What it felt was not fear, but utter crushing pressure.
Like an ant looking up to see a boot descending from the sky, it was not that it did not want to run—it simply could not.
Its instincts told it that resistance meant death, and obedience might also mean death, but at least obedience would not lead to death quite so quickly.
Although all the gods of the God-Devouring World were already dead, the origin of the Hunger Trait remained.
That origin which the gods had devoured for countless years, which had left them eternally unsatisfied and driven them to swallow every living thing into their bellies, froze before Wu Heng's power as well.
Its instincts were stronger than those of the Pestilence Trait, because hunger was more primal than decay.
Yet even the most primal instinct was nothing more than a cat seized by the scruff of its neck before a power that transcended the rules of the world.
They struggled madly, roared, and resisted.
The black mist of the Pestilence Trait surged up from deep within the earth like an enraged black dragon, baring its fangs and claws as it pounced toward the rift.
Golden light from the Hunger Trait shot forth from the gods' remains like golden arrows, firing into the void.
This was the resistance of natural laws.
But before they could even touch the fringes of Wu Heng's power, they were forced back by that invisible power of law.
Like a pot of boiling water with a lid pressed over it, the splashes could not burst out and could only batter the inner walls again and again. Once the lid cooled, the water stopped boiling.
They were as fragile as infants.
Wu Heng spoke indifferently.
His voice pierced through both worlds, through the gray mist,