'If I do not stand, then what was the point of all this? Stand... I must stand...' Jiang Chen felt his vision blurring, only his iron will holding back the encroaching darkness.
He looked more corpse than man, with blood running all over him. The majority of the Wool Surgeon's Needle's effort had been poured into his lower body so that his legs could bear his stance.
Next, the needle moved like a desperate physician racing against death, fixing the mangled torso, stitching flesh, forcing broken tissues into some crude semblance of stability, frantically attempting to mend what it could.
Jiang Chen finally stood with great difficulty, his body swaying like a candle flame harassed by a relentless wind.
Yet he stood nonetheless.
The violent storm of explosions that had engulfed the battlefield moments ago finally began to settle.
