Previous chapter:
Chapter 130: Rite Of Passage
Next chapter:
Chapter 132: Elite At Mercy
PREVIEW
... , but it wasn’t the heroic sprint of a warrior; it was the frantic, stumbling flight of a rat fleeing a sinking ship. He burst through thickets of thorns, the sharp needles tearing at his skin, but he didn’t feel the sting. His mind was a chaotic storm of adrenaline bile, and the raw, screeching instinct for self-preservation.
"Haa... haa... haa...!"
His breath came in jagged, burning gulps that tasted of copper and forest rot. Every time a branch snapped, or a bird took flight, ...
YOU MAY ALSO LIKE


























