The woman strode over in her high heels to the stall where Wu Heng had been standing.
"Oh, honestly. Smashed to pieces!" The woman clicked her tongue at the empty ground, then pulled out a perfume-like bottle from her pocket and repeatedly sprayed the floor.
As the transparent liquid continually fell onto the ground, illusory chunks of flesh were revealed one after another.
The woman held down the skirt around her hips and bent into a crouch to avoid exposing herself. Then, with her right hand, she picked up the transparent, intangible-looking phantom flesh chunks from the ground and continually pieced them together.
A moment later, the figure of a young man had been fully assembled.
It was the motorcycle-riding youth who had provoked Wu Heng at his stall and pointed Anita in the wrong direction—the Son of Satan.
"Who are you?"
The young biker's soul, pieced together like a puzzle and still covered in wounds, looked at the smiling woman before him. Her lips were painted red, and she possessed both seductive allure and innocent purity.
"Who I am isn't important. What matters is that you are the Son of Satan! But you soon won't be. You'll become my little dog!" She bent down, stroked the youth's phantom face, and teased him.
"Huh? What kind of madness are you spouting? This is blasphemy, do you understand?"
Facing the woman, the biker youth's phantom soul was furious, his eyes filled with blackness.
However, his power had yet to awaken, leaving him completely unable to resist.
"Oh, I know."
The woman paid no heed to his threat. She intertwined her hands to form a diamond-shaped gesture, within which black rippling patterns emerged. The soul of this not-yet-fully-formed Son of Satan was sucked inside and vanished.
The woman stood up, left the