Originally, Pacquiao was overjoyed when he saw the Heavenly Slaughter Duke turn around and walk away, scrambling madly to crawl outside.
Unfortunately, he hadn't crawled more than a mile before the Hero Seed dragged him back.
Grabbing the half-left leg, dragged back like a dead dog, and thrown back to the original spot.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw the faces of two craftsmen.
One was stern, the other gentle; one was old, the other young.
Tall, short, fat, thin, all completely different.
The only similarity was the two pairs of eyes looking intently at the fine materials, filled with endless affection, cherishing like food, not wasting a single centimeter of beauty!
Now, not only the severed limbs and flesh of Pacquiao had been collected with fluid alchemy to the last drop, but even the blood that had flowed had been meticulously gathered.
Arrayed around him, classified.
