The fire of hell is burning and blood is dripping from the mountain of knives.
The oil pan boils and the sinners wail.
It wasn't the first time Logan Zhuang had seen this, but he still felt uncomfortable after seeing it. Until he saw those familiar people.
Xu Houde, Qian Xinzhao, Yang Xiang, Zhang Xiang, the upright people who fought to the death, the factions that were like snakes and rats in the same nest, now they have gone through mountains of swords and seas of fire together, and they share the same pot of hot oil and are fried till crispy.
They are all begging for mercy, wailing, regretting, and the cries of despair are circulating in every hell.
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