A scalding shell hit Sun Hang's face, pulling him out of the dreamlike scene. He found himself somehow back on the surface of the Baikal Remains, with Yan Yu'an panting heavily, kneeling on one knee next to him, her arm blade attached to the arm guard full of notches.
Wang Xiyi was standing a little further away, still holding two blue fireballs in her hand, looking ready to throw.
Zhong Ling was still surrounded by a group of mysterious remains, and the free-moving number one remains had shed the armor on its arms, with its own claws hanging half of a broken corpse.
"We're back?" Sun Hang looked up at the sky. The deep blue night sky replaced the pitch-black abyss, and on this nearly light pollution-free Siberian Plain, the stars of the Milky Way were clearly visible.
"When did we return to the surface?" Wang Xiyi was stunned for a moment and withdrew the fireball in her palm.
