The more the trio of Argent artists watched, the clearer it became — this wasn't a battle anymore. It was a massacre.
Jin clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "We… we can't fight him. Not unless he tires himself out," he said quietly.
Neither Wen nor Lin replied. Their throats felt dry, their minds blank. Words couldn't describe what they were seeing.
For the first time, the three teachers — once proud members of the Grand Martial Hall — truly understood why Aksai had once carried the highest bounty in all of Sharang.
The thick smell of blood and burning Qi filled the air. From every direction, thorn-covered vines slithered like snakes, tearing through soil, stone, flesh, and bones, looking for new prey.
One of the Aurous Artist elders of the Grand Martial Hall swung his sword wildly, cutting through the blood-soaked vines that tried to pierce his chest. His robes were torn, and several wounds bled freely down his arms.
