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Chapter 22 Flo_3

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—This was a Frosthorn.

And in Old White's eyes, the creature before him had surpassed his imagination; its twisted, irregular body emanated a chaotic aura, the mere sight of it filled him with endless malice.

"Demon, demon!"

In extreme terror, Old White mustered his last bit of courage, pulling the trigger.

"Bang!"

The gunshot echoed, crow feathers fluttering down.

The Frosthorn flapped its wings, easily dodging the bullet and landed in front of Old White.

Its tooth-filled beak slowly opened, the corners of its mouth curling up slightly, and from its exposed, wrinkled throat came a deep voice.

"Human..."

How pitiful you are, your resistance is like the pitiful bleating of a lamb awaiting slaughter, fragile, powerless..."

Old White collapsed on the ground, using his hands and feet to crawl backward, wanting to get away from this terrible being: "No, no, you monster..."

At this moment, his survival instinct was at its pinnacle.

"I, I must get back..."

logologo

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