Watching the massive centipede charge toward him at breakneck speed, Fang Ling's breathing grew rapid and heavy.
Sweat dripped into his eyes and the cracks in his skin, yet he seemed completely unaware.
Tension and grim resolve radiated from his entire body.
Like a cheetah locking onto its prey, his eyes remained fixed straight ahead.
His movements were slow and measured, revealing a determination that cast life and death aside.
The corners of Fang Ling's mouth rose slightly, and at some point, a faint smile had appeared on his face.
Despite the extreme danger, Battle Intent still blazed in his eyes.
Perhaps this was the final dance of his life.
If he truly died, he still hoped to die smiling.
The centipede rapidly closed in, its enormous fangs spread wide as flesh-devouring Poison Mist filled the air. It was almost upon him.
Fang Ling felt a wave of dizziness, but it did not affect his judgment.
He aimed with precision.
Then—now!
"Kill!"
With a sudden roar, his emotions ignited in an instant.
His heart pounded violently, as if it were about to burst free from his chest. Blood surged through his veins with unstoppable force, soaring skyward.
Since only a short section of the sickle remained, and he had to kill the enemy through its mouthparts, he changed his method of fighting.
Rather than swinging it to slash, he thrust it straight ahead.
All of his remaining Soul Power—the final tenth that lingered within him—raced madly through the meridians in his body. With irresistible momentum, it coursed through every tiny channel and gathered into an unprecedented force.
Like a river bursting through its banks, like a volcano erupting, it all poured into the Second Soul Ring.
Carrying a devastating might, it flowed and converged, finally condensing into a dazzling streak