"What a brilliant move."
In front of the slaughterhouse, corpses sprawled everywhere, and blood ran like a river.
Kui Zhao took three steps back and lowered his head to glance at his chest, where a huge chunk of flesh had been "bitten" away. Even though the pain had covered his forehead in cold sweat, he still couldn't help laughing. "Of all the people I've met, there are countless who are stronger than you. But there aren't many who are more ruthless."
"You actually bent your arm backward and snapped it yourself to create an opening... I thought I'd already estimated you as highly as possible, but I still underestimated you."
Across from Kui Zhao, Le Yu was gasping heavily and coughing up blood. His face was smeared with blood, and his entire body was badly wounded. Several strands of Kui Zhao's flesh still clung to the fingernails of his right hand.
But the most unforgettable—and unbearable to look at—was his left hand. It was hard to believe it could still be called an arm. Anyone who glanced at it would be reminded of twisting a bundle of clothes dry after washing them.
The flesh of his left arm had twisted into a tangled mass, squeezing out all the blood within. Pale splinters of bone were exposed to the air amid the bright-red blood, while the blood inside his body seemed desperate to find a way out of this disaster, trickling down drop by drop.
Only a few strands of "flesh" connected the arm to his shoulder. It looked as though a single gust of wind might make that barely attached left hand fall off.
Just as Kui Zhao was about to twist his arm off, Le Yu sprang up from the ground. His arm had consequently bent backward and snapped,