Huo Yuhao was blasted off his feet by that force and sent flying backward. He spun once in midair before crashing heavily beyond the railing at the edge of the arena!
The entire venue fell silent for a moment.
Then it erupted like a pot of water brought to a boil.
Some people in the stands stood up, some gaped in shock, and some dropped their betting slips without even noticing.
The cheers that had overwhelmingly supported Tang Wu moments ago had turned into a chaotic wave of gasps and incredulous discussion.
Huo Yuhao knelt on one knee outside the arena, his face livid.
He raised his head toward the figure in Flame Dragon Armor on the stage. His eyes were bloodshot, his breath ragged, and his voice hoarse with barely restrained madness:
"No, how is this possible? How is this possible?! My Rank Nine Soul Tool actually lost to a Rank Eight Soul Tool?!"
His pupils were streaked with blood. He glared at Ju Zi as if he wanted to see through the crimson armor and glimpse the person within. "Impossible! Impossible!"
His adoptive father Zhongli Wu's disappointed gaze surfaced in his mind, stabbing into his skull like a needle and making his whole body tremble.
He clenched his fists, forcing the words through his teeth. "No! I can't lose!"
His eyes had completely turned crimson, as though something was surging beneath them, desperate to burst free. Then he abruptly spread his arms, his voice hoarse and hysterical:
"Die! All of you will die for this Holy Son!"
A deep rumble came from behind him, and the air suddenly became cold and viscous.
The Undead Demi-Plane split open behind him, as if something had torn it apart from within.
Blackish-green mist poured out, followed by countless undead creatures charging