The black wings carried death.
Every slap brought with it a flame that quietly flowed between the fine scales.
The flaming wind caused the air to die, forming a scene that was almost like a bellow.
The surrounding airflow tried to squeeze towards him, but it was burned even more, forming a huge gravitational force.
He was like a blazing sun flying in the sky, and all living things were like moths. Those with a slightly weaker grip would come towards him, approach him, and then die.
Whoosh!
Xia Ji flapped his wings and flew higher to avoid flying sand and stones.
Both of them were silent. No one spoke.
Wu Ji didn't know what to say, nor did she know where Xia Ji was taking her.
She bathed in the flames of death, her soul trembling.
About two days later.
Xia Ji emerged from the clouds, retracted his black wings, and landed on the edge of a cliff high up in the northern mountains.
Starlight bathed and cast shadows everywhere.
