At the center of the desolate world, the sandstorm raged with unmatched fury, hundreds of times stronger than anywhere else.
The yellow sand blanketed the sky, obscuring the sun and making it impossible to see anything ahead.
Dressed in white, Braydon Neal stood amidst the chaos, his body emanating powerful spiritual energy to shield against the storm.
"Senior, are you still not done?" Braydon called out, glancing at the black-haired old man behind him.
The old man had been standing motionless for over ten minutes, muttering something about drawing out a vengeful spirit. Yet, there had been no sign of movement.
"Wait, I've already angered it," the black-haired elder replied, eyes closed.
Braydon nodded, choosing not to press further.
Moments later, the old man opened his eyes. "Alright, it's coming."
