The light flickered slightly.
Hundreds of segmented tentacles stabbed forward, and the figure that stood before them with a smiling demeanor suddenly burst like a bubble into nothingness.
The space ahead was utterly empty.
Chen Ziwen had not yet grasped what had happened.
He felt that no matter how much he pressed, his left hand just wouldn't budge.
In the secret room, it wasn't lit with the purple-blue threads as he had imagined.
In the midst of everything, he looked down only to see an arm slowly falling, landing on the ground with a "smack."
As his gaze followed the falling, what also fell to the ground was his body, from which blood gushed wildly.
"Ah…"
An indescribable severe pain then reached his brain.
It nearly knocked Chen Ziwen unconscious.
By then, he finally understood.
His left hand, and both legs from the knee down, had been severed by something without his knowing.
That thing was astonishingly fast and incredibly sharp.