Don Ma shot up like a meteor, far faster than sight and sound, as he arrived in a split second toward the middle of the three First Borns. He did not rise gracefully.
There was nothing elegant about it. His body tore through the lower clouds in a straight line of violence, leaving behind a cone of ruptured air and burning vapor. The ground beneath where he launched cracked in a wide circle, and several nearby cultivators were thrown off their feet despite the distance.
The wounded First Born turned, too slow to react, though its many mouths opened as if it sensed the incoming threat.
Don Ma arrived like an afterimage, and stopped immediately with his palm on the creature's flesh.
The touch of the creature that corrupted the heavenly Dao made Don Ma's arm sizzel, but that was too littel pain to pay for what is to happen next.
