Running past the flames spurting out from the cracks in the ground, running past the burning corpses, running past the stone pillars that collapsed in the explosion, running past those who were running like him but chose different directions.
The left half of his body was licked by a heat wave when passing through a flame vent, and the skin lost all sensation in that moment - it was not that the pain-sensing nerves were burned off, but that it was burned so thoroughly that even the nerve endings were charred, unable to transmit any signals at all.
He could smell the smell of his own flesh being roasted. It was a stomach-churning, sweet yet bitter smell, like roasting a suckling pig that was overcooked.
His hair and eyebrows burned off while running.
It wasn't burning one by one, but one by one, as if someone was pointing a blowtorch at his head.
He could even hear the subtle hissing sound of his hair burning, and saw the gray-white ashes drifting past his eyes.
But he didn't stop.
Because he saw that that direction - the direction where the dragon wings spread out - was the only place that was not engulfed in flames.
It's not that there is no fire, but the fire automatically separates when it touches the golden giant wing, just like the river meets the reef, bypasses both sides, and then rejoins behind the reef.
Under the shadow of the dragon wings is a small area that is relatively safe and has not been directly impacted by the flames.
Redd stood there.
He walked down the stairs, his steps still calm and unhurried, like walking in the park.
Flames raged around him, gravel fell around him, and heat waves rolled in front of him, but his expression did not change at all.
His eyes stayed on Dawg ras for a moment, and then moved away, scanning the people who were struggling, running, and falling in the flames.
Dawg Las's legs finally couldn't hold on any longer.
He collapsed in the shadow of the dragon wings, leaning against a stone pillar that had not completely collapsed, gasping for air.
Every breath felt like swallowing a razor blade—the dust, smoke, and incompletely burned chemicals in the air burned his trachea and lungs, making his coughs sound like someone was rubbing sandpaper against a rusty iron pipe.
The left half of his body had completely lost consciousness, but the right half of his body was still in severe pain - it was the pain caused by being burned by a heat wave, as if someone had repeatedly crushed the skin with a red-hot iron, and it made people want to scream but couldn't.
He lowered his head and saw his left hand.
That hand no longer looked like a human hand. The skin changed from light red to dark red, from dark red to dark brown, and from dark brown to burnt black.
In some of the most serious places, the skin has cracked, revealing the dark red muscle tissue underneath that is still beating slightly.
No blood flows out - because the blood vessels have been sealed by high temperature cautery before bleeding.
He could still move his fingers, but every move was accompanied by severe pain and a strange crunching sound, like someone breaking off a dead branch.
His hair is gone, his eyebrows are gone, and his eyelashes are gone.
The entire face was turned charcoal black by smoke, and only a small patch of skin around the eyes retained its original color due to constant tears, looking like a funny mask.
But he lives.
He lives.
This knowledge poured on his head like a basin of ice water, jolting him out of his dying, trance-like state.
He raised his head and looked around - those places not covered by dragon wings, those who did not run to Redd, those who chose different directions.
There is no one left.
The foyer is gone. The staircase is gone. The ceiling is gone.
The main structure of the entire palace completely collapsed in the series of explosions, leaving only a few lonely pillars standing among the ruins, like a row of burnt tombstones.
The ground is full of burning flames, red, green, orange, and flames of various colors jumping, dancing, and entangled on the ruins, as if celebrating some kind of victory.
The air was filled with a strong burning smell - it was a smell that could not be described in any words, which was produced after human flesh, wood, stone, fabric, and metal were mixed and burned at high temperatures.
Those who fled in the explosion, those who did not run under the dragon's wings - most of them did not even leave ashes behind.
The temperature of Wildfire is enough to completely incinerate the human body within a few breaths. Even the calcium in the bones will be burned into powder, and then blown away by the heat wave, mixed with dust and smoke, making it impossible to distinguish which ones are human and which are not.
Several people left traces. A severed limb that was still burning, a charred torso that was half pressed by a stone slab, and a body that was nailed to the ground by a collapsed beam, and the outline of its original shape could no longer be seen.
But these traces also quickly shrank, deformed, and disappeared under the continuous licking of the flames, as if they had never existed.
Dawg Russ's stomach twitched violently, and a surge of acid surged up from his throat. He bent over and retched several times, but nothing came out - there was nothing in his stomach.
"Just the two of us?"
Redd's voice came from above his head. Dawg Russ raised his head and saw Redd looking down at him, his eyes calm, as casually as if he was asking "What are you going to eat today?"
Dawg Russ opened his mouth and wanted to say something, but found that he could not make any sound.
His throat was burned by the smoke in the explosion, and his vocal cords were so swollen that he could only make a hoarse, hissing sound like air leakage.
He could only nodded, then pointed at himself with his right hand, and then pointed at Redd-meaning, it's just you and me.
Then he remembered something.
He turned his head suddenly and looked in the direction of the palace gate - or rather, the direction where the palace gate used to be.
The door had been completely blocked by collapsed stones and burning beams, with only a few narrow gaps still letting out thick smoke.
In the square outside the door, those soldiers he brought - those old subordinates who had been with him for several years, those brothers who did not flinch under the attack of the ballistae, did not fall under the attack of the fishmen, and followed him all the way to the gate of Lys - at this moment, there is no telling how many people are still alive.
His eyes suddenly turned red.
It wasn't because of pain - although his body was suffering unimaginable pain.
Not because of fear - even though he had just walked away from the edge of hell.
It was because he suddenly realized that he had survived while many others had not.
He made the right bet, while many people made the wrong bet.
He chose to run to Redd, while many people chose to run to the door - the exit that seemed closer, more direct, and more in line with the survival instinct.