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The storm of death came too suddenly like thunder on a summer afternoon.

The devout believers of the Fist God found it hard to accept such a terrifying picture. They were all frozen like weird statues.

They were not even prepared for their facial features and facial muscles. Their previous contempt and excitement were still intact, but they felt that something was not right. Confusion was leaking out of their every pore and condensing into mist in front of their eyes.

In the mist, Gus was somewhat unsteady, like a devil that had crawled out of hell.

Gus was as confused as they were.

He looked at the two meat pillars that were only left with his legs and wondered whether or not he should continue calling them 'Han Kou'. Then he looked at the 'Thunder III' in his arms.

The recoil of the combination of ice and fire made his limbs numb. The needle-like numbness gradually melded the dream with reality.

I did this.

This is my strength.