By the time Meng Hao turned to face the withered hand, it was only seven inches or so from his forehead, brimming with a will of destruction, as well as a boundless ancient aura.
The sky went dim, the lands were cast into darkness, and the winds stilled. The entire world seemed to be having the light and color sucked out of it by the hand, infected by its aura of death.
The withered hand's skin had blotches and bruises on it, as though it were difficult for the blood to pump through the veins therein. A faint stench of decay emanated off of it, which filled the area.
The area around it seemed to be another world, a world in which that hand was like an Immortal Divinity. All it had to do was wave a finger, and all life could be taken away.
