Many kilometers away from Dyon's thoughts sat a group of about ten thousand in the shadows of a mountain range.
They were made up entirely of men and they were abnormally large. Even the smallest of them would stand at 2.5 meters tall at his full height. But, maybe the most striking characteristic, was their leather like skin and oddly flat noses.
Funny enough, their flat noses were as a result of a surgery they often performed on themselves to heighten their sense of smell in order to offset the vision problems that came with their cultivation technique.
This odd collection of individuals was of course the Phantus God clan.
"Commander Draven, we'll be out of the Earthen Passage by tomorrow."
A towering man with robust grey leather skin nodded, standing to his full five-meter height as he walked over to what looked like a slowly roasting pig.
Picking up the thick skewer, it was as though he didn't feel the searing heat. He rotated it in his hand, entirely too focused.
