In the underground palace, which was almost turned into ruins, bodies were scattered all around.
Blasted skulls, severed limbs, charred remains... together they created a bizarre picture amidst the ruins. Everything was static, except the crimson blood flowing everywhere like blood snakes with remaining spirituality, greedily searching for something in the darkness.
In the debris of broken walls and shattered tiles, Zhang Linchuan sat on the only intact chair. He wore a black robe lined with white patterns, both his robe and his throne appeared spotless.
Before the pope's throne, several corpses still exuding strong presence were scattered on the stone steps.
The corpse closest to the pope's throne was that of a female powerhouse. Her blood-stained hair lay as she sprawled face down, but she was still straining to extend her right hand forward, as if wanting to grasp something.
