Three masses of black mist, wrapping three assassins from the Wind and Rain Tower, shot out of the main hall like three bolts of black lightning.
Zhou Shan, standing in the courtyard, had just been about to run.
He saw the black mist rush out. He saw Hua Tian and the others' miserable state within it. His first instinct was to run—run immediately, run as fast as he could.
But the moment he raised his foot, the black mist was already upon him.
A mass of black mist lunged straight at him like an invisible beast, knocking him directly to the ground.
"Ah—" He screamed too.
Because he felt it.
The instant the black mist wrapped around him, it was as though a demonic beast had sunk its teeth into his neck—his vitality began to drain away.
The pitiful cultivation he had painstakingly built up over many years was being siphoned away bit by bit. He wanted to struggle, to resist, but the black mist bound him tightly like an iron hoop.
Wen Jue did not escape either.
He had not even had time to react before the black mist arrived.
He fell to the ground, wrapped tightly in black mist, with only his face exposed. Terror, despair, and regret twisted together on that face until it was utterly distorted.
For a time, five people—five different cultivators.
All lay together now, letting out the same shrill screams.
They struggled. They howled. They wanted to run, but none of them could escape.
It took no more than ten breaths.
Smack!
The first sound rang out.
Hua Tian's body fell to the ground like a piece of dead wood.
He was no longer struggling. His face was shriveled like a dried orange, his eye sockets sunken, his lips cracked, and his hair