The damp air of the dungeon was thoroughly soaked with the smell of blood. Han Sheng was pressed against the cold stone wall by Xuan Zhao. One of his arms locked her throat like an iron hoop, and his other hand roughly squeezed open her jaw.
"Swallow it." His voice was low and crazy, and there was a surging, almost out-of-control darkness in his eyes. A few drops of thick, black blood were forced out from his fingertips, with a biting coldness, and forced into her throat. That wasn't blood at all, it was an ice blade quenched with poison, a condensation from the abyss. It tore and froze wherever it passed, almost freezing her soul with cracks. Hansheng's body twitched violently, and he made a painful roaring sound in his throat. His eyes rolled up uncontrollably, but his cold tear glands could not flow out any liquid.
Just when her consciousness was about to be swallowed up by the absolute coldness, the power of the chokehold suddenly disappeared. Instead, there was a sharp pain in her wrist - Xuan Zhao lowered his head, his canine teeth fiercely tore open her previously healed wound, and warm blood gushes out. He sucked greedily, and the sound of swallowing was so clear that it was numbing in the dead silence of the dungeon. The hot, vital liquid seemed to be his only salvation, crazily neutralizing the emptiness and mania raging in his body.
He was like a trapped beast on the verge of death, robbing her life while gaining a moment of clarity from this robbing. A sickly flush appeared on her pale cheeks. He let go of her wrist, but his fingertips tremblingly touched the bruised purple finger marks on her neck, as if caressing her.
Hansheng collapsed, coughing violently, and his breath was filled with ice and blood foam.
