The increasingly rapid barrage, gradually surpassing the limit of what their retinas could capture, stirred stormy waves in their minds, filling their vision with layer upon layer of illusions.
In their daze, it felt as though they were not merely competing against each other here and now.
They had crossed through thousands, even tens of thousands of years, battling the legendary heroes repeatedly recorded in Turanze's War Epic, colossal beasts as immense as mountains, earthquakes, floods, volcanic eruptions, collapsing skies and splitting earth, thunder and lightning.
They were no longer merely "Meng Chao" and the "Wolf King."
They had become "Fists," the "Stomachless King," and "Shattered Wings," even transforming into savage beasts with ferocious visages, rampaging unchecked as they vented their primal, violent urges to conquer all, destroy all, and devour all.
Their Totem Armor was torn apart by the other time and again.
After every tear, the Totem Armor let out metallic shrieks of "Screech, screech, screech," whether in pain or excitement, then healed at a speed visible to the naked eye, becoming tougher, stronger, and more hideous than moments before.
Like muscle fibers that snapped one by one in frenzied training, only to grow thicker after healing.
And judging by how the Totem Armor intensely stimulated their bodies, releasing magma-like adrenaline and endorphins that surged like floodwaters bursting through a dam to batter their central nervous systems and cerebral cortices, such a savage battle was precisely what the Totem Armor needed.
The Totem Armor was like a ravenous beast with a will of its own.
Blood, battle, conquest, and destruction were its nourishment.
The breathtaking shifts between offense and defense between Meng Chao and the Wolf King could only temporarily, barely, slightly fill its insatiable appetite, feeding it until it grew larger and stronger—and developed an even greater