The terrifying pressure rolling off the golden VIP pavilion grew so suffocating that the lesser disciples in the front rows began to violently retch. High above the broken arena, Su Rou did not leap into the ring. She merely leaned against the gilded railing, her eyes cold as winter frost. A serene, cruel smile curved her lips as she watched Ye Chen brandish his rusted iron sword. She was a phoenix of the inner peaks, and a true goddess did not descend to roll in the mud with common swine.
Before Ye Chen could take a single step forward, the sky above the amphitheater violently bruised into shades of deep purple.
The clouds twisted into a roaring vortex. The sudden change in atmospheric pressure made the eardrums of every cultivator present pop with a sickening crunch. A streak of azure
