The crisp sound of shattering accompanied the spreading web-like cracks, echoing inside the fishskin tent.
It appeared exceptionally clear.
Easily suffocated the crisp ethereal voices of a dozen small fishmen, suppressed the hustle and bustle of the traders outside the tent, while firmly attracting the gazes of the warlock and witches inside.
"Ah!"
A sharp cry from Zheng Qing, short and piercing, emerged from the gaping mouth of the octopus skull.
Put a full stop to that web-like shattering sound.
Zheng Qing, as if a slug soaked in salt water, slowly slipped down from the wide stone chair on the platform, and along with him fell the octopus-like skull, its lower part curled into a mass of eight tentacles, as if roasted by coals, the gray-white colors tinged with a layer of blush, exuding a fragrance akin to ripe fruit.
Jiang Yu screamed and rushed forward.
