The wooden bolts pierced through thick, blue-black skin. It splintered as it etched into legs, arms and shoulders. Even the Fallen Gods that were pierced through the skull with the bolts continued to advance with a calm visage. Some of them stumbled. Some fell. Some moved forward wearing bolts like it was part of their fashion, unconcerned that they left a long trail of glossy blood that coated the land like a layer of grease.
"I-Ivory Sword Saint," one of the disciples ran up to him with sweat upon his brows, eyes darting nervously, "We're already down to a few rounds left."
And the Fallen Gods were already at their doorsteps. The vanguard's large statuesque faces could be made out by the spirit lights that danced along the length of the wall. If Liu Sumeng were to estimate, he would say that Chen Gaoyong was not even halfway through his incantation. There was still much time to stall, they had to fell even more of these devils to ensure the safety of the city.
