The energy fluctuations outside the Mirror Palace became even more intense.
The ground trembled, the walls cracked with new lines, and the suspended mist churned violently.
Jeming closed his eyes, his perception pierced through the walls of the Mirror Palace, directly looking towards the sky.
The purple sky also became violently turbulent, like a flag torn by a gale, with folds pushing from one end to the other, never remaining calm for a moment.
It seems that Oston is about to finish.
The Eighth Level Grand Mage's bizarre fusion of the plane is nearing its conclusion, the ripping and reassembling of the Plane Origin is about to be completed.
The replica also felt the shock.
It rose from the cross-legged position, the hem of its robe sweeping across the ground, not raising even a speck of dust.
It looked down at Jeming, still sitting on the ground, that identical face left only with calmness, along with a trace of liberating regret.
