Yang Yuan was in an utterly wretched state.
His black robe had been torn into strips, and his deathly pale skin was covered in claw marks and bite wounds deep enough to expose bone.
Having overdrawn his ghost-commanding power, his eyes had turned an eerie, ghastly green. Even the capillaries at their corners had ruptured, sending two trails of black-red bloody tears down his face.
"Die... all of you, die!" Yang Yuan's voice was hoarse and crazed. Every breath brought excruciating pain as the malevolent ghosts inside him lashed back, but he remained like an iron nail hammered into the position, never retreating a single step.
Because he knew that behind him stood Demon City's millions of defenseless civilians.
And in his heart, a blood-deep vendetta seethed with nowhere to find release.
His grandfather, Yang Yuan, the Peerless Grandmaster who had become a ghost abyss and single-handedly held back four Yamas, had been cruelly banished into Yama Hell on this very soil.
"If every man of the Yang Family dies, that's our fate... but this line must not fall!" Like a wounded lone wolf, Yang Yuan let out his final, mournful cry on this hopeless battlefield.
On Yang Yuan's flank, another figure who surprised Li Xiang was sharing much of the pressure. Clad in a shabby black cloak, the man darted through the battlefield like a phantom.
His methods were equally ruthless. Every time he struck, extraordinarily pure killing intent from the Ninefold Abyss burst from his fingertips, instantly corroding any Ghost Soldiers he hit into puddles of black water.
Most striking of all was the line of blood between his brows.
That line had now split completely open. A terrifying eyeball without any white, nothing but fathomless blackness, sat embedded in the center of his forehead, radiating the oppressive