The moment the nine-toothed rake tore through the dark green demonic cloud, Zhu Cangming's mouth and nose were suddenly filled with the unique smell of weak water, the smell of metal rust and rotten flesh. This is not the ordinary water of the Milky Way, but a weak water that gushes out from the depths of the Nine Netherworld. A feather cannot float, and it is difficult for immortals and Buddhas to cross it. If it touches it, it will corrode the bones and ecstasy.
"Form up! There are three thousand weak waters, just take a scoop -" Zhu Cangming's roar overcame the harsh screams of the demons from outside the territory tearing at the barrier and the roar of the Milky Way, "I'll pour it into their bones!"
