Chapter 388: Lord Cain's Aesthetic of Violence, Beyond the Battlefield_3

[And at the end of the meteor's impact, beneath the bright crimson glow, reflected is your face, terrified to the extreme, despairing to the extreme...]

[You cannot stop this terrifying might, you can only watch helplessly as your body bursts into pieces of flesh and blood scattered all over the ground under the impact...]

[An ear-shattering sonic boom echoes over the island...]

[As the bloody meteor reverts back to the figure of 'the Twelfth Disciple Cain,' nothing is left in the deep crimson trench carved by the meteor, and that, of course, includes you...]

[You are dead!]

Agabus couldn't help trembling, the fear of soul annihilating death had quietly descended.

He seemed to see the figure of Death placing the scythe at his neck, and then... viciously swinging it down!

The extreme agony from the soul gradually emerged, engulfing him completely...

Agabus instinctively grabbed his throat, attempting to use the pain of suffocation to cover up the despair of his vanishing soul.