All dozen or so of its scarlet eyes blazed to their utmost intensity, so bright that cracks appeared across their surfaces, light seeping out through the fissures.
It roared—a shriek on the level of thought.
The shriek shook the hungry souls nearby into scattering, none daring to approach.
It charged forward, compressing its bloated soul body into a long, slender, snake-like shape before violently launching itself ahead.
It shot out as fast as a cannonball, but its soul body could not withstand such speed. Before it had gone far, the mist on its surface began to peel away, falling off in chunks.
Throughout Hell's pitch-black void, countless demonic phantoms of black mist crashed about wildly.
They had no direction, because they had never had one before.
The barrier had been there, so they crashed into it. When they could not break through, they kept crashing. Now that the barrier had cracked, their direction suddenly changed.
They desperately drilled toward that fissure.
The once-dead Hell was filled with unceasing howls of yearning.
These howls were not sounds, but shrieks on the level of thought, erupting simultaneously from every phantom, every scarlet eye, every fragment of soul.
They shrieked, howled, and roared, like ten thousand wild beasts trapped in cages suddenly seeing a crack in the cage doors.
The sound was so loud that even Hell's void trembled, so loud that the fragments of rules embedded in Hell's deepest layer were shaken loose.
Countless masses of pitch-black soul mist abandoned their futile attacks on the barrier and rushed toward the sole path to survival—the void fissure.
Like dust caught in a vacuum cleaner, they were sucked in from every corner of Hell.
Far and near, large and small, whole and broken, all surged in the same direction.
Soul mist pressed against soul