"Damn it, he got stronger again?!"
Sensing the abrupt shift in Xia Ping's aura, which seemed to be continuously rising, Han Ge's face turned green. He was clearly fighting a King, yet not only had this brat avoided being beaten to death, he was actually using him as a whetstone to temper himself, growing even stronger.
The thought that this brat was using him as a sharpening stone, stepping on him to advance into a higher martial realm, drove him utterly mad. He simply could not accept such a reality.
"Die! Die!"
Han Ge unleashed every ounce of his power. Countless fist imprints filled the air as the power of the Drought Demon Fire rose to unprecedented heights. Volcanoes continually erupted across the ground.
Great torrents of magma blasted forth and struck Xia Ping, trying to burn this damned human alive.
For the Drought Demon Clan, such flames were virtually invincible, triumphant in every battle. Few enemies could act arrogantly before Drought Demon Fire.
Yet this human was an exception. He seemed utterly unafraid of the flames; instead, he bathed within them as though they made him incomparably comfortable. Even the surrounding Drought Demon Fire was being drawn in by him and continuously devoured.
Yes, devoured!
At this moment, Xia Ping unleashed the Yang God Fist. Centered on his body, an enormous vortex formed, producing a terrifying suction force. His one hundred and eight thousand pores seemed like Kunpeng, breathing together as one.
The Drought Demon Fire that had originally scattered through the surroundings turned into wisps of black smoke, all flooding into his body. Like a whale swallowing and a silkworm nibbling away, he devoured those flames.
"This human is insane!"
Han Ge's eyes bulged wide. To ordinary lifeforms, Drought Demon Fire was like a plague—they feared it and