Xiao Ming felt the temperature drop the very instant he stepped through the gates of the Frost Demon Wyrm's soul palace.
It was not a physical cold that bit at his skin, but a spiritual frost that tried to numb his very thoughts.
Floating in the air were clusters of delicate, ice-blue petals.
They drifted through the space like falling snow, but there was nothing peaceful about them. Each petal gave off a heavy, choking demonic aura that made the air feel like thick soup.
As soon as Xiao Ming's spirit presence was detected, these flowers began to sway violently. They were like a pack of hungry wolves that had just spotted a stray lamb.
They seemed desperate to tear his consciousness apart and throw it out of their home.
Xiao Ming stood his ground, even though his spirit form felt like it was being poked by a thousand tiny needles.
