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In a pitch-black hall, a dazed and terrified Song Zhi’ang kneeled on the cold floor. Darkness pressed in around her. Not a sound reached her, and fear gradually took hold of her.
Even her once-prized Nascent Soul Realm cultivation now felt utterly feeble.
There was no aura around her whatsoever, not even a trace of any presence, yet her vital force felt frozen solid.
The hall was so quiet that one could hear a pin drop. Song Zhi’ang could even make out the sound of her own heartbeat and breathing.
Suddenly, she jerked her head around and looked behind her. A man in a dark-red mask stood right behind her.
The inexplicable pressure felt like falling into an ice pit. It was as though his figure kept rising without end while she sank into the dust, shrinking into something...
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