Geng Pomo had truly never felt such a surging killing intent before, such an urgent need to kill someone.
In the past, he had indeed been fond of killing, addicted to slaughter, but he had only treated it as a means of indulgence and release, much like ordinary people walking dogs or flying hawks.
But Meng Zhao was different. If he did not kill this arrogant, conceited fellow, he would be trapped in a state of agitation and irritation for a long time to come—a prospect he could not tolerate.
Once the intent to kill arose, it could not be suppressed. Nor was there any need to suppress it.
With a slight spring of his feet, his body shifted. His plain, ordinary frame swelled with surging force into a massive sphere, his qi shooting skyward, while he reached out and grabbed toward Meng Zhao's head.
The angle of that grasp was utterly unlike any ordinary attack, coming diagonally from an unexpected direction.
His palm seemed like a cage, exerting immense pressure upon the enemy's Essence, Qi, and Spirit. Before that claw, one felt one's entire body shrink, as though reduced to a helpless state where cries to heaven and earth would go unanswered.
Strands of crimson bloody light extended and contracted between his claws, sharp as blades and swords, slicing through the air with sizzling sounds.
Even steel, falling beneath those fierce claw-lights, would be torn apart as easily as tofu.
This move combined movement techniques, claw techniques, and Mental Martial Arts. It was a martial art Geng Pomo had created by fusing many disciplines together. Though it could not be called especially groundbreaking, its killing power was still considerable. It was called Nine Seizing Eagles.
It possessed nine variations. The one he used now was Eagle Pouncing on Rabbit,