บท 1035: Plucking a Sword

The scream burst out of a roiling thunderstorm. Waves sloshed out of the Red River, sending foam up into the sky and back into the waters, concealing the frightened Jings as they fled.

The Angel fell to the earth as it screamed, its golden blood drenching the skies with two dazzling lines.

In its heavily injured state of unbearable suffering, it still remained calm, seeking out the final ray of hope amidst despair.

Its two wings had been torn off by the blue-clothed Daoist, robbing it of the lightning-like speed it was so proud of. It decided to give up on flying, allowing itself to drop to the ground. Its speed increased, the golden blood gushing out of its body no longer able to keep up. However, as its body rammed against the air, the air began to burn, transforming it into a streak of fire.

It smashed into the ground like a meteor.

Only this way could it ensure that its speed was enough for it to hopefully escape that serene and terrifying Daoist.