"Y-...Yes, Master..." the soul creature Pythor muttered in a guttural, hollow voice, barely more than a whisper—yet it carried the weight of cold inevitability. Without haste or hesitation, he began to step forward, each movement deliberate, each step reverberating like the toll of a distant war drum.
"What the hell is this?!" the Palace Guard Commander recoiled in horror, eyes wide, his heart seizing in a sudden grip of dread.
"A talking soul creature?! That's impossible! How did a mere level 44 martial emperor obtain a talking soul creature?!"
To anyone with true understanding of the soul arts, the implications were terrifying.
