Ren and Zhao pushed through the final stretch of the largest Platinum ring.
The river of mutants had thinned out considerably. It was sparse now, almost sporadic. Only beasts that had breached the Gold rank as minimum managed to survive this far into the zone. They were the grotesque yet strong result of the relentless cannibalism and brutal synthetic selection that had taken place along the march. Anything weaker had been left behind, either crushed by the oppressive gravity or devoured by their stronger kin, entirely unable to withstand the suffocating environment of the dark mana at Platinum 3 rank.
Yet, despite their dwindling numbers, the core problem remained. They were still moving deeper.
Even if it was just a trickle compared to the raging river they had witnessed in the Gold rings, the vanguard was still receiving a steady supply of fresh biomass. Ren kept his eyes locked on that specific detail as they flew. It didn't matter how thin the line became.
