Perhaps, it is really possible to paint a picture.

Reminded by the blasting rock, Ronan remembered his identity as a psychic. Although until now, he is still ignorant of the truth, but it turns out that he really has a talent in this area.

Crucially, Ronan is now inspired.

This inspiration has been there since the beginning of the sacrifice.

Treacherous altars, burning clouds, brilliant stars, tempered edges, and, of course, the final hollow and deep realm of death.

Line, composition, light and shade...... All kinds of elements are in the bottom of his heart, and he has been thinking about it for a long time.

Ronan believes that even if this incident does not happen, when he returns home, he will definitely remember this scene and observe it from time to time.

At this moment, the thought is born, and the impulse to draw becomes extremely strong.

However, judging from the experience of drawing psychic diagrams several times, before putting pen to paper, there must be a source and a trend, and add to the existing composition.

But Ronan knew too little about Raven's past...... Well, that's easy!

In an instant, Ronan's mental induction was fully released, and the anxious person in charge of the fighting arena, the panicked spectators in the evacuation corridor, and the gangsters whispering while maintaining order, no matter where these people were or what they were doing, they all shivered in unison.

At this time, in the lower area of the building, the ink that had been with the blasting rock flapped its wings, ignoring the call of the blasting rock, and flew back in the direction of the fighting ring.

Mr. Ma was lying on a stretcher in a drowsy state, his hands pressed to his chest, even if he had already taken the medicine and was on the ventilator, the palpitations and suffocation from a few minutes ago were still with him, and he couldn't get entangled.

What's going on?

He is the director of a large biopharmaceutical company in Xia City, with a net worth of hundreds of millions, and people respectfully call him Mr. Ma, wealth and women, which are just a rightful embellishment for him.

He needs a full sixty or seventy years in the future, and what he needs is a more vivid interest, a stronger stimulation, and a more top-level sense of achievement.

What could be more fun, exciting, and successful than taking charge of someone else's life?

So Mr. Ma fell in love with the fighting arena and the bloody atmosphere here, and he invested in it here, just to change the tricks to make the fighting more exciting and exciting.

Today the arena borrowed his top collection, the aberrant long-billed lizard, and he agreed without hesitation. In fact, he bought this aberrant in order to fill the arena with new tricks at some point in the future.

His wish came true ahead of schedule.

But just a few minutes ago, the collection he was most proud of, the long-billed demon lizard worth tens of millions, fell to the ground, collapsed, and rotted in front of him.

The destruction of the collection is not the end of the world. But in that form, the will to die in that instant, the terrible power far beyond the limits of his control, gave him a heavy blow in the chest.

Who is responsible for all this?

Raven, Raven!

The girl who struggled in the cage he had created.

I remember when she first arrived in the ring three years ago, she was so thin that she seemed to be only six or seven years old, and it was only under the stimulation of drugs that she grew to her current size.

It was a talented martial artist, and in just over a year, she became the king of the fighting arena that shocked Yum.

But no matter what kind of genius it is, it is always held in the palm of his hand, and every time he sees Raven pretending to be calm, but always desperate in a desperate situation, Mr. Ma has a sense of satisfaction.

Her fists were hard and fast, but no matter how fast or hard they were, they couldn't break through the transparent protective walls around her.

That's the juggernaut, that's the pleasure!

But why is it completely different today?

From beginning to end, he didn't hurt a single hair. But an invisible, cold hand grabbed him by the throat and pressed him against the ugly corpse of the lizard, allowing him to savor the taste of fear and death.

Raven, the marauder, the ominous raven......

"It's the exit."

The relieved voice of the medical staff around him sounded: "The ambulance has been parked in the parking lot, Mr. Ma first, and then ......"

The sound of Pak Leng's wings flapping sounded, almost flying over his head, and the medical staff exclaimed:

"This crow is so big!"

Mr. Ma opened his eyes suddenly, just at this time the stretcher came out of the corridor, and in the changing light, the black outline of Wu Yang Yang flipped over people's heads, reflecting a strange outline of light and shadow.

The paramedics instinctively waved their hands away, only to be replaced by a dark feather falling down.

It's like a silent magic eye, casting a glimpse.

"Raven!"

Mr. Ma sat up suddenly, driving the impact of qi and blood, and the cracking sound of his heart turned into a death knell and rang loudly.

His eyes widened, and he fell backwards, and the last terrible scream was transmitted back, refracted repeatedly in the arc of the corridor:

Raven, Raven, Raven......

The huge crow flapped its wings and swept by, and in a very short time, not a single person made a sound or a movement in the whole passage, and fear grabbed them by the throat, and like a cold tide, swallowed them one by one.

Raven, Raven!

This name seems to have turned into a demonic spell, from the outside to the inside, from him to me, breeding and spreading in the bottom of my heart.

Marauders, Great Ravens, Flat-chested Witches......

The fragments of memory are constantly turning and intertwining with emotions, like the wings of a crow passing in front of us, erasing the deep ominousness and fear.

The crow swept across the corridor and crashed into the empty arena, circling and flying.

In Ronan's eyes, the crow is walking through a dark cloud of negativity.

In the churning clouds was the outline of an altar with intertwined lines, and hundreds of vague figures ran and called inside. Compared with their earlier stupidity, they seem to have a clearer definition of their own position.

From the unreal master, it has become the pig and sheep of the facts.

Countless memories of Raven are presented and blended in the altar, most of them fragmentary and distorted, combined into a vague image of Raven, with countless side splicing, but still too biased.

Ronan pondered.

The Raven he saw was different from these people.

Of course, Raven, who competed and won against the human-faced spider, and Raven, who killed the long-billed demon lizard with one blow, is impressive.

Ke Ruiwen's first impression of him was still the young child in the lounge, with a towel on his head, and using childish words to communicate with "Mr. Crow".

She is trapped in the circle of self-logic, and perhaps her self-identification is more like a "crow" than a person.

But no matter what, on Ronan's altar, she is the one who sacrifices everything, reaps everything, and is the only winner.

As the bearer of the altar frame, Ronan has an obligation to bless the victors.

The ink made a rough croaking sound that was never beautiful, but this hoarse tail sound, stirred together with the call of the spiritual level, and slammed into the night sky of the summer city:

"The only winner: Raven!"

The dark clouds were agitated and surging, and a bright star rose out of the sky, and the sharp light swept the clouds and mist.

The outline of the structure of the altar became clearer than ever, as in the shape of the Ronan Gestalt,

The bright star, sometimes in the tower, sometimes outside the tower, has her unique trajectory, and has a wonderful and clear connection with the gestalt.