The streams of light formed by converging energy particles took the shape of a massive vortex.
Above the firmament, the clouds were torn apart by invisible giant hands.
A riot of bizarre colors churned wildly at the heart of the vortex.
The dark clouds at the horizon seemed to be dragged downward by some invisible force, hanging low over the boundary between sky and earth as the blazing sun vanished.
Gray became the world's dominant color.
Gusts swept dry dust across the hills and plains.
Grains of sand struck the rocks with faint crackling sounds.
The clamor between heaven and earth faded considerably, leaving only countless waves of mental consciousness silently colliding and flowing.
They were the thought tendrils of tens of thousands of wizards.
They spread like a tide, greedily capturing every trace of restless energy in the air.
Almost everyone's gaze was fixed on the center of the battlefield.
An inexplicable emotion rippled through the crowd, and everyone's mood gradually became tense and oppressive.
The air seemed to have solidified into gel, making every breath physically exhausting.
Dago stood at the center of the platform, calmly studying his final three opponents.
Michael, clad in a white wizard's gown adorned with golden patterns, was as noble and aloof as ever.
Gale of Psychic Dawn had eyes as pure as gemstones.
Vicky held a black book in his hands, his face like a mask no one could see through.
All three stared coldly at him.
At the point where their gazes met, space itself seemed to twist slightly.
Three Mental Force Fields, each nearly at the pinnacle of the Third-Ring Wizard realm, bore down on him from three different directions without a single blind spot.
The elemental particles in the air were forcibly pushed away.
At that moment, Dago became