Cold. Damp.
Qing Yueqiu felt the sticky dampness beneath her feet as she groggily opened her eyes.
The first thing she saw was a blinding crimson.
Beneath the pale soles of her feet lay a boundless sea of blood. The viscous, scarlet liquid flowed sluggishly, carrying a nauseating metallic stench as it tried to creep up the girl's exquisite, jade-like ankles. The scene, both sacred and profane, was utterly bizarre.
Qing Yueqiu frowned slightly at the sea of blood. Her head throbbed with pain, her memory a blur, like she'd blacked out from drinking. She had no idea how she had gotten here.
Suddenly, she felt something watching her. The gaze was cold and sharp, like an invisible blade grazing her spine.
Qing Yueqiu's heart suddenly raced. She whipped her head around, her crimson eyes trembling uncontrollably.
A colossal sword forged from corpses stood menacingly before her.
And at the very top of that corpse-sword, upon its hilt, was a jet-black throne.
