The Soul River seemed on the verge of bursting its banks. Sand and gravel filled the sky, countless soul shadows danced, the remnants of gods and demons littered the ground, and wails rose in the air.
Then, an icy chill emerged, piercing to the bone like steel needles. Something crawled ashore upstream.
One terrifying creature after another appeared, each more horrifying than the last, shocking the world and carrying the aura of blood and doom.
Yet Yang Qing and the others did not pay them much attention. Ye Fan merely snorted coldly, and those terrifying creatures were destroyed like phantoms.
Though these creatures looked terrifying, they did not even count as True Immortals.
To their group, they were merely ants, incapable of stopping their advance.
Of course, Yang Qing knew that the Soul River was not as simple as it appeared, nor did it contain only such ants.
The Soul River had not actually been created by the Weird Race. It had existed for countless ages, and like the Ancient Underworld, was connected to that supreme existence.
Moreover, as one of the Weird Race's bridgeheads, the Soul River possessed unimaginable power.
According to his estimation, the Soul River contained experts at the Quasi-Immortal Emperor level, and not merely one or two.
Of course, even knowing how powerful the Soul River was could not halt their advance.
A great battle had long become unavoidable. Rather than wait helplessly for death, it was better to take the initiative; that might instead offer a sliver of hope.
The inexplicable crying continued to echo as wind and sand swirled. The void was filled not only with dense Weird Substance, but also with a terrifying aura.
A True Immortal would have been unable to set foot here at all. The black substance and the aura