The smell of spark-charged air was sharp enough to make Lin Ke’s gums bleed.
He stood on the open stone terrace of the Grand Pavilion, two thousand paces above the cloud line. The wind tearing across the granite flat stone slabs was sub-zero. But every hair on his forearms stood straight up, crackling with static electricity that traced delicate blue lines across his glassy glass spirit veins.
High above, the sky had turned into a deep pit of spinning, black glass-purple fire.
Nine nested rings of sky-trial lightning rotated with the cold, unrushed care of a cosmic clockwork engine. The Heavenly Dao was not angry. The Dao didn’t possess emotions.
It was a self-running security watchdog running a system purge.
Lin Ke ran tianfu diff on the dropping lightning vortex in his outer vision.
The signed name was clear. A high-voltage, pulsed magnetic burst specifically programmed to resonate with the massive stone energetic hum of traditional Golden Cores. It sought an analog core to shatter and an old family umbilical cord to burn.
If a massive stone fighter stood beneath it, the surge would travel down their main spine nerve like lightning down a copper rod, boiling their organs in three split seconds.
