"Namo Amitabha Buddha, deliver us from all suffering, transform all disasters, subdue all evil spirits, extinguish all wicked thoughts..."
Tathāgata sat cross-legged on the golden lotus, reciting the sutras to himself with the solemnity of a deity. One by one, the undead cultivators and slaves screamed miserably as they were bathed in the Buddha's light, their flesh sizzling as if scorched, turning into smoke and drifting into the sky.
Xu Chongsheng struggled to his feet, but with his severe injuries and scarce magical power remaining, escape seemed an impossible feat. His back scorched and dripping with blood, his hair burned away, he appeared utterly wretched.
"Such formidable divine power, why didn't you use it earlier?"
Qin Jun watched, clicking his tongue in amazement. Had this move been used during the battle in the Western Region, the consequences would have been unimaginable.
