The peculiar scent in the air grew more intense.
Zhao Qingxiao bit down hard on the tip of his tongue. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth, its slight sting temporarily cutting through the grogginess clouding his mind.
He tightened his grip on the gun, his already blurry vision slowly sweeping across the area before him.
He knew the thing was here. He couldn't see it, but the mysterious disappearance of the spiritual power he'd just released was proof of its existence.
Zhao Qingxiao knew full well that against an unknown entity he couldn't see or hear—one that could devour superpowers—he stood no chance.
But he couldn't give up.
His comrades were right behind him.
Zhao Qingxiao forced his eyes open, but his vision and his consciousness were fading.
He even started hallucinating. It was as if they were back at the base, safe and sound, finally able to get some proper sleep...
'No.' His comrades were unconscious, and he was the only one left who could fight.
