The psychic blast struck the Great Iron Arch with the violence of a collapsing moon.
Zhu Heling thrust both hands forward, releasing the packed spiritual energy of nine blood-water drops pills in an unbroken beam of violet star-fire that struck the center of the eighteen-hundred-ton bog-iron drop-gate. The metal groaned with a painful, high-pitched screech as the spiritual fire tried to force its way through the crystal-clear lattice of the iron.
On Qiao Ming’s side of the wall, the air tightened with terrifying thickness.
The psychic pressure leaked through the speaking vents and the watching slit. It filled Entry hall 349 with an invisible, crushing weight of four point eight tons of pressure. The surrounding heat dropped thirty degrees in five seconds as the spiritual fire devoured the heat of the room, turning the dampness on the walls into needle-sharp crystals of frost.
Qiao Ming was driven to his knees.
His bare shins struck the cold dark rock flags with a sickening thud. The sheer water-pressure thickness of the psychic force pressed down upon his shoulders like an iron slab, forcing his chin toward his breastbone, crushing his ribs until every breath was a razor cut through his lungs. His left arm buckled beneath him, the forearm bone cracking with a faint, sharp snap that sent a blinding bolt of agony through his marrow.
