The will to survive was a wonderful thing.
It could be found in most individuals, and was usually quite strong.
Fu Qian was deeply pleased for a moment by the agent's eagerness to cooperate.
As you wish...
Though the repeatedly chastened agent said nothing more, its posture clearly conveyed that sentiment.
He reached into the severed chest and slowly pulled out a tiny tree, as if it had sprouted and borne fruit from a spine.
The next moment, he drove it straight down into the top of his head.
Boom!
For an instant, Fu Qian felt like a candle, lit from the crown of his head.
The blood pump, already draining his life force at a frantic rate, seemed to have had its inlet pipe grow ten times wider.
The countdown plunged into its final seconds almost instantly.
And Fu Qian was sure the agent wasn't faring any better.
Because that featureless head was truly burning.
The most fundamental expression of its selfhood crumbled, bit by bit, into fragments that drifted into the mist—illuminating a path.
The ripples truly grew clearer. At last, the will flowing into the mist could sense a faint, abstract trajectory, then trace it back in the opposite direction.
"Can you feel it?"
After an utterly reckless pursuit, the cold, sublime concept at the other end of their connection finally came into focus, and the Nightmare agent offered a concise instruction.
"Lock onto it. Cut it off. Whatever the cost."
"And don't even think about trying anything."
Compared to the operation instructions, the safety module was indeed much more detailed.
"Otherwise, even if you break free first, I'll make sure this curse infects you again at once, just as you did to me—what are you doing?!"
When it got no response, it broke off its threat