Not bad at all.
In the long-missed pleasant prompt, Fu Qian's hand held the golden gourd hammer without a tremor, pulling it out from the shattered skull.
Pity, there's not much energy left to clean it off.
The bloodstains on the golden gourd, the essence upon which these creatures survive, each drop reflected an endless whirlpool of desire in Fu Qian's eyes.
As the final blow landed, the ecstasy in his mind erupted completely.
The thugs brought in were counter-killed, clearly enraging Lord Stomach to the extreme.
The layers of escalating pleasure, under a more violent turbo boost, have now become indescribable — yet indescribable does not mean unexplainable.
It's like a stuffing chopped so finely and originally indistinguishable, yet with enough patience and effort, it can still be unraveled layer by layer.
