CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK...
A series of crisp, cracking sounds echoed from Ding Xiang's body. The son of the Silver Armored Guard's commander was, at this moment, enduring the most terrifying torture imaginable.
Behind him stood Zheng Fan, his hands clamped around Ding Xiang's head. Strands of a black aura seeped from his palms, flooding into Ding Xiang's body.
Ding Xiang's eyes had rolled back, showing only their whites.
His mouth hung open, yet no sound came out.
Normally, if people jump around after drinking water, they can feel it sloshing in their stomachs.
At this moment, that was precisely the sensation inside Ding Xiang's body, only far, far more intense.
His bones, his organs, everything within him, was liquefying.
It was like ice and snow slowly melting in winter; all chaos, all turmoil, all attachments—none of it mattered anymore.
Chu Fengjiu watched this unfold, his eyes wide, as he slowly drew the soft sword hanging from his waist.
