The ice version of the Biochemical Demon Arm.
Even now, Fu Qian was still amazed by how smoothly this wondrous transformation bestowed by the Pope had gone.
But he had to admit, this new visual effect not only fit his current image better, it also aligned with the Pope's authority over aesthetics.
Sinister and crystalline, endless frost surged like billowing clouds under control.
In that moment, his entire right arm seemed to transform into an ice dragon. With a body of pure, crystal-clear ice and a roar of deathly white frost, it shattered everything before him.
Not only had the three blood mirrors that set math problems been destroyed, but the entire walkway stretching into the distance had been reduced to rubble. There wasn't a single intact thing left.
Judging by his earlier words and imposing air, Gorimshaw had evidently unleashed an even more forbidden spell in a fit of fury, bringing down endless cold and destruction.
But everyone knew that casting a forbidden spell usually came at a cost.
Now, that was being demonstrated on Fu Qian himself.
Aside from the sleeve torn by the icy giant arm that had since retracted, his clothes were more or less intact.
Yet beneath them, web-like cracks covered every inch of his flesh—just like the shattered mirrors.
The wounds had appeared almost simultaneously with his attack, though they hadn't made Fu Qian hesitate for even a moment.
Even now, he still hadn't glanced down at himself.
"Clearly, you're still a long way from truly transcending your bestial nature."
As Fu Qian silently lowered the Bell Staff and looked at his handiwork, the Saint's voice rang out from the ruins first.
And delivered an irredeemably poor review.
Butterfly shadows filled the air.
Fortunately, as a seasoned charlatan, Fu Qian had long since