A mass of black smoke suddenly rises, like an evil aura rolled up from the Abyss of Hell, suffocating, as the footsteps draw near, the blurred silhouette gradually becomes clear.
Everyone felt an inexplicable pressure, as if facing an enemy from myth.
The scarlet robe is shattered, and the armor beneath it has become rusty and covered in cracks, with flesh slowly writhing in the gaps, like vines spread across it, some growing out of the armor, forming lumps and nodules on the metal surface, with blood trickling down.
Bologue looks at his face; under that hood, there is only murky darkness.
The stench of blood permeates the air, and at the same time, Bologue, like a hunting dog, discerns the familiar frenzy of the Devil from this scent.
"First Seat..."
A deep, hoarse voice emerges from Bologue's throat, as if it exhausts all his strength.
The moment this voice reaches others' ears, the boiling blood quickly cools, as if icy claws have seized their hearts.
