"Brother, hang in there! Just hold on to that shred of your Primordial Spirit, and you won't die. You still owe me money, and that Xiang Xiaoniao is a real handful who needs a good talking-to. When you're better, we'll sort things out properly," Yan Huo said through clenched teeth. His voice was boyish, but his words landed with unyielding force.
Xuan Liu used all his remaining strength just to blink, signaling that he understood.
But soon, his skin turned a deathly blue-black as his tall frame rapidly shriveled, transforming in the blink of an eye into a long spear. It was incredibly faint, however, its form so ethereal it looked as though a single gust of wind could scatter it to nothing.
Without a second thought, Yan Huo waved his hand, gathering Xuan Liu's corporeal form. He pressed it to his chest, nurturing it with his own Mana to keep the Primordial Spirit from scattering and growing cold.
