Han Zukong stood still beneath the shade of a massive ancient tree.
The forest around him trembled from the growing storm of spiritual energy. Leaves shook, roots pulsed, and the air grew heavy with tension.
Wei Ji, far away in his hidden spot, held his hand over his chest, his breathing steady, his mind sinking deep into the thread that connected him to Han Zukong's soul seed.
Through that invisible bond, he could feel every pulse of Han Zukong's heartbeat, every movement of his limbs, every flicker of intent that passed through his body.
Across the clearing, the demonic cultivator appeared, his expression wild. His eyes glowed faint green, his hair tangled like thorned vines. A faint hum came from the spiritual plants wrapped around his arms.
They writhed and coiled like snakes ready to strike.
