Qi Hao carried Fang Qingyu on his back.
He sprinted desperately over the rubble-strewn ruins.
He was only a Tier One Martial Artist, so his speed was not as fast as he had hoped.
Sweat trickled down his forehead.
Mixed with dust, it covered his face.
His lungs heaved like broken bellows, each breath a burning pain.
Yet he dared not stop.
All around was a greedy crowd swarming to the fallen god's site to get a piece of the spoils.
They surged like sharks smelling blood, ignoring the risk of collapsing ruins and the lingering shock waves of terrible energy, madly rushing toward the giant pit.
Qi Hao carried Fang Qingyu in the opposite direction, standing out awkwardly, even irritatingly.
Occasionally cold or mocking glances swept over them.
But at this moment, Qi Hao's eyes were fixed only on the path ahead.
On his back.
Fang Qingyu's breath was as weak as a flickering candle, each faint rise and fall tugging at Qi Hao's taut nerves.
Faster! Just a bit faster!
