Chapter 111: The Crimson Thread Goldwing Centipede
Next moment, the Thorn Squad stood frozen as the faint light revealed a waking nightmare: the darkness itself bled, oozing thick, tar-like rolling mist that pulsed with toxic malice.
Lordi Payne’s blood ran cold. The darkness in front of him was alive.
It breathed. It bled.
And from its depths, the dead crawled forth.
Hundreds. Thousands.
Men with gouged-out eyes. Women clutching slit throats. Children with bloated, waterlogged skin. Even demonic beasts, their maws still dripping with old blood.
Resentful wraiths clawed their way into existence—men, women, children, elders, even skinned demonic beasts, their faces twisted in grotesque masks of agony and death. A fleeting glance in any direction revealed thousands of these malice beings. It was a sea of resentful wraiths, surging from the floor, oozing from the walls, pouring from the ceiling like a waterfall of the damned hell.
A handful of resentful wraiths wouldn’t have fazed the Thorn Squad, but horror seized them as they sensed the resentful wraiths’ auras. Nearly all radiated power at the Seventh Layer Qi Refinement Stage or higher, their collective strength a suffocating wave of malevolent intent.
Faces blanched, expressions twisted in dread. "Kill our way out—NOW!" Carl Murphy roared, his voice a ragged snarl.
Without Garrick Blackthorn, their peak Ninth Layer captain, Thorn Squad faced a death sentence against this horde of high-layer resentful wraiths, each as formidable as themselves, crawling from the shadows with relentless hunger.
Hand shot to his storage pouch, Carl Murphy roared, unfurling free a blood-red banner—its fabric so deep a crimson it seemed to drip. At its center, a gaping maw snarled, two pairs of jagged fangs glistening with menace as if wet with fresh blood.