He could not open his eyes. He could not even form a thought.
Throwing that Silver Meteor spear one last time had drained every last bit of his strength. His breathing was growing faint, his limbs gradually turning cold.
Even the crushing pain inside his body—the burden that had made him want to scream himself hoarse, scream himself insane—was slowly fading beyond his senses.
Red "saliva" trailed in a thin line from the corner of his mouth, and his vision had narrowed to nothing but a vacant slit.
From setting out into the scenario to collapsing upon reaching it, he had exhausted himself again and again, barely surviving crisis after crisis on the journey back to where it all began.
And now, as the unimaginably enormous and dark Artificial Numbered was about to descend upon central London,
Fang Ran was like ashes that had already burned themselves out.
Crack—
Rubble fell from the edge of the circular crater where the ground had collapsed. Near Financial City Crossroads, swarms of Numbered Monsters surrounded the area, temporarily afraid to approach because of that last strike.
Ferocious battles raged throughout London's sprawling urban districts. At this moment, as the final heavy movement resounded through the darkness, only Fang Ran's side was utterly silent.
His physical strength and mind had both been pushed beyond their limits. His consciousness drifted endlessly through chaos, unable to gather itself.
"Fang Ran!!!"
Until that anxious shout became the final force that drew his consciousness together. With only the faintest self-awareness left—barely enough to remember who and where he was—through that utterly blurred slit of vision,
Fang Ran dreamily saw someone running toward him.
His breathing was ragged from sprinting at full speed, his throat burning. The pale young man ignored the sharp rubble and leaped into the crater.