On the clamorous and dark battlefield, the Ether reaction of the third Seeker of Glory surged up like another blazing sun in daylight.
The First Seat's figure was frozen mid-air, as if gripped by an invisible hand, his bones gradually crushed under the force, deforming violently with a painful crack, blood churning inside his body, ravaging every vein, cleansing his innards, and spurting from his wounds like a ruptured waterskin, drying rapidly.
Like a slow and cruel execution, the First Seat's limbs twisted and deformed, muscles writhing like venomous snakes, his face pale, eyes filled only with painful moans and a madness shrouded with miasma, constantly hearing the sound of bones breaking and flesh tearing apart with horrific screams, the thick scent of blood saturating the air.
