The sky rumbled again. This time, it wasn't a roar. It was a hum, low, eerie, and endless—like a needle piercing foam.
There was no sound, but deep within, you could sense it, the tormented expectation hanging just above. It felt like the underworld was falling from the clouds.
The clouds above turned grey and flat, like a giant storm blanket stretching across the world. The surroundings became eerily moody.
From it, thin lines of light began to fall, one after another. They weren't lightning. They were threads. Thousands of silver threads.
Each thread carried a sharp, cutting force with a rather piercing tip that could pierce anything. They sliced through the air, the clouds, and even the distant mountain peaks.
They were silent, but deadly.
"The second form," Pickle Berry said, narrowing her eyes. "The Trial of the Thousand Cuts. The idea is for them to endure a thousand cuts. If they survive all thousand cuts, they will pass the second tribulation."
