"A clay Bodhisattva crossing the river, can't even protect itself, and still wants to protect others?"
Feng waved.
Elder Fu, covered in black, slammed to the ground, no longer breathing.
The White-faced Ghost extended its long tongue, like a snake's, licking all the way from the tip of the black sword.
After savoring the blood and sucking the soul dry, its physique glowed faintly, even its pallid face was a shade rosier.
"Delicious."
"But ultimately too old, with a hint of a rancid odor."
Swish, the ghostly fire in its two eyes, turned to stare at the Matchmaker, and at the millions of spectators in front of the Golden Apricot screen.
In the Ghost Buddha Realm, the eerie winds wailed.
All around, the sounds of wolves howling and ghosts weeping were incessant.
The mist enveloped the Stele of the Central Yuan world, and even through the Golden Apricot, the millions of spectators couldn't help but feel their scalps tingle.
"Dead!"
"Truly dead!"
