The visitor's footsteps stirred the cold air, bringing new sounds to the silent and dark altar where the faint howl sounded like a switch, revealing all the liveliness hidden in the gloom. Breaths appeared in the darkness like the roar of a massive beast.
To onlookers, what might seem like a terrifying threat was, in reality, merely a form of greeting. The enormous skull, wrapped in black smoke, emerged from the like-colored darkness, its lamplight-like golden pupils gazing at the newcomer.
"Your aura is as murky as that of a dying man, Morocoy,"
The scholar's mask flowed with bluish-green brilliance in the darkness, echoing with the four similar masks around it.
"I am indeed a dead man, elder brother Ohmhead."
The phantom of the Black Dragon dissipated, revealing the skinny old man holding a staff, his voice deep and melodious, not at all as feeble as his appearance.
