Purple-red, pink, no, cherry red.
With a hint of the smell of blood.
Strange colors rolled and flowed in the air, weaving a series of magnificent sights that dazzled and captivated, as Zheng Qing felt the sapling in his conscious sea let out a joyful rustling when he carefully observed those colors.
Unknowingly, the frequency of his charm gun's attacks began to slowly decrease, focusing more and more attention on observing those strange colors.
"What are you doing?" Jiang Yu forcefully pulled the warlock, helping him dodge a massive tree branch that fell from the sky—a piece of wood that fell like a battering ram, accompanied by a heavy whisper.
Zheng Qing sluggishly turned his head to look at the witch: "Do you feel... when you look at those colors, it's like gazing into a starry sky... brilliant, gorgeous, poetic."
Bang!
