The Four Nether-Void Generals were not mere demonic champions.
They were the living heralds of world-size extinction, each standing four hundred feet tall, hewn from the tightly packed ice-slow heart of the First Epoch deep pit three hundred thousand years ago.
Their bodies were jagged giant pillars of black ice. They were bound with thousand-year-old soul-chains that screamed with the tormented wails of fallen heavenly immortals.
In their four-clawed hands, they brandished forty-foot frost-scythes that dripped with acid-burning, zero-Degrees of star-heat rotting venom capable of dissolving Saint-tier soul armor on contact.
During the Great Cataclysm of antiquity, these four entities had slaughtered the vanguard of seven divine armies.
They had torn down the jade castle walls of the ancient dragon courts, drank the molten blood of sacred beasts. Then they dragged three entire principalities down into the freezing dark.
Now, as they dropped from the cave ceiling, the four behemoths fanned out in a classic tactical pincer envelopment.
General Frost-Cleaver plunged toward Shen Shitou.
