Afterwards, the black tentacle picked up the skin fragments again, carefully sticking them piece by piece onto the exposed tissues, swiftly sewing them together as if threading a needle...
The whole person looked like a worn-out rag doll with its stuffing hollowed out.
Withered, ugly, covered in patches.
"Hungry..."
Duan Zhongmou's voice was hoarse.
The flesh could be stitched up, but the lost blood could not be generated out of thin air.
Chu Heng's left eye flashed with a red light, scarlet mist seeped from beneath his hem, rushing towards Duan Zhongmou.
Duan Zhongmou opened his mouth and inhaled forcefully, a look of satisfaction spreading across his face. The withered body became full, and the stitching marks on his skin gradually faded, ultimately restoring completely.
"Phew—"
Duan Zhongmou drew a breath and whispered, "That was close. If they had stayed half a stick of incense longer, I fear I wouldn't have been able to hold out without revealing myself."
