The Art of Language
Although he was betrayed by his teammates, Zhang Mian didn't show any panicked expression, as if he had already expected this to happen.
He was not flustered at all. His figure suddenly transformed into a black mist which directly drifted into the crowd with the wind.
"Oh, no wonder I haven't seen his ability. So he's able to do this."
Zhou Mingrui instantly understood. Immediately after, bolts of lightning suddenly appeared in his surroundings, quickly condensing into an electric net that enveloped him.
"What a boring trick,"
Zhou Mingrui commented indifferently as he closed his fingers together to form a strike with his palm. He swung it from top to bottom and slashed out an energy blade.
The electric net was silently split into two, turning into tiny electric snakes that dissipated in the air.
But at that exact moment, a pool of black shadow suddenly appeared beneath Zhou Mingrui's feet.
"What?"
