Davis watched in bewilderment as the figure in the black robes transformed into an infinite number of flesh chunks.
The sound of flesh hitting the ground made him jolt as he turned to look at the jade green fan that radiated a black miasma. At that moment, his eyes narrowed, and terrifying sounds pierced through his soul sea.
The horrifying sounds weren't shrieks or roars, but layered whispers. The voices overlapped, muttering incomprehensible chants that tugged at the edges of his consciousness.
His body felt strangely heavy, his limbs sluggish, as though some unseen weight pressed him down. It wasn't pain, but rather a suffocating suppression, a pressure that threatened to strip him of his composure.
Davis's frown grew deeper. His soul sea rippled with agitation, the whispers bouncing against its surface, breaking the calm of the lake. He realized it wasn't some kind of attack but a response to his usage of the cursed artifact.
