The stench of the Demonic Realm clawed at his throat, a suffocating miasma of decay. Rotting flesh oozed its putrid essence, mingled with the metallic tang of blood gone bad and the sulfurous bite of tortured souls.
It was a perfume unique to this accursed place, one that clung to the demons like a badge of dishonor, easily marking them from their kin who traversed the Human Realm.
Qiao Wei had been locked in this infernal dungeon for what felt like eons, days blurring into nights under the oppressive darkness. The fetid air was a constant torment, an insidious reminder of the death that swirled around him. Questions, sharp and unanswered, festered in his mind, each unanswered one a fresh stab wound.
