Whish——
The fierce wind felt like knives, mercilessly slicing across Yan Song's face, bringing with it the gravel and chill unique to the wastelands. He was held by the cold claws of the Silver-winged Demon, its scaly surface like needles tempered with ice, piercing the skin on his neck, making his breathing intermittently painful.
"Let go... let go of me!" Yan Song struggled violently, limbs flailing aimlessly, but the strength of the Silver-winged Demon was overwhelming, its grasp like iron pincers unmoved.
Fear entwined his heart like tendrils, especially when he saw the emotionless, emerald vertical pupils of the demon. A despair deep enough to reach the bone shot from his soles to the top of his head—he had never imagined he would be nearing death in such a humiliating manner.
At this moment, the Silver-winged Demon suddenly lowered its head, its nose almost brushing his forehead, and in its vertical pupils, his distorted face was clearly reflected.
