His body then started to perspire; he was getting wet with sweat, and now he felt parched, as if he was running a fever.
Sparrow had no idea how much time had passed since he began healing or when his spiritual energy had started spiraling out of control. His entire body felt like hell, but he couldn't afford to complain. As long as he was still breathing, that was all that mattered.
He considered himself lucky—grateful even—that he had survived. But then again… had he really made it?
He felt that even if the wound inflicted by the mutated tree didn't kill him, his own spiritual energy might. It was running wild inside him, threatening to tear him apart from the inside.
The sheer force of it surged through every vein in his body, pushing him to the brink—he wouldn't be surprised if his brain exploded at any moment.
