The middle-aged cultivator felt as if his skull had exploded. It was as if countless bugs had burrowed into his skull and were constantly stirring and gnawing at his brain.
The pain was worse than death. It was the cruelest torture in the world.
He wailed and tried to struggle, but he soon realized that it was completely ineffective.
The thick vines were like a steel cage, firmly imprisoning him, making it impossible for him to move an inch.
Under such circumstances, he could only passively endure the pain, allowing the metal spider-like thing to stab its sharp claws into the skin between his eyebrows and then through his skull.
Like a plant taking root and sprouting, the metal threads spread through the brain, controlling certain areas of the brain that determined life and death.
These areas were extremely sensitive, and the slightest damage could be fatal. It could be said that the middle-aged cultivator's life was no longer in his own hands.
