Divine Prisoner of Lost Spirits

The cold, damp cell was filled with gusts of wind that seemed to have been blown straight from the depths of hell, casting such a chilling atmosphere that Tang Feihong had no desire to linger there any longer than necessary.

Especially since someone had died in this cell.

Thus, Tang Feihong was desperate to carry out the corpse covered by a white sheet on the bier behind him as quickly as possible, so he could leave this gloomy, death-ridden place far behind.

Of course, as a prison guard, it was impossible for him to truly escape the cells altogether.

“Qu Hanchen, did you feel the bier just move a moment ago?”

Gripping the handles on either side of the bier, Tang Feihong sensed a strange motion from behind and immediately turned to the tall, thin man with a nervous question.

Qu Hanchen, as he was called, was nothing if not straightforward. He simply lifted the sheet and looked at the pale, naked body lying flat on the bier.

The corpse was unnaturally pallid, without the slightest mark or birthmark. Every muscle and limb was exquisitely shaped, as if a master craftsman with callused hands had painstakingly carved out a work of art.

It was real, yet with a hint of unreality.

Tang Feihong knew well that on the back of this corpse was a bizarre pattern.

The pattern ran along the spine, dividing the back into two sides, each covered in strange, intricate black designs that spiraled upward from the lower back to the shoulders like a staircase. From afar, they resembled a pair of wings, modest and poised to spread; but