High Above

cold, flowing...

The thousand-meter-high cliff top was filled with water mist, which gathered on the rocks to form condensation and dripped on the old man's forehead.

The slight impact and the cold body sensation made Hilliard, who was about to lose consciousness, regain his sanity.

He braced himself up, opened his eyes, and saw thunderbolts crashing down beside him, turning into huge arcs visible to the naked eye, flashing vertically and horizontally in the air.

The old knight raised his head and watched the scene.

The strong light impact brought by the lightning forced his thinking that was about to stop to start, and his eyes gradually changed from lax to bright, and he could truly observe everything in front of him.

A body that has been turned into pitch-black coke, and a white boy who fell into a pool of water.

The battle is over.

One side is dead, and the other side still breathes.

Subconsciously wanting to get up, Hilliard found that he could no longer control his legs. He stretched out his hands and pinched them to make sure that the nerves of his legs were intact, but he lacked the strength to lift them up.

No... not strength.

is life.

"Well, it's really coming to an end."

Although he had a premonition, Hilliard couldn't help sighing when he was sure that he was indeed approaching the limit of his life.

He is not afraid of death. Rather, he felt that he was already dead.

The messenger of death will behead everything in turn, first wear away his fighting spirit to question the world, second distort his spirit of understanding the world, and finally age his body to change the world.

As early as decades ago, Hilliard had lost his fighting spirit, his spirit had been lax, and his body was so decayed that it was difficult to move.

And all the great achievements he and the king have done have been distorted, tampered with, cut off, and all the remaining disciples and successors have been wiped out...

Only the remaining half has become such a pitiful, sad and hateful appearance.

"Weggs...you are just an undead wandering in the past. Although your body is younger than mine, your heart has long since died."

Closing his eyes, Hilliard didn't know whether his current emotions were regret, hatred, or pure emotion.

He just couldn't help recalling those fragments of the past, those bright times, the energetic shouts of children in the training ground, and standing on the stage, giving pointers and guidance to future successors with hope.

Those who used to laugh are never seen again, they are all dead.

Only Wiggs and himself are left.

Everything has disappeared in the wind, like tears in the rain.

— Am I really a living person? Instead of an undead who forcibly stayed in this world and hasn't dissipated for decades?

The water dripped across the old man's face, but he smiled instead: "Never mind him."

"At least for now, I'm still alive."

The aging knight stood up slowly.

Everyone knows that the ascendant of the third energy level and above can control the physical body with his own will, bypassing all the conduction of the nervous system, and achieve the direct control of the "spiritual substance" on the physical body.

This technique of reducing the reaction time to '0', controlling the power of the body with the will, is the essence of life psionic energy.

That is to say, it is an unimaginable miracle bursting out from one's own body and one's own will.

"Ian...what a mess, the seeds of the soma wine tree..."

Staggering to Ian's side, the old man moved the boy's body behind a rock that could avoid the thunder with some difficulty.

He stretched out his hand, opened Ian's eyelids, observed the pupils, then gathered the last trace of source quality in his palm, and pressed it on Ian's chest.

"Fortunately, I'm not dead."

Noticing that in Ian's eyeballs, the water-colored psychic brilliance was still flickering, not extinguished, and his heart was still beating, the old knight's eyes moved slightly, and he breathed a sigh of relief: "The alcohol poison has spread to the whole body, and has crossed the blood brain. barrier, but the quality of the source seeds is high, naturally absorbing a large amount of toxic source substances, and what is sublimated is the liver, which detoxifies in time and does not cause systemic nerve necrosis."

"But the toxic stimulant substances in the brain are difficult to get rid of... If this continues, even if he can survive, it will cause permanent sequelae."

After being silent for a while, Hilliard shook his head: "Such a smart brain can't be wasted like this."

At this moment, streaks of cyan-blue fluorescence rose near the Tantan Cliff.

Because of several consecutive thunderstorms, the minehunting jellyfish scattered in the surrounding waters began to gather spontaneously.

Dots of thunder light gathered from all directions, they flickered, flowed, rotated, weaving intertwined in the dark sea and sky, as if outlining a hazy galaxy under the sky.

Thousands of thunder-hunting jellyfish should have danced around the top of the Sighing Cliff, where they would share their thoughts, souls, and brains, and convey their wisdom in the dense and almost substantive thunder light.

Those bursting electric arcs and intertwined streamers are a burst of inspiration, a transmission of information, and a process of thinking about the sublimation of the "thunderhunter jellyfish swarm".

It is precisely by virtue of such dances and rituals, as well as the thunder that criss-crosses the sky and the earth, that they can become a group of monsters in the true sense.

But, today.

This dance that diffused the thunder light stopped.

The densely packed thunder-hunting jellyfish, following the water vapor and rain clouds churning, lifted themselves into the sky with a magnetic field, and did not approach the cliff they are familiar with.

On the contrary, they cautiously, respectfully, and even fearfully floated in that direction, and hesitated to move forward.

The herd retreated.

Because on the top of the cliff, there is an old man who is burning his last life.

It seems to be the coercion of a giant dragon, and it seems to be the majesty of a mountain.

There has never been a similar one since ancient times, and there may not be the same in the future. The sublimated person sitting on the "top seat" ignited the glory of walking in the world and being the apex life of the ecological circle.

The whole body was burning with pale golden source quality light mist, and the gray traces on his body rapidly expanded and spread.

Hilliard raised his hand, he inserted his hand into the wound in his abdomen without hesitation, and penetrated into it without feeling, tearing the flesh and blood, expanding the wound, searching for something.

Then, he took out a 'core' flowing with a pure golden halo.

The structure of the inscriptions is so dense that it is impossible to see the details, flickering and flowing on this ever-changing and undulating golden core, and the substantive source quality breath is bound in a ball like liquid metal, just like the physical life itself .

With the flickering of the arc and thunder, bright colors permeated the top of the cliff.

The golden core seemed to be the center of the world.

However, I can see it.

Above the golden core, there is still a small stream of silver light...

It is a chip, as thin as a cicada's wing, but the complexity of the runes on it is thousands of times greater than the core.

The extremely fine inscriptions are uncertain, just like billions of stars are condensed in this small chip, and the vast galaxy cannot be compared with it.

The light shone on Ian's eyes, because he was completely intoxicated, even if the boy was still alive, he couldn't react to all of this.

But...it can be vaguely seen.

What is reflected in Ian's eyes is not grey, white, blue, purple, not these common colors.

Not even...not gold.

In the water-colored psychic brilliance, the reflected colors...

It's endless rotation, just like the bright light of the' rainbow color'!