Ethan didn't stop.
His gaze swept across the battlefield and locked onto the scraps that still weren't quite dead.
The next second, he cut loose every last strand of white lightning clinging to his body. The current spread between heaven and earth in an instant—bolts crisscrossing, linking together, weaving faster and faster until they formed a massive net of thunder that dropped over the remaining enemies and sealed them inside.
White lightning was different from transparent lightning. The pressure hit harder, more direct—made for smothering a wide area.
And these people were already on their last legs. They'd been mauled by the battleship's ultimate weapon, shredded by Anya's vortex, then battered apart by that chain of impacts. Now that the lightning net snapped shut around them, they didn't even have room to struggle.
One of them barely managed to raise an arm—then the whole limb got split into fragments.
