"Roar!"

At first hearing the whip corpse, the bitter-faced monk trembled slightly, paused, and trembled, and suddenly broke out with a long howl.

The bustling shijie in him was silent, the people around him turned into white bones, the sky was dark and the earth was lightless, and there seemed to be no life.

This is a fantasy, a conjecture, and the inner feeling of a monk.

The face of the Buddha is instantly dissolved, the surrounding brightness fades, it becomes a piece of paper only the color, the bitter face monk has a feeling, the color flower twisted out is no longer a flower, but a piece of copper coins that are round and square. There are also thousands of mouths that keep chanting, still opening and closing, but what is emitted is a ghostly howl and wailing, like a resentment and ghost that has been sinking into the Yellow Spring for thousands of years and cannot be freed.

The sea of flowers turned into a dark coin, the sea of thoughts turned into the river styx, the sky lost its color, the earth was vast, and the bitter-faced monk was bored and bent on death.

To put it simply: he doesn't want to live anymore.

This is the whipping corpse, and it is also the beheading of the corpse, which is the same as the broken red dust, and it is the name given by the monk and the gun king himself. In the previous hard fight, Thirteen Lang was not to cause much damage to the opponent, but to bury an indelible intention

As early as seventeen years ago, the two kings were surprised to see Mr. Eight Fingers comprehend and perform this technique.

More than ten years have passed, and the monk has personally received the red dust karmic fire, because he has not been able to fade his roots after cutting off two fingers. The bitter-faced monk can't help but sigh for it, Mr. Eight Fingers is indeed a genius of the sky, and he has benefited to such a degree in such a short time.

Whether it is red dust intent or karmic fire, the essence is not a hurting spell, but a way to erode the heart. Karma fire is fire, but it can't burn people, not even a pot of water. It is an obstacle. It is a taboo, but also a kind of alternative love, and the red dust is a kind of desire that is unique to the mundane and enough to decorate the soul. Survival first. Thirteen Lang integrates the red dust into the karmic fire, and will not directly cause any harm to the body. However, it can erode the mind of the monk and Buddha, and then trigger his thoughts, and change the essence of his magic.

The thirteen lang of the year couldn't do this, and the monk knew it. This is the result of his enlightenment in seventeen years, less than ten years after deducting his healing, and it is not surprising that he can do so. But he never dreamed that the other party would be able to turn the karmic fire that remained in his body into a corpse that would be completely dissolved in the future, which really made him experience the taste of death.

For the mundane world, death is the end of everything, and the so-called body and soul are gone. Grievances and hatreds have turned into a piece of loess, and they can no longer be counted with. Therefore, it may be said that they are the same as the monk's sea of flowers, and they are a method of detachment.

With detachment and transcendence, Mr. Eight Fingers whipped the corpse with a sentence, polluted its Buddha root and then broke the sea of flowers containing boundless Buddha meaning. The law breaks the soul and hurts, how can the bitter-faced monk not be frightened, how can he not be afraid, how can he not be angry!

Frightened, frightened, and angry all gathered together. The bitter-faced monk was full of Buddha light, which contained a trace of black energy, and he roared loudly: "Evil obstacles!"

The monk still underestimated Shisanlang. After all, whipping a corpse is not a beheading corpse, and it is not only the will to die that is sent over. There is also a stronger desire for red dust, that is, the will to survive.

"Broken red dust, rouge bird!"

Drink loudly. The roar erupted, and the fire erupted. It is no longer as tepid and weak as before, but with an indestructible resentment and monstrous anger. A giant bird appeared out of thin air. Looking at the monk's gaze, it was as if he had been searching for countless years and countless generations of feuds, and he was moving forward crazily. At the same time, the bitter-faced monk only felt empty in his body, as if something invisible but extremely important had been cut off, which was more serious than the hollowing out of his heart.

With the will to die, all kinds of supernatural powers cannot be used, and the monk cannot help but explode the roar of Buddhism, forcibly stimulate his inner potential, and pull himself back to the sea of suffering from the other side. Just when he took survival as the first goal to struggle, the real dust breaking magic power followed, as if cutting off the roots of an old tree, blocking the eye of the fountain, and the evil consequences were even heavier.

Giving first and then breaking, first stimulating and then receiving, this strategy is tailored for the bitter monk, and it is the most complete and perfect realization at this moment, and it is a meritorious achievement in one fell swoop.

The alternation of hot and cold hurts the body the most, and this is true for mortals, monks, and monks. At this moment, he is like a shrimp that will not die but can experience torment, one moment he is still swimming in boiling oil, the next moment he is suddenly blocked by a glacier, and then he is thrown into the sea of fire to burn, the feeling can be imagined. After all kinds of torture and tossing, the golden brilliance on the monk's body turned into a canvas that had been painted in five colors, red, black, purple, and blue, and the color bars were intertwined, and there was no trace of divine meaning.

These are not the end, at the same time as the rouge bird is released, Mr. Eight Fingers' body rises into the air, the seven-colored light of his hands is like a silk mist, and the six streamers are wrapped layer by layer, and he can't wait to roll the monk into a zongzi, and then throw it into boiling water to steam.

"Seven Feelings!"

"Six desires!"

"Kill!"

After drinking like thunder, Thirteen Lang and the firebird pounced on the side of the Bitter-faced Buddha together, and it was still a big killer: hand-to-hand combat!

