On the golden platform, Ezra Zephyr looked at the bloodied Drake Tubble, growling like a mad dog, struggling to let loose.
Every single time Drake poured his spiritual energy to break, the chains made of Chaos force twisted his limbs. The sheer pain protested against using any more of such giddy attempts and that all end up with Drake miserably closing his eyes.
Ezra peered at the masses, his face showed the colours of disappointment.
"This sect is full of weak shit." His voice echoed through the outer mountains, piquing the 7 figures on the spiritual energy tree.
However, not even their gelid gazes could flinch the prince as he continued. "You all from Shiyan and Rhiyan continents, is this the guy you worshipped as your saviour?" He gestured at Drake Tubble who was helplessly hanging in mid-air.
"Yes, he is Drake Tubble, the stupid cunt who poked me from time to time. But I'm quite surprised by how weak he was despite the walloping hype he carried.
