The air inside the tower seemed to congeal.
Dim light fell from the dome, leaving a streak of light across the dust-covered floor.
A holy lotus floated behind the old man, its petal edges glowing faintly—a stark contrast to the forest of white bones beneath Ku Chan.
Among those bones, Ye Honglian knelt on one knee, palms pressed together, her gaze fixed on the lotus in a daze.
Three zhang away, Ji Yaoguang stood shrouded in demonic energy. The faint shadows of seven tails flickered behind her as she stared intently at the churning mass of gray mist in the lotus's center.
Before them lay devout worship and a desperate counterattack.
Deathly silence and murderous intent.
In an instant, they formed a scene both uncanny and cruel.
When Ku Chan's voice exploded from within the gray mist, it seemed to make the entire tower tremble. "Foolish child, are you still not awake?"
The sound was no human voice. It was like a thousand throats howling at once, or a spiritual sword striking the white bones on the ground.
Ji Yaoguang's mind shook. The scene before her suddenly warped—the center of that holy lotus was clearly a twisted human face, smiling at her with both compassion and hunger.
She bit through the tip of her tongue. The sharp pain brought her back to her senses at once.
But it was already too late.
The arm reaching out from the gray mist moved faster than the eye could follow.
It wasn't a human arm—it was as pale as bone, its skin covered in fine cracks, dark-red threads of blood seeping through them. Its five fingers bent at unnatural angles, their black, sharp nails three inches long.
The arm shot forward, ignoring the distance between them, and reached straight for Ji Yaoguang.
It