The Soul Devourer led his people to the foot of Roaring Storm Church. He stopped, tilting his face toward the sheer peak that pierced the clouds, and a slow breath leaked through the centuries of bitterness locked inside him. For ten thousand suffocating years, he had lain imprisoned beneath this mountain.

Midway up the slope, a dense crowd had already gathered. They were experts from every corner of level six.

Their chatter died the instant they spotted the black tide below.

One hundred thousand demonic souls and tens of thousands of Demonic Cultivators silenced all bravado.

Most suffocating of all was the phalanx of ten thousand demonic souls clustered behind the Soul Devourer, each radiating a crushing, predatory aura.

If demonic souls alone carried such weight, what unimaginable realm of power had each of them commanded before their physical bodies withered?

Every face on the mountainside tightened, dread settling like frost in their veins. These demonic souls were far stronger than any tale had warned.