The Light Screen in the hall had remained unchanged all along, showing the situation at that spatial rift.
In the image, the blood-red coffin was still shaking.
The lid was shaking more and more violently.
At first, it had only trembled gently.
Now, it had become a series of violent impacts, each one bouncing the lid half an inch high and making the coffin buzz.
More and more black hair seeped through the gap.
The hair was no longer dripping wet, but dry and split-ended.
It squeezed through the gap beneath the lid with a rustling friction, writhing and spreading over the coffin's surface.
Yang Yong felt his scalp prickle.
He stared at the hair. For some reason, he kept feeling that it was conscious.
Every strand was searching for something.
Then...
A lock of black hair emerged through the gap beneath the lid.
That lock was thicker, longer, and blacker than all the hair before it.
It was unnaturally black, as though it were a thread twisted from the deepest night.
It slowly rose from beneath the lid and swayed in midair, like a black viper rearing its neck.
It was observing.
Sensing.
Then, more black hair poured out.
It did not emerge lock by lock, but surged out like floodwater through an opened gate.
Countless strands of black hair emerged from beneath the lid, without end.
It was as though the coffin held no corpse at all, but an entire Abyss's worth of hair.
The black hair danced wildly in the air, each lock as thick as an arm and immeasurably long.
It extended in every direction, like a spiderweb that blotted out the sky.
Then...
It connected to the other coffins.
Countless coffins floated on the other side of the spatial rift.
They varied in size and