The Mosasaur, under the refining power of Grey's purple flames, began to release low roars filled with unwillingness and indignation.
Its body shook and trembled intensely, as if it did not want to give up on life. Yet the roars slowly grew weaker and weaker, fading like dying echoes.
The poison in its body had fully taken effect and was devouring its insides. Its blood had turned black, and its flesh had begun to rot and decay.
Added to this was Grey's purple flame—an art that refined life itself. The Mosasaur could not withstand both forces at once. It did not last long before succumbing to its heavy wounds.
Before its eyes finally closed, the Mosasaur gazed at Grey.
To any ordinary observer, this would have seemed meaningless—just the last look of a dying beast. The Mosasaur was too weak to transmit any hidden meaning. It was simply too exhausted to do anything but stare.
But when Grey met its gaze, he saw something deeper.
Emotions. Small, fragmented, but unmistakable.
