The scene before them was truly horrifying.
Especially for the cultivators living in this Heaven Blessed Nation, who have rarely experienced great battles and had few encounters with terror. Suddenly witnessing such a scene, fear was hard to conceal.
Wang the Coroner sat up from the coffin, dressed in black official robes, his face covered by a Yama mask.
His figure was gaunt, like a bamboo rod draped with clothes.
The edges of the official robe were embroidered with dark red blood patterns, and blood beads still trickled down drop by drop, making it appear even more chilling and terrifying.
His body was awkward and puppet-like, staggering to stand upright, with his knees still within the pitch-black coffin.
Behind him, in the void, a multitude of soul shadows appeared, flickering in and out. Vaguely, there were sounds of ghostly cries echoing by the ears.
The entire Twenty-seventh City was engulfed in an indescribable gloom.
