By now, the Death Lord's soul was still withstanding the Dao Sovereign Realm's pressure and had an unsightly expression. A few parts of the soul had been bound tightly by fine black strings which seemed to repeat a cruel cycle of cutting and repairing in the span of several seconds. The concept of continuous destruction and restoration should have been a blissful and nirvanic experience but the pressure field sucked away at his soul with each destruction. In a couple of moments, the Yin Soul of the Death Lord would become miserable fragments.