Before the voice could even echo in the air, a trail of black cloud split from the massive mass of ink like a snake. It formed a spear of black lightning and slithered towards Yun Xiaoyao aggressively. Everywhere the beam of black clouds passed, smoke rose in the air. It meant that the gas cloud was moving at a terrifyingly high speed.
Yun Xiaoyao was fearless. He had been long prepared, he pulled his sword, that was at its peak of countering force, out of the scabbard and brought it up to block the attack.
Boom!
The thin wisp of black clouds collided against the long sword in Yun Xiaoyao's hand fiercely with the sound of a mountain cracking in half. Yun Xiaoyao felt himself being pushed by an immense force; his feet lifted from the ground and he was flung away like a broken kite.
With a loud crash, he smashed into the palace wall several hundred feet away behind him.