As the flying dragon fell, it picked up the sharp and slender metal, aimed it at its heart, and plunged into it.

Burst.

A rose is inserted into the soil, and the petals are bright red and delicate.

Metal peeked out from behind him.

Pain. It was like a hand, pinching his heart, twisting it vigorously, rolling one by one, the pain burrowed into the bloodstream, spread all over his body, and flashed violently. It is a tearing, diverging, outburst of pain at the same time, it is the stars in the sky that open their eyes at the same time, illuminating the sky.

In the next moment, the pain was gone. Meteors flashed and disappeared into the ethereal distance.

If a person loses his life, he will also lose his feelings.

He also wanted to use the remaining time of this breath to think about this person who had been thinking about it in his heart.

The Flying Ray thought to himself, the pain didn't seem to make him as unbearable as it had been.

At least for a good moment, blinking an eye more than once is as hard as being old.

In its place was a touch of extreme tenderness and pleasure, and silence like never before.

It was fluffy and soft, like the clouds in the sky that he loved when he was a child, and he learned light skills so that he could go to the heavens and sleep in the clouds. Although he later discovered that no matter how high he was, he could not touch the sky, and the clouds might just be an illusion. But he had always had this thought buried in his heart, and it was not realized until this moment. He felt sleepy and wanted to find a warm and soft quilt to get into and get a good night's sleep. Being able to sleep without worries is a difficult thing for adults.

Suddenly, someone grabbed him and pulled him into a void space, where there was no air, nothing was there, and he hung in the air, as if he were a feather; he vaguely heard someone talking in his left ear, it was Zhao Ji's voice, he heard him breathing deeply, it was a child holding back tears, so that he was not so sad that he cried out of breath.

Fei Wei opened his mouth to say a few words to him, how old do you want to cry? At this age, you don't even have the qualifications to cry. But when he tried to talk to him, he opened his mouth but couldn't make a sound, obviously he was in front of him, but his voice just couldn't pass through. Or maybe others can't hear or feel it at all.

There was nothing in his right ear, not even the voice from the left on his left—as if he were in the real world and the dead space of the undead on the other.

Then he knew he was going to die. A wave of regret welled up in his heart, and he only hated that he couldn't see, and he was about to forget what color was, what darkness was, whether the things in his memory were still the same—he couldn't remember.

He blinked. Blinking was a normal action, an almost ignored reaction, but he always cared. Although he knew that his eyes were like decorations, and even the sensations were gone, and blinking was a superfluous move, he always quietly looked forward to what he would see the next time he opened his eyes every time he blinked—but unfortunately no miracle happened. There are no miracles in this world, only as they should be.

But this time, he opened his eyes, and opened the two gray, pearl-like, useless eyes—the backs of a dozen jailers appeared in front of him.

He had never seen it so clearly.

The jailers gathered in a circle, chattering anxiously about something around a man lying in the center of the arena, with a large pool of blood under him, and the blood spread out along the water on the ground, and when viewed from above, it looked like a dark red flower, with black stamens, and the petals spread out one by one in the form of silk threads, like a withered and helpless hand trying to grasp something.

The Flying Ray realizes that it is himself.

If he could, if he wanted to – he could come up and see what he looked like.

Maybe it's a frightening fact.

So he backed down.

But in reality, there was no way back for him. Whether he wants to see it or doesn't want to see it, he can't help but see it.

Occasionally, as the jailers stepped away from one and replaced the other, he saw himself through the gap in the middle—the corpse—and he didn't want to admit it was his own, face.

At that moment, his soul was slammed. He has no substance, so this painful feeling oppresses from the emptiness and distantness, exists in his mind, constitutes his wholeness, and the pain becomes real, torn, and the pain is the pain itself, the never-ending purgatory. He felt terrified, disgusted and lonely, and even, he regretted that he had lived so long—

He saw a light, gradually coming out of the gap at the bottom, getting bigger and bigger, brighter and brighter, he had not seen light for a long time, and he was a little moved at this moment. The light can cover everything, the light blinds people, and he vaguely sees the crowd spreading out and falling apart like fireworks. The white in front of him became whiter and whiter, and he couldn't see it. The light was powerful, an irresistible impulse that pushed him backwards and up against an impregnable wall, but he was still suspended in mid-air, an invisible "edge", a boundary that stood in his way, a door, an iron window, a thousand hard lines.

He stayed there. The light enveloped him, and from the pale brightness came a beautiful colored light, which was his discernment of color after a long absence. Like a curious child, the flying eagle looked up at the lights. The light flowed, dispersed, and turned goose yellow, a vague old color belonging to the past, covering his eyes, allowing him to see the past, those memories that had disappeared and never disappeared, scene by scene appeared beside him. He was in it, and those gentle and sour pleasures and hatreds accompanied by strong winds and spirits were his life.

Zhao Ji wanted to go over and take a look, but Wang Liefeng grabbed him, forcibly pressed him in place, and pulled him down to make him lie on his stomach. With a pain in his knee, Zhao Ji fell to the ground.

It hurts enough, but how much does that hurt?

Wang Liefeng said: "You close your eyes and cover your ears with your hands. ”

The force of the explosion was enormous.

The explosion produces a strong light, which is several times more poisonous than the sun in the daytime, and if the face is illuminated by this light, it is very likely to be directly blinded, but in fact, people have no time to suffer about it, and the explosion itself is more deadly than the direct light of the sudden light.

With a loud bang, the crowd erupted in one cry after another, terrible, terrified, the crowd and the fragments of the explosion scattered in all directions, the thousands of tiny pieces of steel, each of which could pass through the top of the man's head and catapult out from the other, and the screams were incessant, and the whole arena shook violently, like a giant groaning in pain from the bottom of its throat, it was dying, struggling, it would collapse at any moment—it was indeed collapsing!