Zhong Wuwang sat on the wooden boat, which accelerated under Luo Wushang's control.
His face was pale blue, as if he were very cold, shivering incessantly. He had more than ten wounds on his body, all of which were bleeding.
Giant flesh wings grew from his back, as if they had their own thoughts, the flesh on them wriggling slowly. Suddenly, heads grew out from the wings, opening their mouths in silent screams, seemingly in extreme pain.
The heads retracted into the flesh wings, and fleshy tentacles grew out, each end with eyeballs larger than fists, rolling around and glancing in all directions.
Luo Wushang's heart skipped a beat seeing this scene.
The always composed senior brother from Despair Slope was this disheveled for the first time.
