The Mourning Wasteland is boundless, or rather, it doesn't even have a sky, a lake, or a mountain, and all you see is the fine white sand and dark gray dust, the former being the bones crushed by the pervasive winds, and the flesh burned by the flames. Countless souls www.biquge.info wander aimlessly across the moor, some of them naked - the mourning moor is not a physical plane, where everything needs tenacity of mind and superior mind to create and sustain - including so-called clothing, shoes, and accessories, and even your outward form. For example, some serfs who did not have any education in their lifetime, or sinners and victims whose memories have been destroyed, their eyes are blank, and they may have obvious scars on their bodies, generally speaking, their deaths are caused by these wounds, and in their shallow minds, there is nothing deeper than this, so even if they are dead, you can still see the reason for their death.

These souls are the favorite of the Bad Devils, Cheap Devils, and Lesser Devils, after all, they are the easiest food to hunt (yes, as currency, they are not qualified), and the Lower Devils and Demons carelessly fork them up with their forks like birds peck worms, and put them in their mouths or skins.

There are also souls, well-dressed, mournful, with an indelible fear, who, in their lifetime, may have been people of status, but not yet worthy of the nobles, such as merchants, craftsmen, or petty men like clerks, stewards, or servant chiefs, who know that they are dead, but who, for a short time, cannot help but act in the habits of the living. Sometimes you can see the merchants holding their purses, the craftsmen carrying awls or hammers, and the scribes holding ink and pens in their hands, and these things which they are most familiar with, most passionate about, and most concerned about—now it depends on whether their usual beliefs are sufficiently religious, but the number of them who can hear the call of the gods is not so great. The following and being followed between the merchant and Woking is almost another kind of transaction, if a merchant sacrifices enough gold and assets to Woking before he dies, he can hear Woking's sweet cry, otherwise, the golden goddess may shrug helplessly, and she has given her chance anyway. As for the craftsmen, as they are all known, there are only three races in this plane that are considered to be the most skilled, one is the dwarves, one is the elves, and one is the gnomes, and unfortunately, there are no places among the human beings - but do you want to say that anyone can gain the approval and even favor of the god of the dwarves, or the god of the gnomes? Admittedly, there are, but there are so few that even the god of death, Kranvo, can name them one by one.

As for the little people, they always have a little greed and confusion, which makes their status in the mourning wasteland extremely embarrassing. If they were knights, they would not hesitate to worship Tyre or Rosada, if they were nobles with ancient surnames, Sienos would protect them, or ordinary commoners, who were also as forgiving as Ilmot, willing to extend their hands, but they always had a little luck in their lives, and they occasionally made sacrifices, but in many cases, faith was a tool and an ornament for them.

yes, they are called hypocrites, and such souls, almost most in the mourning moor, do not fail to hear the call, but hear too many summons, and they run in vain across the moor, crying and praying, and in the hurricane, the cries are always absent, and they are filled with hope and then again and again in despair. They are also the favorite prey of the little devils and demon hunters, because they don't have to compete with the gods for their prey, and secondly, compared to the slaves and victims who have no sanity at all, such souls can still extract a lot of energy after being brutally tortured, and the soul maggots that metamorphose into are also extraordinarily fat.

But what do humans say, no matter how small the fly leg is, it is still meat.

Of course, there are also some demons and demons who have to give up the prey they are chasing, or the prey that they have not had time to discover. These souls are the most devout followers of the gods, and when they fall into the mourning wasteland, the gods' cries are as loud as if they were holding a loudspeaker and shouting in their ears over and over again, and they will not hesitate to pull their feet and run, but in the blink of an eye, they will disappear without a trace, not to mention some souls who are deeply favored by the gods, and as soon as they appear, they will be taken directly away by the light that has been thrown into the mourning wasteland from the kingdom of God—the kind that will not be shown to you.

Fortunately (for the devils and demons) this is rare, and the faithful and the elect who can be watched by the gods all the time, the god of death, Kranvo, can also pronounce the names one by one.

So which kind of soul do the devils and demons favor the most, of course, the kind of soul that not only retains the sanity, memory, and even power of life, but in life, they may be a powerful mage, a warlock, a king, an archduke, or, not surprisingly, a hero - they are proud of their reluctance to believe in any god, unwilling to accept any restraint and guidance, and their arrogance and stubbornness lead to their rejection of the gods and rejection of the gods.

If they hadn't fallen into the hands of high-level demons or demons such as the Six-Armed Serpent Demon, the Soul Judge, the Balor, or the Fear Demon, the Hama Demon, etc., and had not been captured by the Death Knight of Kravo and nailed to the wall of the unbelievers that shimmered with blue light, after a while, these powerful souls might have become a ghost without a master, and he might have been able to return to the main material plane, or continue to enjoy his new life in the shadow plane. But again, this situation is rare, so some people who feel that death is imminent will sign a contract with the devil and the demon, and such a soul will be approached by a cowardly demon or a little devil close to the messenger, as a contractor, they can skip the stage of soul maggots - low-level demons (devils) and jump into mid-level abyssal creatures such as Flo and Baba, but it is difficult to say how much meaning this soul can exist after losing all its memories as a human being.

