The wind tore through the open roof of Floor Eight with the roar of a wounded beast.
Elder Kuang spat a glob of blood-red thick spit onto the fractured dark rock floor. His crimson eyes shone with cold disgust.
“Substandard iron,” the Golden Core elder snarled, turning away from the steadied magnetic core. “The Grand Fortune Clan skimped on the casing alloy. Idiots and thieves.”
With a bone-shaking boom that shattered the leftover stone railings, Kuang kicked off the floor.
A twin jet of scarlet flame erupted from his boots, launching him three hundred feet into the stormy sky. In a split second. His burning was dark shape streaked across the dark clouds, vanishing toward the mountain peaks of the Inner Sect.
He was gone.
And Lin Ke was dying.
On the freezing floor, thirty paces away, Lin Ke’s inner body heat had cratered to eighty-three degrees.
