#1070 Death (2)
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Just like before the hurricane on the sea.
The surrounding air became condensed, as if it had stopped flowing.
The small animals that were chirping in the surrounding wilderness and woods seemed to have all hibernated at this time, and could not hear any sound.
Dead silence.
Yang Zimei now has a deep understanding of this word.
She told Huo Wenhua to stay inside and not move, opened the driver's door and walked out.
The crimson Mo Xiejian in her hand was tightly held in her hand, and as her nervousness trembled slightly, it uttered a low chirping sound.
The small iron tower on the left hand is also slightly discolored, and it seems to feel the changes around it.
A black cloud began to roll out from the 100-meter-ahead hill.
The cloud was thick and thick, like a big black mushroom, rolling in the direction of Yang Zimei.
No matter how good Yang Zimei's eyesight was, he couldn't see clearly what was in the black cloud.
Death is not in the state of black clouds, right?
Yang Zimei thought suspiciously, her heartstrings began to tighten, and the palm of her hand holding the sword was slightly sweating.
About thirty meters away.
The black cloud suddenly changed...
A man dressed in a black wide-sleeved robe slowly stepped out of the dark clouds and stepped out of the void. The black hair that grew to the heels rose without wind, and floated behind him at will, giving people A strong visual effect.
Compared with his black robe, he was holding a black sickle in his particularly pale hand.
The black gas on the sickle is entangled, so thick that it can't be melted for a thousand years.
His face, which was originally covered by long hair, suddenly revealed most of it.
Seeing the pale jade face that was as handsome as it was carved with a knife, Yang Zimei's original guard was instantly lifted, and her nervousness turned into joy.
"Xuehu, is that you?"
The Mo Xie sword in her hand hung down, she stepped forward quickly, and called out softly.
The man in black robe looked down at her...
Seeing his pupils, Yang Zimei was slightly surprised.
One of his eyes, which was exposed outside his long hair, had a pupil that was blacker than the sickle in his hand. It was so dark that it was as black as a black hole.
Snow Lake's eyes are not like this.
His eyes are clear and translucent.
However, the exposed half of the face is exactly the same as Snow Lake.
"Snow Lake?"
She tried again and asked in a low voice.
The scythe in the black-robed man's hand raised up and said, "The one who blocks the god of death! Die!"
His voice was nothing like the gentle and cool sound of nature from Xuehu, but like a frosted metal, low and hoarse and cold, as if from the eighteenth hell, making people shudder.
Yang Zimei was not timid, but when she heard this voice, she couldn't help but get goosebumps and chills down her spine.
grim Reaper?
Not Snow Lake?
Why does it look so similar to Snow Lake?
Her Mo Xie sword, which had been hanging down, was raised again.
The aura of this god of death is extremely powerful, and the mana is beyond her imagination.
She knew that she was no match for him at all.
But also know that the god of death has the rules of the god of death.
The sickle in his hand is used to harvest souls, but it cannot be harvested at will.
Seeing that she raised the Mo Xie sword, the sickle in Death God's hand moved slightly. Before she could react, the Mo Xie sword in her hand instantly fell to the ground, making a clanking sound in dissatisfaction...
Yang Zimei looked at his palm.
Before Mo Xiejian fell from her hand, she didn't even feel any external force.
The sword suddenly seemed to be empty, and he fell to the ground.
***