A group of people stood in the hall, each frozen in place, unable to move even their eyes.
The scene was downright eerie. With the creepy surroundings, it wouldn't have felt out of place in a horror movie.
After their initial panic and confusion, once they understood what was happening in the hall, Fang Cheng's people nearly laughed out loud—if only they could move.
More than a dozen people surrounded Ophi and Ghost Rider.
Even counting Dracula, who sat on the throne, their side still had a crushing numerical advantage.
Until now, Dracula and the Apocalypse Knights had always outnumbered them. Fang Cheng's side had only him and Peng Jie, plus Selina, who wasn't much help.
That was why Fang Cheng had been forced to use Dark Consciousness to recruit his rivals one by one while driving a wedge between the Apocalypse Knights and Dracula's alliance.
Now, at last, the numbers had swung decisively in their favor.
Sixteen against three. Drowning them in spit might not work, but beating them to death with a flurry of fists should do the trick.
Ophi and the other two were starting to panic. They had gone to great lengths to find the throne ahead of everyone else, even getting into a fight among themselves over it.
Then Dracula sat down, and somehow sent everyone here.
If they'd known that would happen, what was the point of fighting among themselves?
The most bewildered of them all was Dracula.
He had thought that sitting on the throne would make him the King of the Undead. Instead, that one plop had landed him in a hopeless predicament.
In the eerie silence, the surroundings gradually began to change.
The floor of the hall turned into soft sand. The glass ceiling disappeared, and bright sunlight poured in, dispelling