The surging white mist filled the surroundings, the two seemed to be fighting on a surface of water where mist was rising, the Great Scythe gently swung, the First Seat resembled the ferryman of the Nether River, with the aura of death expanding and spreading.
It condensed into clouds and mists, continuously surging forward, like a mysterious river of life, within its softness, flexibility, and sleekness, it contained an icy aura of death.
Without any sound, the rocks it touched began to decay and deteriorate, turning into a pile of dust in an instant. The Shadow King was not seeing this white mist for the first time, he knew that regardless of animals or plants, organic or inorganic, nothing could escape its destruction.
