Xia Ming slowly threw a punch.
The motion was slow, so slow that Ye Xishui could clearly see every wisp of golden light flowing over his knuckles.
Yet it was also fast, so fast that even she had no chance to evade the blow.
The punch landed.
There was no boom, no shockwave.
Only a slight tremor ran through Ye Xishui's body, and a golden crack appeared over her chest.
She lowered her head and watched the crack slowly spread.
"So... this is what death feels like."
She murmured softly, casting one final glance at Long Xiaoyao below, whose eyes were splitting with rage.
Then, her aura completely vanished.
Ye Xishui—a generation's Limit Douluo, the Holy Spirit Cult's Supreme Elder, and inheritor of the Rakshasa Nine Trials—had fallen.
Xia Ming slowly withdrew his fist. The golden light around his right leg gradually dimmed, and his aura slowly receded.
Yet that pressure which had pierced through heaven and earth was already deeply branded into the souls of every witness.
He turned and looked toward the Evil Emperor in the distance, whose pupils had completely lost their light; Long Xiaoyao below; and Kong Deming, trembling as he held his Soul Tool.
"Next," Xia Ming said. His voice was not loud, yet it echoed through every corner of the battlefield like a divine decree. "It's your turn."
At the center of the battlefield, the battle between Long Xiaoyao and the Snow Empress had entered its final stage.
Long Xiaoyao's attacks had completely lost all order.
He no longer blocked the Snow Empress's attacks. Instead, he allowed her to wound him as his right fist savagely smashed toward her.
Trading wounds for wounds, gambling life against life!
Every collision erupted in a bloody mist interwoven with dark crimson and icy blue, dyeing the area