On the drill field, Xiong Mo watched the dark clouds above without a care in the world. He affectionately slapped the back of another Primordial Spirit Cultivator standing beside him—though a bit too hard, almost making the other's chest resonate—and said, "Yunxiang, it's all on you this time!"
The cultivator named Yunxiang nearly coughed up blood: "Brother Xiong… a little gentler, if you slap me to death, there'll be no one to help you through your tribulation!"
Xiong Mo rubbed his hands: "Sure, sure. So, how well have you mastered the Prison Thunder Spell? If you can't hold on, should I transform?"
Yunxiang Daoist shrank his shoulders, looking like he wanted to throw up: "Please don't! It'll lower my mental health!"
Xiong Mo looked pleased: "Only the best techniques involve mentally crushing the enemy as well! It's almost time."
"Yes, yes," Yunxiang Daoist said helplessly: "Let's fly off the ground. Safer that way."
