PFFT!
A mouthful of blood sprayed from Song Ciwan's lips, but she had finally stepped from the ninety-first step to the ninety-second.
The fresh blood splattered across her chest, mingling with the gore that seeped from her very muscles and bones until she was completely drenched, a figure painted in red.
The ninety-second step was different from the last. A new kind of pressure arose, not pressing in from the outside, but pushing out from within. It was subtle and constant, seemingly gentle and slow. In truth, however, it was like water dripping through stone—a relentless force, a trembling precursor to an avalanche, a crisis waiting to erupt at any moment!
The pressure was beyond description.
It was as if a voice was constantly screaming in her ear. 'Kneel! Just kneel! What's so wrong with kneeling for the sake of immortality?'
