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In the sky, layers of dark clouds, moved by the wild wind, rotated like vast black millstones.
Gradually, the center of the swirling clouds revealed a vortex.
Deep within the vortex, electric arcs flitted about; countless arcs flowed together like streams, gradually converging as if a snake were flicking its tongue, with a crackling explosion...
In the depths of the mountain range, spirit beasts groaned lowly. It was as if they sensed something, emitting restless, mournful cries.
Even the flying beasts that usually hunted at night quietly lay low.
As Wang Xiaoqiang's incantation became more and more urgent, the dark clouds in the sky pressed lower and lower, as if the entire sky was about to collapse,
and the vortex within the cloud seemed to be aimed right at the mountaintop below, to be precise, at Wang Xiaoqiang, who was seated cross-legged on the mountaintop...
Suddenly...
