The leader's focus had been locked on the battered beast clan captives, an attack from the flank never crossed his mind, let alone one of such terrifying power.
By the time he felt that marrow-deep killing intent and the razor wind of Jared's aura, doom had already arrived.
He flung the Ten-Thousand-Soul Banner before him, pumping demonic essence until the cloth seethed with layer upon layer of wailing phantoms.
It was paper against the tempest. The only sound was a soft hiss, like silk torn by a blade.
The Prismatic Sword Aura sliced through the black fog, pierced the banner, and drilled cleanly between his brows.
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