"Death?" The Celestial General seemed genuinely confused by Qingyi's words, as if he'd just heard something absurd.
A laugh full of contempt escaped his lips. "Didn't you hear me, inferior? I am—"
"A pig of the Primordial Chaos, the Land of the True Gods. I know it very well." Qingyi grunted, without the slightest interest.
It was frustrating not to be able to use the Flames of Primordial Chaos.
He wanted to see despair on Qing Xuanyu's face—the same despair he had seen in that dragon elder's eyes.
The Flames of Life worked, of course, but their destructive potential was far too small. Using them to attack would be a waste.
Xuanyu froze at such disrespect.
The confusion vanished. His eyes went cold, and he held out a hand.
The power of the heavens—the same power that kept the Celestial Emperors at bay—descended, enveloping Qingyi's pavilion in a protective bubble.
Qingyi made no move to stop it.
