Damn it, damn it!
The heart of the Undead Dragon was raging wildly, as if it wanted to vent all the grievances it had suffered over the millennium at this moment.
He wanted to curse and shout, but now he couldn't make a sound.
What the hell is this hand?
Huge hands constructed of blood and metal, with a certain alchemy structure, grasped his skeletal body.
These alchemical hands were crafted, and the magic power affixed to them seeped through the gaps in his bones, reaching deep into his soul.
If these hands can clearly grasp his soul, imprisoning it within his dead body, why didn't they just do that earlier?
Did they just want to punch him once?
He could sense that the main reason his body was held by the hands and even his soul couldn't move was that he had no body to defend his soul.
The body and soul complement each other, without a suitable vessel, the soul is like rootless matter, easily affected by external influences.
