Life was slipping away from the piercing wound in his chest.
Lu Li's breath grew weaker, and his heavy eyelids became increasingly difficult to hold open.
Suddenly, the back of his hand burned with excruciating pain. The pain did not diminish as Lu Li neared death; it was as if his soul was in agony.
The inverted pentagram branded on the back of his hand by the demon glowed with a color like magma, and the pungent scent of sulfur seeped into his nostrils.
A fictional gateway of magma seemed to form, but it was like a gust of wind blew past, the gate from hell burst like sparks, and extinguished in an instant.
The brand on the back of his hand also went out, and the soul-deep pain disappeared.
With his eyes lowered, in the dim vision, the Grim Reaper harvesting souls drifted from afar.
But it looked more like another figure.
"...Friday?"
Lu Li's lips moved, producing a weak mosquito-like sound, or perhaps nothing at all.
