Khan's cultivation erupted to its absolute peak.
The violent storm surrounding him expanded across the arena, tearing loose fragments of stone from the battlefield. Razor-sharp currents of wind circled his body like countless invisible blades, shredding everything they touched.
His robes whipped wildly around him.
Blood still trickled from the corner of his mouth.
His swollen face had become almost unrecognizable.
Yet his eyes burned with desperate determination.
He knew exactly what awaited him if he lost.
Death.
There would be no mercy.
There would be no second chance.
With a furious roar, Khan thrust both hands forward.
The entire storm answered his command.
The swirling winds compressed into an enormous spear of pure wind Qi.
It shrieked as it tore through the air, the pressure alone cracking the arena floor beneath it.
Many spectators instinctively held their breath.
The attack looked devastating.
Lucas didn't move.
