The gods, when facing death, are sometimes no better than mortals. Perhaps it's because they've lived for too long, distant from the cycle of birth, aging, illness, and death, unable to comprehend that sense of anxiety. Only when the day comes where they lose their edge do they appear so pitiful.
Xiao Chen advanced step by step, each footfall landing with a rhythmic, deliberate cadence, as though every step was stomping on the heart of that Ancestral God. The god's face turned pale, and he retreated continuously.
Even though he had faced countless challenges and braved numerous dangers in the past, he had grown complacent over time. The fear of death made the Ancestral God's body tremble uncontrollably. To someone who once regarded all living beings as ants, the moment he found himself looked down upon by another, he finally understood how terrifying such oppression could be.