There was no space, no sky, no ground, only a boundless violet void saturated with murderous intent. The moment his consciousness stabilized, an overwhelming hatred crashed into him like a tidal wave, sharp enough to tear at his thoughts.
A figure hovered within the void.
It had no legs. Its lower body dissolved into drifting mist, as if it had never truly belonged to reality. Four eyes burned on its face, each one locked onto Grey with naked killing intent. Long, tangled hair floated wildly around its head, writhing like living shadows.
The spirit’s skin was pale, unnaturally so, but it was not weakness that radiated from it.
It was resentment.
Hatred so dense it felt solid.
Grey felt it instantly. Not just the desire to kill, but the fury of something that had been sealed, bound, and denied for far too long. Beneath the storm of emotions, something deeper was suppressed, locked away by force. That suppression was the source of the spirit’s madness.
Before Grey could probe further, the spirit let out a low, distorted growl.
The void trembled.
In the next instant, it lunged.
Its mouth tore open far wider than it should have, rows of sharp, jagged teeth exposed as it rushed toward Grey’s divine sense, intent on devouring him whole.
Grey did not retreat.
Though his form was faint and insubstantial, his eyes remained calm, cold, even.
He raised his palm.
The violent hatred slamming toward him froze.
A heavy suppressive force descended instantly, pressing down on the spirit like an invisible hand. Its four eyes widened in shock as it struggled, trying to pull away.
Only to realize it could not.
The suppression twisted.
What had been pressure became suction.
The spirit was dragged forward against its will, screaming silently as it was pulled toward Grey. In the blink of an eye, it was right in front of him.
Grey’s palm struck forward.
The impact was silent, yet the entire violet void rippled violently.
Grey’s divine sense surged into the spirit’s chest, invading it completely. Countless threads of will spread out, forming a brand deep within its core, a mark of absolute control.
The spirit convulsed, its hatred erupting wildly, but it was already too late.
The brand settled.
From that moment on, its life and death were no longer its own.
With a single thought, Grey could command the soul weapon freely, or reduce it to nothing, erasing the spirit along with it.
Though the process seemed long and fierce, in reality, fewer than twenty breaths had passed since Grey’s divine sense first invaded the soul weapon.