The moment Long Chen spoke the final words of the contract, while elder feng was attacking Demon Dweller had erupted.
A blob of reddish-black fog exploded from the blade like a geyser breaking through stone. It poured out in waves, thick and viscous, radiating killing intent so potent it made the air itself recoil.
The fog wasn't empty. There was weight to it, a substance. Like staring into a mass grave where millions had been slaughtered and their hatred had condensed into something physical.
Elder Feng stumbled backward, his face going pale. "What—what is that!?"
The fog didn't answer. It just moved.
It shot toward Long Chen like a living thing, tendrils reaching out, wrapping around his transformed body. His arms, legs, torso and head. The reddish-black substance seeped into his skin, his eyes, his mouth—pouring into every opening it could find.
Long Chen tried to resist. Tried to pull away.
But his body wouldn't obey.
