That palm carried an aura of decay. Wherever it passed, the grayish-white mist was dyed pitch-black, the Void began to crack, and fissures spread in every direction.
Ye Lin raised his sword and swept it upward.
A sharp streak of sword light shot into the sky and struck the palm.
A deep gash was cut into the palm, yet it did not shatter.
Black liquid poured from the wound. As it dripped into the Void, it let out sizzling corrosive sounds, as though even the Void itself were being corroded.
The palm continued pressing down.
Ye Lin's brow furrowed slightly.
Not in panic, but in surprise.
He had already used seventy percent of his strength in that strike. An ordinary First Turn quasi-Saint cultivator would never have been able to withstand it.
Yet this palm, formed from condensed light, had merely been cut open and remained intact.
The bloodline of the Imperial Clan truly was extraordinary.
In the instant Ye Lin was distracted, Cockroach attacked again.
His body abruptly swelled like a balloon. The milky-white insects beneath his skin burrowed out through his pores, transforming into countless white threads that shot toward Ye Lin from all directions.
The threads were as fine as hair, yet incomparably sharp. Wherever they passed, the Void was sliced into countless tiny fragments.
Ye Lin's sword light swept out again, slashing toward those threads.
But this time, the sword light did not sever them.
The threads were extraordinarily resilient. When the sword light struck them, it was like cutting into water; most of its force was dispersed, leaving only faint marks on the threads.
The threads continued shooting forward, wrapping around Ye Lin's blade.
One, two, three... more and more threads wound around the blade, tightening ever further, like countless white snakes squirming across its