Sitting casually atop one of her glowing-red, upside-down Black Iron Woks on the edge of the array, looking completely unbothered by the fact that he was currently sitting on a piece of metal absorbing several million volts of electricity, was Yan Zhaoge.
The Sovereign of the Iron-Stone Monastery was wearing the same chaotic, midnight-purple silk robes.
His dark hair was blowing wildly in the tempestuous winds of the calamity. He had one leg propped up, his elbow resting on his knee, his slender smoking pipe clutched loosely in his hand.
He took a slow, languid drag from the pipe, ignoring the apocalyptic, world-ending lightning dragons swirling fifty feet above his head.
"You!" Ji'an shrieked, her voice cracking, completely losing her mind. "What are you doing here?! Get out of my Faraday cage! You're going to mess up my grounding resistance! The Heavens are going to register your presence and multiply the strike yield!"
