"So what? Do you still have the power to move me now?" Trent Marsh lay on the ground, looking at the martial artists around him, his face full of disdain. "With these useless fools?"
He placed his hands behind his head and gazed at the sky.
The martial monks, following the Prophet's instruction, surrounded him, ready to capture him.
Trent Marsh whistled.
Boom!
The movements of the martial monks halted, and then they turned to ashes.
"You guys, you're still too young. Did you really think I didn't leave a method to destroy you when I created you?" Trent Marsh lamented, "You're not human, you don't understand the complexity of human hearts. Destroying you isn't about killing the donkey when it's done its job, but rather a result of power struggles. If I truly wanted to destroy you, why would I trap you in the divine realm to preserve you?"
