The Death Lord's soul trembled violently under the suffocating pressure of the Dao Sovereign Realm's aura.
His once-proud expression was now twisted into something unsightly—an ugly mix of fear and agony.
Fine black threads had coiled around his spectral form, slicing into him with eerie precision before repairing him in an endless cycle of destruction and restoration.
To an enlightened cultivator, such a process could be a path to nirvana, an experience of eternal rebirth.
But under the suppressive force of this dominating power, every cycle only whittled away at his existence.
The force devoured his soul each time it was torn apart, ensuring that, within moments, he would be reduced to nothing but miserable fragments.
Amid his silent struggle, the Death Lord looked up, his flickering gaze locking onto Xiao Ming.
Then—
A crimson beam descended.
Like a heavenly decree, it swallowed his struggling form whole.
