Northern stood with a dislocated jaw, blood streaming from his shattered mouth. One eyeball dangled from its socket; the other was drowning in crimson. His pristine white hair was slick with blood.
And yet, he was standing.
Northern himself didn't know why. He was drowning in pain—an insane level of agony. So much that he should be screaming. But moving his mouth even that little had hurt like hell, so he couldn't even cry out.
His bones were mangled, twisted into grotesque shapes. Horrifying when he thought about it. He'd fought countless monsters to date.
None had managed to land a hit thanks to void force, but still, Northern knew his body was strong—strong enough that no strike should have bent his bones into this pitiful state.
Kryos's raw strength was terrifying. It made Northern want to walk away from all of this. The pain was so intense he wanted to just collapse somewhere and die peacefully. Because the thought of healing—of enduring that agony—was even more terrifying.