It's all magical powers that can be sent out quickly, from beginning to end, except for the rouge bird with a blood feud, Thirteen Lang has never used a magical power that can directly hurt the enemy, and he hasn't released a pet beast. He knew that no matter whether it was a big gray Tianxin or a dumb aunt, the gap in front of the monk was too big, and it was life and death at every turn. As for the supernatural powers, except for the thunder that hurts others and hurts himself, what does he compare with his opponents.

This time is different from Brokeback Mountain, although the floating demon is stronger than the monk, Thirteen Lang's side is not a group of heroes, that battle is essentially a hunt, make a trap and wait for the prey to set, and have its own set of life-saving methods.

10,000 ants can't beat one person, but what if 10,000 ants are laid out first, and all of them are spread on people's skin and suddenly bite a person?

In the battle with the monk, Shisanlang had no helper, but it was not that there was no external force available; he borrowed everything he could, and he used everything he could, including the monk himself. Real ability, not real ability, the key is the result.

Outside the body, the hurricane is like a knife array composed of thousands of sharp blades, the flames are like the magma that melts the earth, and the fists, heads, and feet of Shisanlang are giant hammers that can destroy the city walls and even mountains, and they are beating wildly around the chaotic humanoid ball of light!

Only, in the line of sight, the monk's body is like a sandbag that has been waved by thousands of sticks. It is like a boat struggling in the storm, up and down. fluttering, blood splattering. The flesh is cracked

"Bang Bang"

There was a scorching smell around them in the midst of the drumbeat, and only the two of them roared like thunder on the battlefield, as if thousands of troops were fighting together, and they were abusing the less and less human person together. The onlookers were dumbfounded, and with the exception of a few major repairs, most of them could not understand how the battle could have changed so much in an instant.

Why did the Impure King suddenly fall into a desperate situation from the upper hand, why did Mr. Eight Fingers move back into the battle, and when was he going to finish the fight.

Lin Wanrong. The Great Elder of Shining, as well as the newly arrived monk in Tsing Yi, the three major cultivators were pale, and they looked at the two entangled figures with stunned eyes, and their hearts kept counting.

"Three, four, five. ”

They weren't counting how many punches Jusan Lang had thrown, but how many times he would have died if he had been beaten like this. Although it is clear that the battle cannot be completely replicated. The Impure King's attack does not necessarily mean that those weaker than him will definitely repeat the mistakes of the past, but everyone understands that with the attack power that Mr. Eight Fingers has displayed so far, it is enough for him to stand at the top of the ranks of the Yuan Infant Monk and become a powerful member.

Refining the body, fists, isn't this a monk, and people have killed you! What was that rouge? It was a fire spirit, a pure flame spirit, a spirit that a seventh-level firebird had turned into! It's enough to make Thirteen Lang proud of Yuanying!

The furious assault continued, even though some people around them couldn't bear to close their eyes. Thirteen Lang is still like a red-eyed mad bull, his fists and feet are like the wind, and he doesn't know how many punches he throws every moment. How many legs are kicked. Under such an offensive, the opponent is a mountain that has been bulldozed, and even a city may be thrown out of countless trenches.

However, it is not enough!

The monk is not a mountain, not a city, but he is an impure king, a powerful person who actually has the power to transform into a god, and at the same time he is a monstrous beast with steel armor and iron armor.

"Silk!"

Like a sound, and like a convergence of thousands of sounds, in the center of the battlefield, in the group of figures that couldn't see the color and appearance, somehow suddenly spread out countless hands, and like sharp scimitars.

The iron bones are sharp, the blades are bent, and the green and miserable blades exude a sweet smell, and they are disgusting when they smell it. Dozens of nearly a hundred Qingfeng staggered waves, impermeable to the wind into a real sword mountain.

The sound of gold and iron resonating loudly, like beans in a sieve, connected together, dense and indistinguishable. The Impure King's body spun suddenly, and all he could see was a round ball with countless sharp thorns, as well as blood and sparks flying in the sky.

That's the blood of the thirteen langs, that's the fire of the rouge bird, and it's its body.

"Roar!"

There was a roar, a wail, a man and a bird both flew back, the hurricane dispersed, the fire was extinguished, the thunder was colorless, and there was only a hundred feet that roared wildly, brandishing dozens of sickle-like hands, and dozens of broken and miserable feet, and scolding.

"You brute, you let this king scatter, you let this king's body hurt, you damned, despicable, vicious"

"Brute, isn't it? ”

Hundreds of meters away, Thirteen Lang was like a bloody man, he didn't know how many furrows had been torn up and down, and two wounds were obliquely pulled on that handsome face, the skin and flesh were rolled, and the blood was dripping, and the misery was indescribable.

"No wonder you don't want to hold the Heavenly Bow, no wonder you don't use treasures. ”

Demon beasts, monsters, no matter what kind of beasts, they can't use treasures without transformation. This hundred-legged centipede, that is, the Mountain Monarch's disciple, doesn't know what kind of opportunity he gets, he obviously has the strength of the eighth level but refuses to break the rank, but he can condense into a human form. But it is still a beast after all, even if it breaks the realm, it is limited by the way of heaven, and it has a natural taboo against magic weapons. Even the golden ring that he took out before was actually transformed by the feet of his own body, and in the previous stormy attack, it was destroyed in the hands of Thirteen Lang.

"I was wrong just now, I shouldn't have called you a bald donkey. No matter how many sons, you're just a brute."

His expression was not dejected, his eyes were more ruthless, and Mr. Eight Fingers was no longer gentle, like a red-eyed bandit. Wiping the blood off his face, and even a piece of flesh was lifted off the side, Thirteen Lang leaned on it and stopped drinking.

"You're the one who beat you, evil beast!"

(To be continued......)