Until one moment, with a sound that seemed to echo in the soul, it shattered in response, then dissipated in the air like vapor.
"Huh—finally got it open."
Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Nike's spirits became increasingly agitated. He glanced at the unprotected young figure, a trace of frenzy flashing in his eyes.
"Wait, hold on, don't rush."
"What are we waiting for, you're not thinking of backing out now, are you?"
"Of course not," with a grave expression, Samer shook his head and then raised the pitchfork, "No matter who he is, we've certainly offended him..."
"So it doesn't matter whether he's dead or alive, let's kill him first and then see what we can reap from his body."
Without hesitation, under Nike's somewhat surprised but approving gaze, Samer thrust the pitchfork viciously towards the neck of the mysterious young man.
