He died, an Ancient Evil God of immense power was dead.
His death was so abrupt, so startling and unexpected.
Just moments ago, the God of Plague had been roaring with demonic flames, unparalleled in ferocity, even shattering the city wall that stood 50 blades high and 30 blades thick and could withstand Four Circle Magic, its residual power still lingering in everyone's hearts.
But now, his lifeless body was being treated as mere war spoils without any dignity, laid out before the Protector of Green City—beneath Lord Ilo.
The scene was overwhelmingly shocking, like an image out of an epic, capable of inspiring minstrels for ten thousand years...
Once the God of Plague was slain, the Fierce Half-Ratmen instantly fell into endless panic.
Those who had fought fearlessly only moments before were now scattering like headless flies, fleeing even faster than when they had arrived.
