The night sky above North Ring Road tore open with a sound like ripping silk.
Six blood-colored blades, each a hundred meters long, plunged straight toward the illuminated rooftops of Taichu Yanjing Sanctuary City.
The demonic energy was so thick that the falling snow evaporated into greasy red vapor before touching the ground. Ancient runes of slaughter glowed along the edges of the dark blades, casting dancing shadows over the modern high-rise apartments below. The six ancient monsters fell from the clouds like four-winged vultures, their shriveled faces twisted into leering grins.
“Die, ants!” Ancestor Huangfu shrieked, his voice carrying across three districts like grinding iron. “Pay for our lost fortunes with your blood and bones! Let your dying screams teach the world what happens when mortals disrespect immortals!”
Down on the highway below, the armored command van carrying the Six Chaebol Patriarchs was screeching to a halt.
Murong Ba scrambled out of the passenger door, his silk tie loosened and his eyes bloodshot with frantic excitement. Beside him, Patriarchs Huangfu and Ye stumbled into the freezing wind, clutching their coats as they pointed trembling fingers toward the skyline.
“Kill them all!” Murong Ba screamed into the night air. “Tear down their towers! Crush their workers into meat paste! If our five hundred billion is gone, this whole cursed city will burn with us!”
