Now Bologue had ventured deep into the Great Rift, a place where toxic mist lingered everywhere, and with each breath, Bologue felt a burning sensation scorch his throat.
An ordinary person without protection wouldn't last long in such an environment and would soon suffocate to death in the poisonous mist, but it didn't affect Bologue; it only made him very uncomfortable.
His body was constantly in a self-healing state, continually consuming Bologue's Ether, a sensation akin to being trapped in a swamp, where every movement required considerable effort.
The distance from here to the Wandering Crossroad wasn't far; beneath it, the mist obscured the vision. In the dim light, Bologue saw many abandoned structures built between the rifts.
