Chapter 87: Treasure Pill, the Final Battle Begins, Five-Colored Purple Mist Qi (Chapter 12, the Limit)

Before Chen Luwan had even fallen, Wang Xianmao had already appeared behind her.

The clan chief stretched out both arms and gently caught his body.

The spectators in the racetrack, spurred on by Wang Yuan's shouts, had long known what was happening.

Seeing this tenacious mother collapse, even the most resolute in Dao-heart among the ascetic cultivators could not help but feel some regret.

People always hope to see heroes push through hardship and peril toward success, always hope that their kind in dire straits can—

Actually, Li Xi could understand Madam Liu's thinking, she simply had no way to empathize with her; the education they had received was different, and their thoughts were different as well.

Upon hearing this, Celestial Master Zhang burst into laughter—so what if there were demon beasts exceeding the Sovereign realm? It couldn't possibly eat all ten thousand Sovereign-realm martial artists, could it?

Lady Yan Rui felt a twinge of sourness in her heart—if Shen Cheng wanted to, he could have just come to her; with a single phone call, she could have rushed over at once.

Jiang Yingyue immediately turned hostile and cursed, while at the same time preparing for battle, and even used hypnosis to make those following behind retreat in unison, lest they be caught in the crossfire.

The people of the city did not know they had once more walked before the gates of hell—Zhao Wuji was already waiting for the two beyond the city, upon the great lake.

Actually, I had long since discovered that this fellow Liu Cheng was only a bit rough on the outside, but inwardly he was quite sentimental.

"Who is Xing'er?" Rain Mengdie's pretty face was full of bewilderment—these two disciples of hers were each more disobedient than the other.

Chen Ge pressed his palms together, "Thank you, thank you, thank you for your affection, but I'm just an internet celebrity; normally you just watch me for fun.

Countless cultivators surrounded the Heavenly Origin Sect; under pressure, the old sect master handed over the holy-grade genius, and the holy-grade genius was killed on the spot.

This too was within Fu Ling'er's expectations—even after giving Shen Shanhe shares, Fu Zhengchao had always been guarding against him, afraid something would go wrong; he never expected Shen Shanhe to bide his time for so long, a complete smiling tiger—nobody had seen through the flaw.

He had originally given Blood Sha a chance: as long as he confessed everything, he would fight him fair and square in the open. But this uncle actually didn't give face.

After all that talk, Mourinho still couldn't stop Henry in the end; he should realize by now that Kezman cannot play the role of Henry—stopping a Frenchman is simply too hard.

"Old bastard, take this sword—take this—take this!" Lin Xue, furious, swung her Ice Sword and hacked down again and again at Xiong Kun and Han Feng without regard for head or face.

The eleven Celtic players in this match were called the "Lions of Lisbon"; later, the east stand of Celtic Park—Celtic's home ground—was named after them.

"Huh? In the end, why should Franda listen to you? You say don't move and she just doesn't move?" Franda blinked. Toward Abe Takuya, she no longer had the previous hostility, nor the previous fear, which was why she could speak so boldly and carelessly.

To be able to hook up with a young, powerful noble mage—why didn't they have such good luck?

"Don't know him." Someone she didn't know naturally wasn't her enemy. Wu Old Ghost wore a listless look, appearing utterly deflated.

In the space of a week, from the top of the league table to trailing Arsenal by five points, the already heavy hearts of Manchester United fans—weighed down by the air disaster memorial—grew even more painful.

This experiment took two hours. Once he had tidied up, Ye Feng began to meditate to recover the vast amount of spiritual breath he had expended. Although the black stone bead was beneficial to the spiritual fire, the growth of the spiritual fire undoubtedly intensified the consumption of spiritual breath within the Sea of Consciousness.

This is war—from the moment you mount your horse and ride out, everyone's life is handed over to the battlefield; be it general or soldier, no one knows whether they can still return alive the next moment.

Ge Wanchun had only just opened his mouth to speak when, in the pitch-black night, countless sounds of something tearing through the air suddenly rang out. Even he, whose cultivation was only at the Grand Pre-Heaven Perfection realm, clearly sensed martial artists surrounding them from the direction they were in—shockingly numerous, fully over a hundred of them—which truly startled him.