Facing Jietisikoki's crazed taunts, Ye Chen said nothing. He merely clenched his teeth, trying to pull his emotions free from this horrifying aura of sorrow and resentment as quickly as possible.
Yet the more Ye Chen wanted to escape this despairing wail, the more the grief and desperation of a million souls lingered in the depths of his heart.
It was the mournful cry of countless victims' souls, raised as one.
Men and women, young and old—none were absent.
Wave upon wave, without end.
Like a howl from the farthest reaches of winter.
Like a dirge from the deepest pits of hell.
More importantly, Ye Chen had once witnessed the suffering of these victims firsthand as an observer.
He had witnessed it countless times!
And so, at this moment, Ye Chen's empathy instead became a bayonet, viciously stabbing into his heart, allowing him to feel the resentment and agony of these dead souls all the more personally.
It was despair in its most extreme form.
Despair so profound that Ye Chen's heart stopped beating for a moment.
At the same time, however, Jietisikoki's condition was even more absurd.
"Ahhhhh."
He dropped to his knees, his blood-lit eyes opened so wide that they seemed ready to split their sockets. One corner of his twisted mouth grinned while the other groaned; blood and drool spilled all over the ground, and he even began smashing his head madly against the floor. He looked exactly like a lunatic patient tortured by some vile disease.
"Hahahaha, it hurts so much. What torment..."
"Ye Chen, what you're feeling is still far weaker than what I feel."
"The pain of the dead souls borne by my body and mind is vastly greater than that of an observer like you!"
"This feeling is something that mere mental seepage