Just then, as the obsidian teeth of the Mister's gargantuan maw began to close around Seijirou's head, time seemed to decelerate into a thick, syrupy crawl.
The "Seeker" within Seijirou roared—not in fear, but in a cold, absolute refusal of the current reality.
His very soul would never accept such ending.
At that moment, Seijirou's hands shot out with the speed of a striking viper, his fingers, reinforced by the silver-gold Ki of his Origin, dug into the upper and lower ridges of the Mister's distended jaw.
He caught the bite, and held it.
However, the pressure was immense, it was as if mister's jaw muscles had the crushing power of a hydraulic press, and the sheer weight of the Mister's transformed body bore down on him.
Not to mention the oily, foul-smelling saliva dripped from the open maw, sizzling as it hit Seijirou's flaring aura.
