Death descended from above, crushing everything beneath it.
A foot came down, completely beyond everyone's expectations. As it crushed that filthy body, it seemed to crush the vocal cords of every spectator as well.
The round crater in the ground was like a full stop, abruptly ending the screams sparked by one bizarre transformation after another.
Even their breathing stopped.
When Fu Qian pulled his bare foot from the center of the crater, no one had yet dared take their first breath.
Some had chosen to flee from the square with their backs turned because of the earlier conflict. They froze in place too. They didn't dare keep going, or even turn around, afraid the slightest movement would draw his attention.
That posture spared them from having mud splashed in their faces. Instead, they got it all over their backsides.
The stifling silence lasted nearly ten seconds. Only when Fu Qian turned away and climbed the small chapel steps once more did the first person come to their senses and frantically brush the fluid splashed onto them.
After all, there had just been two cautionary examples. Nobody wanted something to take a bite out of their neck, too.
But in their panic, after tearing off their clothes without a thought for appearances, they quickly realized that aside from being slightly warm, the stuff really did seem like mud.
It was dark and putrid, but completely inert. There was no sign of the voracious, writhing movement it had shown before.
One stomp, and it had lost all its vitality?
Once they realized this, the spectators couldn't help looking again at the bare heel and the pale cracks spreading from it, flickering in and out of existence.
Just who was this man...
Amid their bewilderment, it was easy to recall what he