Making the Same Mistake Again?

The Starry Sky fell into deathly silence.

Netherworld's ferocious expression froze on his face. A layer of grayish white reflected in his crimson eyes—the drifting powder from the Soul Tablets.

In three days, three thousand eighth-order Blood Rot Tribe members had been sent into the rift!

At last, there was some "movement"—and unprecedentedly "great movement" at that—but...

Netherworld twisted his stiff neck, shifting his gaze from the vast spread of jade-like powder to the top of the altar.

The eighth-order rift had completely closed!

The line had snapped!

Or rather,

Whether the line had snapped or not, the Formless Sky Demon could no longer possibly take the bait!

It ate only the bait without biting the hook, even deliberately creating a false impression to trick him into throwing in more "bait"!

Netherworld stared at where the rift had once been, at the now-empty Starry Sky, as if he could see a face—formless and featureless, yet bearing a mocking smile!

Crack!

A broken sharp claw pierced through space, shattering away amid the friction of Netherworld's unconsciously clenched giant claw.

The deathly silent Starry Sky was like a lake struck by a stone, suddenly boiling over!

A vast blood mist spread out of control, twisting, tearing, and wantonly ravaging the void. It rolled into hundreds of millions of distorted, wailing ghost faces that covered the entire ancestral land's Starry Sky, as though even the starlight had been frozen and devoured.

"Formless... Sky... Demon—!!!"

A low roar squeezed from his throat, every word wrapped in bone-chilling bloody killing intent. It turned into invisible ripples that instantly shook outward.

The flesh on the altar's surface convulsed violently, while the Clan Artifacts embedded within it let out pained wails.

Below, every Blood Rot Tribe member lay prostrate on the ground, trembling so hard that even