Yun Yang felt a heart-wrenching agony. The purplish-golden liquid within his dantian instantly boiled away; his spiritual soul was shaken and a bleary despondency suddenly fell upon him. He came close to dispelling his wind manifestation, with the risk of falling from a high altitude.
The power of the black-robed elder was aimed directly at one’s spiritual being, a force which consumed the soul and corroded the spirit to the point of no return.
Yun Yang was concurrently manifested as wind, cloud, and thunder; a portion of him was condensed into a gale, half of his sentience formed the cloud while a sliver of his consciousness turned into lightning. It was the same for his deific consciousness and spirit; they had splintered into three unequal parts.
The tornado was only half of Yun Yang’s cultivation base. Otherwise, the sudden slash of the sword was enough to have chopped Yun Yang into two, like a tornado that had been split in twain!