The splattered blood stained the opulent golden hall, the gilded reliefs melting into writhing serpentine shapes within the mist of blood. Philis's terrified screams pierced through the thick water curtain. The sound of longswords being unsheathed rang out, and the clashing of iron armor echoed from all directions.
Severed limbs flew, flesh and blood splattered, and a familiar severed hand dripping with blood passed before Su Li's eyes. Blood droplets vividly manifested in Su Li's view, like beads off a broken string, yet instead of scattering, they flowed upwards along the ceiling war mural, dyeing the ancient knights in the painting with a crimson cloak.
This absurd scene suddenly made Su Li realize his thoughts had slowed considerably. Only now did he react, recognizing the familiar hand seemed to be his own.
But as he looked down at the severed hand, the cross section of the broken bones unexpectedly displayed a crystal-like, translucent quality.
Why didn't he feel any pain?
