"Boom—!"
As the two conversed, a withered hand emerged from the layer of snow, slamming into the bottom of the membrane of light. Soon, more and more desiccated hands drilled out, climbing over the dome-shaped membrane.
These withered hands all held a dense Purple Mist in their palms.
Clearly, being touched by these hands was guaranteed to have dire consequences.
Xia Feng could not afford to delay, and clenched his fist straightaway, letting the pale golden blood drip to the ground along the lines on his palm.
Instantly, waves of golden light began to ripple out.
"Boom! Boom boom boom!!!" Meanwhile, a dense mass of shriveled hands completely covered the small enclosed space less than three meters around them, forming a sphere on the hill, covered in hands.
Xia Feng's brows furrowed tightly as he clenched his fist again to let more blood drip into the ground.
Yet, there was still no reaction, nor did any Space Gate appear.
