The abyssal leader wasn't planning to run anymore.
A movement in the darkness made Zhao tense. His feathers, stained with purple blood, gleamed faintly while he prepared for another confrontation.
The figure that emerged from the shadows was a bone-white aberration, but purple veins pulsed beneath its surface like sickly rivers of corruption, each beat sending ripples across its unnatural flesh.
"Impressed, Hunter?" the words resonated in a distorted manner from the creature, its tentacles undulating as if they had lives of their own while the moonlight revealed its true form in all its horrific glory.
Hundreds of tentacles emerged from its body. But what caught Zhao's attention was the face, or rather, the faces.
On the creature's chest, grotesquely fused like a twisted sculpture, were the features of the abyssal leader and his tentacled subordinate. Their expressions frozen in a moment of eternal agony.
