Run!
Keep running!
Possibly triggered by the stimulus of death, Wang Cong, carrying the gourd, ran faster and deeper.
Calamity Corpses afraid of death? That might be the coldest joke of the century.
Time blurred as he sprinted, a minute, two minutes, five minutes…
Wang Cong was stung on his back and neck with two boils, fist-sized, black and purple, exuding a rotten stench.
"Buzz——"
The Bone-eating Fly failed twice to sting Wang Cong's eye sockets, angrily fluttering its wings to accelerate, drawing a cunning arc in mid-air, and suddenly attacking head-on!
In Wang Cong's widened pupils, a cold poison needle was reflected, aiming straight for his eyeball.
Wang Cong suddenly covered his face, fell forward, his head hitting the ground, plunging into the weeds, the stopper of the gourd on his back was knocked open, and fine white sand poured out instantly, scattering all over the ground.
"Finally can't run anymore? Alas, I haven't had enough fun yet."
