Facing his current predicament, the Rakshasa Ghost Emperor was both depressed and helpless, feeling extremely stifled inside.
If he had fought back right when the Hand of the Heavens was gaining momentum, he might have had a chance to defeat it.
Yet, he hadn't expected this damned thing to have such an intricate trick up its sleeve; after all, he had been too complacent and underestimated his enemy.
Now, he was controlled by the Hand of the Heavens, whose power grew stronger by the day, and the Rakshasa Ghost Emperor no longer harbored any thoughts of resistance. But the prospect of enduring such hardship indefinitely made him thoroughly miserable.
He hadn't become a ghost to suffer like this, and certainly not to be someone else's workhorse.
But that's exactly how the Hand of the Heavens was treating him now, sending him to wage wars all over, leading a bunch of little ghosts to fight and feast on blood, and to suppress any cultivators that resisted.
