Eight Heaven-Reflecting Ones attacked together. To the onlookers, this posed a very serious problem.
Eight against two—how could they possibly lose?
No matter who you were, even a hero who could hold up the sky or a peerless champion, you could not withstand an enemy that outnumbered you several times over.
This was a clash between Heaven-Reflecting Ones, not a fight between cultivators in the Awakening or Shackle Realm.
Every one of them who had reached this stage stood at the very pinnacle of the Universe, supreme in every respect, without a weakness.
A one-on-one fight would have a winner and a loser. So would eight against two. Even before the result came, the outcome seemed obvious.
Across the Starry Sky, those following the battle through various channels had already begun to pity Monster Yaoyao and the Saint Master.
"That planet truly bred extraordinary people. Generation after generation of supreme experts—and what a pity. They met such powerful enemies, who cut short their rise twice in succession."
"Yes, what a pity. If not for the upheaval in the Primordial Era, that planet would have been strong enough to enter the Top Ten by now, wouldn't it?"
"Without question. If nothing else, that planet would certainly have replaced the Heavenly God Race."
"What a pity. We never got to witness history, and they never got to create a miracle."
Most people across the Starry Sky viewed it with regret.
After all, when a planet was about to fall completely, lose all its glory, and perhaps even be erased from the Starry Sky, people could always regard it with a certain detachment.
It was the sense of superiority the living felt toward those about to "die."
If Earth had been on the rise, they would certainly have felt all sorts of emotions