The ferocious beast's tail froze in midair. The curved groove at its tip had darkened slightly, as if scorched by invisible flames. Misaligned Force trembled in Chen Wuya's palm, and the system in his sea of consciousness suddenly buzzed—not a warning, but the chime announcing that its analysis was complete.
It did not want to restart.
It wanted to detonate.
His pupils constricted. His throat was so dry he could barely make a sound, yet within a thousandth of a breath, he caught a trace of dark-red pulsing seeping through the gaps in its scales. That was not blood. It was some energy dormant deep within its bloodline, surging backward, about to burst forth from every inch of armor.
"Scatter!" he roared, his voice exploding as though torn apart. "Don't stand in a line! Get low and roll!"
Before his words had faded, the first scale-spike tore through the air.
It was not fired.
It was blasted out.
The scales across its entire back burst apart like flower petals. Hundreds of black spikes swept across the battlefield with piercing shrieks. They did not travel straight, but carved bizarre reverse arcs, as though guided by invisible hands, crisscrossing into a net in midair. One descendant of the guardians had just leapt up to evade them when three spikes pierced his shoulder blade and ribs, sending him crashing into a pile of rubble like a puppet with cut strings.
Bai Zhi reacted swiftly, planting her sword hilt against the ground and spinning into a roll. Yet a slanting spike still grazed her left arm, flaying flesh open as blood dripped from her fingertips. She gritted her teeth against the pain and looked up just in time to see Mo Feng throw himself at another companion, using his own body to block a