The blood-soaked figure swayed, as though she would collapse the next second and never get up again.
Yet not a single Calamity stepped forward. Even [Withering], who had just made his threats, did not move.
Not because they did not want to, but because they could not.
Some power was flowing, close at hand, yet invisible.
This stretch of heaven and earth abruptly fell silent. Only breathing, heartbeats, and the sound of blood flowing remained.
[Withering] concentrated. As his gaze shifted, he seemed to catch a flash of red, then more and more, gradually increasing from a thread to a wisp.
Then it continued to swell and droop, as though seeking to fill this space.
He took a deep breath and raised his hand.
The foot that had been taken away returned to his hand. He could vaguely glimpse the connection between himself and the foot, but it was always severed the very next second.
Things like this, which could not be seen, heard, or touched, were the most chilling of all.
And so not a single Calamity stepped forward.
At that moment, Ye Buyu was merely forcing herself to hold on to one last breath, clinging to her final thread of life. In truth, her soul was almost separated from her body.
Those unfocused eyes no longer held any of those exceedingly dangerous Calamities, only red threads ceaselessly gathering from somewhere unknown.
Softer than slender willows in the spring breeze, as numerous as streaks of summer rain, as laden as rice at the autumn harvest, as heavy as winter ice.
A vast quantity of red threads gathered, engulfing her completely in just a few seconds.
Then mournful sighs echoed, countless questioning voices overlapping, as contradictory as the mingling twilight when day and night changed places.
Mixed together, they painted