Frost spread around the footprint as if it were alive.
The surging Wind of Death blew, carrying the scent of dissolving everything, yet it failed to move the hair of the Iceheart Demon.
It looked down at its feet, where there was an extinguished hoof print.
Rustle, rustle—
Whispers emanated from beside it.
Not far from it, a figure in a white dress eerily stood on the scorched ground.
The Iceheart Demon furrowed its brows.
It had heard of such foolish Hell Creatures: they only stood still, waiting for food to come to them.
Normally, it wouldn't mind "getting to know" them, but now it had more important matters to attend to.
The Iceheart Demon looked toward the direction the hoof print extended, gradually tilting its head, its cold whisper echoing around.
"Human, where do you think you're going?"
…
"How much longer!"
"Not even halfway."
The Skeleton Horse's hooves were no longer just climbing the seemingly endless slope.
