Up on the sunny bell-tower roof of Harvest Plaza, eighteen-year-old Chosen One Ye Ming stared down at his Million-Bone Undead Legion as if the sky had just fallen on his head.
“Stop wiggling your pelvis, General Bone-Crusher!” Ye Ming screamed into his skull staff, pouring every drop of his Rank 7 Early Netherworld Soul-Qi into the command gem at the top of the rod. “You were the undefeated Warlord of the Blood-Sand Wastes eight hundred years ago!
You died holding a broken halberd against ten thousand foes! Why are you tapping your toe to an accordion remix of Little Apple?! Slash that old woman in the red vest right now!”
Down at the front of the skeleton host, the twelve-foot Rank 6 Peak Death-Knight General tried with all his undead might to raise his rusted black halberd toward sixty-five-year-old Captain Grandma Liu.
Yet the moment the second verse of the 120-Decibel Square-Dance Megamix dropped from the forty golden boomboxes. Infused with Gu Changsheng’s Rank 7 Mid [Rhythmic Bone-Resonance Household Law]—the warm, joyous Yang-frequency vibrated straight through the hollow marrow cavities of every single bone in the general’s body!
For eight hundred years, the ancient soldiers and fossilized dragons buried beneath Worlds #8 and #9 had lain in cold, damp dirt, stiff-jointed and forgotten. Until Ye Ming dragged them out into the artificial fog and forced them to stand around in depressing silence holding cheap paper lanterns.
