Wang Siyuan's eyes froze and a sudden bout of coughing assailed him. His face turned abnormally red, though it originated more from his excitement rather than astonishment—he seemed to have recognized the skeletal hand.
Saint Wan Shi saw an opportunity as his opponent coughed. He approached Wang Siyuan and abruptly turned several meters tall, with his swelling muscle turning stiff and taking on a sharper ash color. His two fists were like two mountain peaks as he firmly swung downward.
His plain punches were nothing fancy but resembled the genuine Mountains over Head. It was so heavy that the void around them seemed to shrink. The fierce winds at high altitude were instantly drawn to his fists as if there was an invisible vortex.
It was dark and indistinct in front of the fists. Inside, one could vaguely see a crevice resembling black lightning disappear in a flash. Everything that came into contact with the fists was promptly torn into pieces.
Splash!
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