Suddenly the reflection of a bloody glow could be seen in the old man’s eyes. His heart lurched and an intense sensation of imminent crisis filled his mind and heart. He veered off to the side without hesitation.
The instant he shifted his momentum, a bloody beam of light whistled past him at high speed. Ripples emanated out through the air as it passed, causing Patriarch Rubicund’s face to flicker. His heart pounded; he knew that if he hadn’t evaded at the right time just now, his head would have exploded!
An intense, grim sound filled the air as the rippling passed the old man. As the sound emanated out, the red glow in the air exploded.
“SMASH!”
The ripples transformed into an intense attack. Booms filled the air as the old man, even in the middle of dodging and retreating, coughed up a mouthful of blood. His face pale, he turned around.
The first thing he saw was a blood-red figure. Its hair was red, its robe, even its skin. It approached slowly, and as it did, the old man could sense an invisible but powerful aura. It was bizarre, but as it emanated out, it transformed into an intense dread.
He couldn’t see this thing’s Cultivation base!
The bloody phantom’s eyes seemed to be completely blank, and even more strange, the closer the old man looked, the more he realized it was impossible to tell whether it had cultivated some heretical technique, or was a puppet.
“Who are you, your excellency?” said the old man, sounding frustrated. Were his Cultivation base at the peak of its power, he wouldn’t care, but at the moment, he was seriously injured, with an empty bag of holding. The circumstances couldn’t be more inauspicious.
The Blood Clone’s eyes suddenly flickered and seemed to come to life. The look in its eyes suddenly resembled that of Meng Hao’s. “Did you really forget me so quickly?” it said. “Didn’t you say you would chase me to the ends of the earth to kill me?”
Great waves of emotion suddenly flickered across Patriarch Rubicund’s face. Without thinking about it, he backed up, his heart racing.
“It’s him…. But… but how could he be using a puppet like this? Is it a puppet, or… could it be… an Etheric Incarnation?” When his thoughts reached this point, his mind began to spin, and the blood completely drained from his face. The technique to form Etheric Incarnations was not something Core Formation Cultivators could master. It was a divine ability that only Nascent Soul Cultivators could employ!
As the old man began to flee, he suddenly heard the sound of running. A black mist appeared as the fifty or more Cultivators arrived, running together according to the parrot’s spell formation.
“Just who is this guy…?” Patriarch Rubicund’s scalp went numb, and his eyes filled with despair and frenzy.
Meanwhile, in another location and a different direction, Patriarch Pockmarks of the Han River Sect was speaking similar words, his face filled with bitterness.
He was surrounded by a red mist, outside of which were fifty Cultivators running in formation. In front of him was a figure dressed in a red robe, with indistinct facial features. The only thing he could make out were two blood-red eyes.
The eyes seemed to contain no emotions at all; they were completely merciless.
Patriarch Pockmark’s face was pale; his Cultivation base was actually the weakest of the three; he was of the late Core Formation stage, but his injuries were severe. Cracks covered his Core, and he could only wield roughly thirty percent of his power.
He hesitated for a moment then said, “Look, all of this is just a misunderstanding. Sir….” Suddenly, a boom filled the air, and the entire area was covered in mist.
Off in another direction, Meng Hao’s face was calm as he shot through mid-air in a band of light. Up ahead of him, Patriarch Big-head’s scalp was numb as he used everything he could muster to fly forward.
Occasionally he would spit up some blood; Meng Hao wasn’t sure what secret technique he was using, but it continued to rapidly boost his speed. Meng Hao followed, frowning. At the moment, he was pushing forward with all the speed he could muster, but was still unable to catch up. He could only maintain the current distance.
“Just what technique is he using to achieve such speed?” thought Meng Hao, his eyes flashing. He suddenly waved his right hand out and pointed with his index finger. “Demon Sealing, Eighth Hex!” His finger descended, and ghost images sprang up everywhere as a bizarre power shot toward Patriarch Big-head.