Spear

The spear in Mo Ling's hand seemed to scatter the onrushing firelight directly.

Just as when it had first fought the flames, this Shadow Weapon pierced into the firelight effortlessly.

Everything around them was silent. The scattered flames naturally fell behind him, then were thoroughly eroded away by the Light Plague.

The patterns on the spear slowly turned, and Mo Ling heard the conversations within them with perfect clarity.

Yet after those words entered his heart, they stirred no ripples.

It was as though his heart had stopped alongside time itself, no longer producing emotions.

His blood vessels stretched freely. The surrounding Cold Night Tribe members were all frozen in place, the black fur on their bodies suspended in the air like clumps of solidified shadow.

The grains of sand kicked up by their running were also fixed in midair, reflecting the dimming firelight before darkness claimed them in an instant.

The burned-out flames seemed to release curls of black smoke, gradually shrouding the surroundings...

"Was it destroyed? Or transformed?"

A question arose in Mo Ling's heart. As he watched the fading flames, even the arm holding the spear began to hesitate.

Crack!

At the moment his resolve wavered, he heard something break.

The spear had snapped.

Its tip suddenly shattered into tiny black specks, drifting together with the suspended grains of sand.

The patterns on the shaft also began to blur. The sounds of conversation grew quieter and quieter, until they became whispers he could no longer make out.

After hearing that sound, Mo Ling hurriedly looked at his hand.

He saw only a mass of chaotic darkness coiled within his fur, so profound that it seemed ready to devour everything around it.

The blackness deepened further, and Mo Ling unexpectedly saw two disintegrating black lines within it.

"The