"Just look at those eyes. The sheer venom, resentment, defiance, and madness they contain! This is precisely what we've dreamed of. Perhaps this time, we'll actually succeed."
With a devout expression, the white-haired old man gently lifted the shriveled heart with both hands.
It resembled a fragile work of art. The slender blood vessels entwined upon it were as complex as withered vines, yet they tenaciously pumped fresh blood.
The blood was an eerie red, and it carried a seductive fragrance,
one that seemed capable of awakening the world's deepest desires and fears.
Every drop that flowed was accompanied by a faint DRIP,
which sounded exceptionally clear in the silent space, like a whisper from the Death God.
On the platform, Xiao Cangqing was on the verge of death.
His heart was gone, leaving an empty cavity, and the light in his eyes flickered like a candle in the wind, threatening to extinguish at any moment.
