The cult followers banged their heads on the ground, begging desperately.
Fear was written all over their faces.
There was no helping it, for the Demon Lord was capricious, never caring about his subordinates' attitudes towards him.
However, he liked to play certain games.
Like this time, pretending to be injured by demonic possession, waiting for all the traitors to reveal themselves.
Then, to execute them all!
He relished the feeling of having everything within the palm of his hand.
Just moments ago, everyone had already been played for fools once, the blood of those traitors not yet dry.
Now, the Demon Lord was about to feign injury again—if they were still foolish enough to jump out, wouldn't that be incredibly stupid?
One could only say, fitting of the Demon Lord, he was cruel to the extreme.
Bang bang bang!
Everyone continued to kowtow.
Fang Yang's face was pale, the corners of his mouth still stained with blood.
He stood atop the Bell of the Masses.
