Chapter 1439

Some of these souls even took shapes resembling entities struggling in agony, occasionally letting out exceptionally shrill and mournful wails. Those sounds echoed wildly through the vast, dead-silent main hall, piercing straight to the heart like sharp arrows and ruthlessly striking the deepest, most primitive, and most instinctive chords of fear. The ground was a nauseating mess of blood and sludge, resembling a death marsh that exuded a stench so acrid and foul it could cause instantaneous fainting. It was as if countless living beings had been tortured to death here, their blood and pus pooling together, with bubbles occasionally rising and bursting. The liquid splashed from these bursting bubbles carried a bone-chilling frost, actually corroding small, smoking craters into the floor where they landed. Deep within this spine-chilling main hall, the fake Ksitigarbha wore a solemn, dignified brocade robe. The color of the robe seemed soaked in the filthiest darkness of the Underworld, an impenetrable, thick ink-black tone that faintly emitted a few wisps of ghostly light, much like flickering ghost fires in the night. Yet, this could not conceal the panic and wretchedness emanating from his very bones.