Thomas glanced at the tree pot strapped to his side, his fingers itching to touch the branches. Even in the dim light, he could see the silhouette of the fruits—more than he had ever harvested at once. The "Lightning Fruit" from the swordsman pulsed with a jagged, electric vitality, while others shimmered with the dull, heavy pressure of the shockwave villain's power.
"Not yet," he whispered, forcing his hands into his pockets. "Not here."
He knew the routine by now. Every time he consumed the fruit of his "harvest," a heavy, narcotic sleepiness would wash over him. It was as if his body needed to shut down the conscious mind to rewire his neural pathways to accommodate the foreign Qi. In the middle of a wilderness haunted by remnants of a villain squad, falling into a coma-like sleep was a death sentence.
"THOMAS! THOMAS! ANYONE! IS ANYONE THERE?!!!"
The scream echoed from the direction of the crevice. Lucy was awake.
