Su Xiaobai swallowed hard. "...What the unholy f** is this?"*
This wasn't a battlefield. It was hell. And not the fun, sexy kind either—the "let's grind your soul into paste" kind.
Below, warriors were tearing each other apart like starving dogs over a scrap of meat. One poor bastard was sliced clean in half—vertically—and yet his screaming ghost buddy picked up his spear and dove right back into the slaughter. Scarlet-furred wolves prowled through the bloody battlefield, their veins bulging like rotting vines, feasting on severed limbs with the kind of crunch that made Su Xiaobai's stomach churn.
"Are they undead?" Su Xiaobai muttered, the first thought spilling out of his mouth.
"No."
Zhu Qing's voice, calm and detached, drifted from above. A soft thud followed as she landed beside him with the grace of someone who had far too much experience with nightmares.
