The Formatted Space had taken shape. Ronan stood within it, seemingly ignoring the continuously rising temperature inside as he continued studying the images in the Virtual Work Area. He gestured as he watched, as though learning and applying something on the spot. Everything appeared to be carrying on with the previous normal exchange.
But in fact, in Cha Zheng's perception, the mental force of attack that had initially seemed incomparably sharp transformed the moment it ignited the Format Fire and activated the Formatted Space. It was as if a curtain of illusion had been slashed away, exposing the terrifying giant machine monster behind it.
Yes, at this moment, it felt as though he had been pinned to the worktable of a ten-thousand-ton hydraulic press. The rumbling press plate bore down on him, forcing him, along with the other four fully armed Deep Blue Walkers, to push every ounce of their strength to the limit and resist the crushing pressure that seemed capable of pulverizing them at any moment.
As for dodging...
They were the five pillars supporting the Formatted Space. Under such crushing pressure, they had lost all room to maneuver or adapt. They had even been molded into the shapes Ronan required.
Did he come here specifically to mess with me?
Am I going to die?
Cha Zheng had no idea how his companions felt, but as time trickled by, he could not stop such thoughts from surfacing.
Because of that relentless pressure that offered no room to breathe, and because of the pointless verbal sparring from a few minutes ago.
Instinctive terror left his mind dazed, his limbs trembling, and even his internal organs seemed to convulse. His stomach churned violently, and he nearly vomited on reflex.
He tried to control this stress response, but how could he?