He walked toward the spear lying on the ground and looked down at it. Then he reached out to pick it up.
The moment his fingers touched it, a foul whisper entered his ears.
It felt as though he had swallowed vomit.
His arms suddenly grew sore as a vile grey substance spread from the spear and crawled up his skin.
Damon scoffed.
A sea of black flames immediately engulfed the spear. The grey substance recoiled, retreating back into the weapon as Damon pulled his hand away.
He then let out a breath, only to suddenly begin coughing.
A grey-brown mist spilled from his mouth, several tiny flies crawling through it before quickly disappearing.
A smile appeared on Damon's face as he flipped the spear through his hand a few times.
Then he thrust it forward.
He was quite satisfied with it.
"You're mad, aren't you?"
The voice of the Blind Old Daoist echoed from behind him.
"Mad? How so?" Damon asked, turning toward the old cultivator floating above the Lake of Tears.
