The weaker I needed to appear, the weaker I would appear, until the young man in finery finally helped me up.
The palm of the young man was as steady as a mountain, gripping the Cold Chains so firmly in the void that no matter how the shackles struggled or roared, they couldn't move in the slightest, let alone break free.
After a long time, perhaps resigning to its fate, the Cold Chains emitted a weak sound. With a casual flick, the young man tossed it directly into the Nether River behind him.
The Nether River behind the Western Wasteland Demon Lord was not nearly as vast as the tributary of the Underworld River behind the Mountain Sea Demon Lord.
But even so, it still struck terror into the hearts, exuding a horrendous oppressive aura, because this river was red, completely forged from fresh blood.
Within the river, bright moons of purple waxed and waned unpredictably, continuously eroded by the waters of the Nether River, emitting agonizing wails of pain.
