At the edge of Bestial Forest, though it wasn't as eerie and foreboding as the deeper reaches of its inner and outer rings, a scene was now unfolding that drowned the area in unspeakable horror. Blood flowed like water, thick and dark, coating the ground in rivers of crimson. The very air reeked of death and massacre, heavy and metallic, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.
A masked man with jet-black hair darted through the terrified crowd like a phantom. With each swing of his scythe, heads rolled, severed cleanly, tumbling to the blood-slick earth. Within minutes, over fifty Cultivators had fallen—lifeless bodies scattered like broken dolls, their corpses littering the ground in grotesque silence.
No matter how the Cultivators tried to defend, no matter how they screamed or fled, it was useless. Futile. They were nothing before this grim reaper—a bringer of death who harvested their lives like ants crushed underfoot.
