. Each time they were shattered, the Ancient Demon's true body's expression grew uglier by a shade. Clearly,