All Means Exhausted, You've Lost

"I—I don't believe it!"

The Scholar took a step back, his face deathly pale.

He was not only terrified, but utterly stunned.

Even his mind seemed to waver, and the lightning snakes in his domain had grown sluggish along with it.

"Use every trick you've got. I won't even furrow my brow!"

"Crack, crack, crack..."

Zhao Han rolled his neck, his bones cracking loudly. The provocation was unmistakable.

The Scholar saw it. Though his teeth ached from grinding them in anger, he had to admit that he was utterly helpless against Zhao Han.

Seeing that the Scholar was scared witless, Zhao Han strode forward with a chuckle. "What, out of tricks? Then let me send you—"

"Supreme Thunder Art, Violet Lightning Javelin!"

The Scholar still refused to admit defeat. He gathered Lightning Element True Qi again, determined to settle the match with one final move.

He poured Lightning Element True Qi into his Thunder Art Primordial Spirit and summoned it forth—the bare-chested phantom.

The Primordial Spirit merged with the vast mass of dark clouds. Before the eye, the clouds contracted from the center, as if being sucked into a black hole.

But as the clouds gradually dispersed and the scene became clear, it turned out that the thing absorbing them was no black hole. It was the phantom's right palm.

That was the Thunder Art Primordial Spirit.

The Primordial Spirit was only a phantom, so its features were indistinct. But from Zhao Han's experience, its pose looked somewhat like that of a giant spirit god.

A small cluster of violet lightning glimmered and took shape in the palm of the Thunder Art Primordial Spirit's right hand.

It gradually formed into a violet lightning javelin.

It had been forged from the vast clouds and the lightning snakes within them. The Scholar