As soon as the two of them flew into the air, the outstretched hands within the sludge suddenly began to stretch out. In the blink of an eye, they had reached Meng Hao, and were about to grab him.
He let out a cold snort and slapped his bag of holding. The two wooden swords flew out, circling around him at high speed. Blood spattered out as approaching hands were immediately lopped off, before they could even get near Meng Hao.
Black blood spattered down like rain. A foul stench began to fill the air, and, in fact, this entire world. The mastiff’s body began to glow red. Not a single arm was able to touch it; they were instantly ripped into shreds.
However, even as Meng Hao and the mastiff sped along, nearly to the half-way point, a forlorn, shrill sound arose from the various faces in the ooze. The green, parasitic tentacles which grew out from them suddenly stood up on end, one by one. They transformed into countless sharp spikes which shot toward Meng Hao.