The red fog rushed into his lungs.
It was thick, far thicker than normal mist,and it carried a suffocating, metallic stench of blood and rot. The moment it entered his body, it stung violently, like inhaling burning ash. His chest felt as though it were being scraped from the inside.
Grey's brows twitched in pain.
But he did not stop.
Because along with the agony came something else.
The red fog transformed into a faint, nourishing essence that seeped into his spirit perforations. Each perforation trembled slightly as it absorbed the energy, growing just a fraction more complete.
The improvement was small.
Yet real.
So Grey endured the pain and continued inhaling.
Very soon, the sentient spirit inside the purple scythe let out a surprised cry.
"This is good stuff! Let me take a whiff!"
Before Grey could even respond, a suction force erupted from the scythe. A large portion of the red fog in the surrounding area twisted and was forcefully dragged into the weapon.
