The Netherworld King slowly removed his black robe with a ritualistic solemnity, as if what he was about to unveil was not merely a garment, but a sealed and forbidden secret.
As the black robe slipped away, it revealed not the ferocious visage people might have imagined, but a silver mask densely etched with twisted runes. Every stroke seemed to whisper a curse straight from the depths of hell.
The mask fit his face perfectly, as though it were a part of him since birth, or perhaps some inescapable shackle.
Chapter 146