The steel rod was blunt and largely ineffective against the tentacles, so Li Ang stowed it and drew out the Virulent Poison Short Dagger. Aided by eight Spider Claws extending from his back, he leaped onto the ceiling, narrowly avoiding the attacking tentacles.
Li Ang pressed his back tightly against the ceiling. The Dagger in his hand swept downward, effortlessly severing the bucket-thick, resilient tentacles as if it were a hot knife through butter.
Blood plasma splattered and thick liquids spurted out. However, the Mutant Origin's regeneration was exponentially faster than the six-winged chickens from urban legends about the Golden Arches. The cut surfaces of the tentacles swiftly grew smaller ones that extended in seconds, quickly regenerating most of their length.
In this dire moment, Wanli Fengdao's face, which looked like that of a greasy middle-aged man who had lived twenty hard years too many, flashed with an indifferent acceptance of life and death.
