The storm of silver spearheads dropped upon Lin Tao like a pouring monsoon rain.
HISS-HISS!
The whistling of the star-silver spear points displaced the air in sharp, sonic puffs that sounded like the tearing of fine silk. Each thrust traveled at over seventy meters per second, powered by Liu Yun’s refined water-attuned spirit veins. Cold water drops frosted the stone floor beneath their boots, forming delicate patterns of white ice that shattered under the rapid shifting of Liu Yun’s weight.
To the audience in the raised galleries, Lin Tao appeared to be fully engulfed by the silver blizzard.
“He’s dead!” an elder from the Blood Lotus Pavilion cried out. He rose to his feet with wide, hungry eyes. “Fifty pinpoint thrusts in half a second! There’s no space in the three dimensions to evade such a storm!”
“Look closer!” a judge shouted, gripping his brass viewing tube with white knuckles. “He’s not being pierced! The spear points are sliding off!”
The spear points were not sliding off.
They weren’t touching him at all.
