Iron Bull scrambled to his feet, a sinister grin spreading across his face as he looked at the battered Frank Yates.
"Frank, how does it taste?" Iron Bull taunted. "Walter D.’s Fiery Fist isn't something ordinary people get to enjoy. Consider it an honor."
Walter D. walked toward Frank, his steps measured and heavy. "Kid, you must be a Martial Cultivator too," he said, his voice grating like sandpaper. "I won't kill you. But I will cripple your internal energy, break your limbs, and then... well, I'll have some fun with your woman while you watch."
Frank stared at the approaching enemy. A cold, ruthless light flickered in his eyes.
Enough playing around.
He focused his mind.
Whish.
A streak of purple light flashed through the air.
It was silent. It was faster than lightning. It was