Of course, it is not only the strong who contract with the devil and the devil, but also the weak who will do whatever it takes to obtain gold, love, power, or other unattainable goals, and these souls, as soon as they come to the mourning wasteland, will be forced into the abyss by contract, and their creditors are waiting for them to repay their debts.

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Memi clasped her arms around her, and she trembled, listening to the sound of the wind, and sometimes she seemed to hear Flo's voice, but when she ran there she found nothing but dust, she was cold, but she had only a silk robe, no shoes, and no place on the soles of her feet and her bare skin that was not struck and cut by the grit—fine dark blue marks appeared on her skin, and healed, and then reappeared, and the pain that continued was like the remorse in her heart. She looked around, trying to find a familiar face, but saw only pale and unfamiliar faces.

At the sight of a man in a leotard and a short cloak, a small door suddenly opened in Memi's chaotic thoughts, "Glenn!" she shouted, and ran over, but the spirit only turned around indifferently, he was a thief, but not Glenn, he stood on his elbows in a position that seemed familiar to Memi. Memmy immediately stopped, for she remembered that when a thief made this gesture, his hands were resting on the hilts of his dagger and dagger.

The thief stared at Plum Honey, then smiled wickedly and smugly, "Plum Honey." He said, but there was no hint of kindness in his voice.

He drew his dagger and his dagger and struck at Memi, could a soul be wounded and die a second time in the mourning wasteland?

She turned and fled, and as the thief tried to catch up, a furry claw came out of the dust, like a human with an arrow through a rabbit, and a demon hunting spider staggered away with the thief's soul in its claws.

Memi didn't know how long she had been on the run, her wound was a black ethereal, and the pain intensified as she put her fingers into it, and there was a power she couldn't see, but she could feel it slowly.

A pair of human feet lingered beside her, and Memy saw the edge of the white robe, and then a pair of kind and serious eyes, this was a priest, not anyone Mamemy knew, but his white robe reminded Mame of the dragonborn warlock who liked to disguise himself as a Tyre priest.

The priest looked up, and Rosada's loud cry echoed in his ears, and before he could leave, his robe was seized by the soul that had almost been obliterated by dust, "Please," the soul said urgently, "Please, tell me, how can I get out of here?!"

Glancing at the golden bell hanging from Memey's belt, a hint of surprise crossed Priest Rosada's face: "Listen to the call of the god you follow," he said, but he also knew that there were very few pious people among Flo's priests, and he disdained these hypocrites, but he unconsciously felt pity, "Maybe you need time, and the cries of the gods will become louder and more pronounced." ”

Memmy wanted to say something, but Rosada was clearly impatient, and the soft, bright morning light shrouded the priest's body, and for a moment Memey's hands were only gravel and dust.

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I don't know if days, months, or years have passed...... There is no sun, no stars, no moonlight, nothing to count time in the mourning wasteland. Mei Mi met a lot of souls, all of them were some strange faces, but this did not seem to prevent them from wanting to taunt and hurt her, but the soul is not the most terrible, the most terrible are the demons and devils, they seem to appear everywhere, in the hurricane, in the dust, in the gravel, under the heavy ground, there are no longer a few parasites in the soul, the lowly cowardly, the bad devils and the little devils carry their skins, and the powerful devils and demons have strange mounts- Whether it's a fly with jet-black bristles with short wings and countless appendages, or a serpentine creature with moist eyes with a pair of human heads, or a succubus riding a nightmare, they may be a rare pair of abyssal creatures that meet the human aesthetic but the spirits still run away when they see them - succubi are better at hunting human souls with their tongues and bodies, but their arrows are as terrifying as whips.

The arrows that were shot into her body would disappear, but the pain she left behind would take a long time to leave, and when the grit rubbed against the flesh in the illusion, Mei Mi almost fainted as a soul, maybe she did, but she didn't know.

She didn't even know when this torture would end, she gave up that little hope—Flo was dead, and as a saint, she knew best, that she had stolen the body and power of the gods she followed—that she was a shameless hypocrite, or rather an unbeliever, and that she had prayed to Gredi, and to every god she knew, when she could not bear it, to no avail, they knew of her crimes, and none of the gods would have mercy on her. She had accepted the gift of fate so happily and feverishly, but she didn't notice the spikes wrapped in Luo's clothes.

Eventually, even Flo's voice was gone.

Mei Mi gave up running away and let it all end here, she thought. From the dust, a Flomo gradually revealed its form, his huge body was like a moving hill, and his mount was a centipede-like carapace monster, covered with flaky scales, and its outstretched claws were buried in the gravel, and the exposed parts were about hundreds.

Upon seeing Memi, Flomo looked greedy, "A depraved hypocrite. He said, "Your soul is beautiful." "There is a glimmer of hope in the gray black.

"It's beautiful. A voice came at once, and Memmy turned back in horror, she saw a thief, but it was more real than the soul she had seen before, and the thin body hid a terrible power.

"That's not good," Flomo subconsciously took a step back, his mount moving its claws restlessly, "She's not your believer. ”

"The wife of a believer. Musk, the god of thieves, said, one of his hands reaching into his skin, and Flomo tensed his shoulder.

But what Musk had brought out was just a soul gem.