The job change is a bizarre and calamity; the nation begs me to tone it down.

This is the power of the spine of God.

A one-time use mythical-level item.

The effect produced.

The clouds in the sky were completely torn open, leaving a huge circular hole.

The moonlight shone down unhindered from the hole, illuminating the bomb crater.

It made the distorted spatial fragments at the bottom of the pit shimmer and flicker.

If we look at it from the perspective of those saints on the northern defense line of Sheikha.

The northern skyline has been completely reshaped.

The once rolling tundra hills have disappeared, replaced by a depression that glows with a dark red light.

This is Sherlock's most treasured possession.

The kind of possessions where once you use one item, you'll never have another.

At that moment, in the very center of that giant crater, Andrei lay there.

His consciousness was constantly flowing outwards.

Like a glass of water that has been spilled, it just won't stop.

My vision blurred into a grayish-white patch of light.

My ears are ringing, and I can't hear anything clearly.

He could feel his body.

To be precise, I could feel my body gradually losing sensation.

Start with the toes, then the calves, and then the knees.

That cold, numb sensation spread upwards like a tide, and wherever it passed, all the pain disappeared.

But Andrei knew that the disappearance of pain was not a good thing.

That means the nervous system is shutting down.

The body is giving up on itself.

Blood was still gushing from his left chest.

The wound was no ordinary laceration—the edges of the gash gleamed with a dark golden sheen. The residual high-dimensional energy of the Divine Spine was relentlessly eroding the tissue surrounding the wound.

With each ring of cells eroded, the wound expands outward by one millimeter.

The source-level self-healing instinct is working frantically, trying to repair the wound.

However, the speed of repair is far from keeping up with the speed of erosion.

It's like building a wall while someone else is tearing it down; no matter how much you build, you tear it down, and it can never be repaired.

Andrei's pupils dilated.

He stared at the night sky above him, which had been blasted open, with the moon hanging in the middle of the huge hole in the clouds.

It's round, shiny, and looks very close.

Very close.

It's so close that it feels like you could reach out and touch it.

His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but his throat was full of blood.

The metallic taste filled my mouth, and I almost lost the strength to swallow.

He really didn't expect it.

Sherlock will take action.

And they're using this kind of thing.

In his mind, a forbidden item like the Spine of God should be a trump card that is reserved for the last moment when there is no other way out.

Like the nuclear bomb before the emergence of global professionals.

Everyone knows you have it, but under normal circumstances, no one would actually press the button.

But Sherlock pressed it.

Without saying a word, I pressed it.

Before you even reached their border, the white light appeared.

There isn't even a "please reply upon receipt" process.

If he were in his prime, or if he still had those three substitute items, he might not have ended up in this situation.

Even with the Source-level Origin at its peak and three sacrificial items, it could withstand all the damage.

At least one life can be saved.

But he no longer has any of those things.

The sacrificial item was completely destroyed when it was used to fight against three Source-level enemies in the Ural Ridge Mountains.

So when that white light struck down, he was completely relying on his physical body to withstand it.

A source-level system without any protection.

It took a hit from a Mythical Forbidden Item head-on.

This is the result.

Andrei's lips twitched slightly.

I don't know if I'm laughing or in pain.

Probably both.

He thought of something in his heart, but didn't say it aloud; he understood it very clearly—

ridiculous.

A source-level being.

The only Origin-level powerhouse in the Northern Alliance.

One of the dozens of people who once stood at the very top of this planet.

Now he lies in a big pit, like a dead fish that has been slapped on a chopping board.

Watching my life force leak away second by second.

They couldn't even muster the strength to struggle.

What's even more ridiculous?

He didn't even have the strength to self-destruct.

Source-level self-destruction of one's origin—that is the ultimate method of all source-level powerhouses.

He risked his life to unleash his full potential.

One for one, or even one for several.

When you're desperate, at least you can take a few people down with you.

But he can't even do that now.

The residual energy from the higher dimensions of the God's Spine locked his source-level origin tightly.

It's like a barrel of gunpowder that's been doused with water—you can't light it even if you want to.

I want to blow it up, but I can't.

Andrei's consciousness was becoming increasingly scattered.

The moon in front of me multiplied into two, then four, and then a blurry white expanse.

What was your last thought?

He was homesick.

I think of the winters in the Northern Union, those long nights and the snowstorms on the wastelands.

Then—consciousness completely sank away.

……

It is about seven kilometers away from the crater where Andrei is located.

The figures of two giant dragons stand amidst the ruins.

To be precise, they should be kneeling amidst the ruins.

The Ice Dragon King Kross, in his true form as a silver-white dragon, knelt on one knee, his left wing completely broken, the wing bone piercing through the wing membrane at the fracture point, revealing grayish-white bone fragments.

Fresh blood dripped down from the base of the wing.

A small, dark red puddle formed on the scorched earth beneath their feet.

He had a huge dent in his chest.

A large section of the silvery-white dragon scales was broken in that spot, the shattered scales scattered on the surrounding ground, reflecting a cold light under the moonlight.

The muscle tissue at the bottom of the pit was bulging, and you could vaguely see something throbbing underneath.

Each heartbeat aggravates the wound, bringing forth a tearing, excruciating pain.

But none of these are the most critical issues.

The most deadly thing is that burning sensation.

The high-dimensional energy residue from the explosion of the Divine Spine is continuously burning within his body.

That kind of burning doesn't burn the skin and flesh, it burns the very essence.

Kross could clearly feel that his professional origins, the core that supported him to stand at the source level, were being eroded bit by bit.

It was as if countless invisible insects were gnawing at his very essence.

With each bite he took, his status dropped by one point.

This feeling almost drove him crazy.

Less than 300 meters away from him, the Poison Dragon King Olivia was in no better condition.

She has completely transformed from human form into her true dragon form.

The gray-green dragon lay coiled on the ground, with at least dozens of wounds of varying sizes on its body.

The largest cut runs from the right shoulder down to the waist and abdomen, so deep that the bone is visible.

The edges of the wound also gleamed with a dark golden luster—the mark of the spine of the god.

She was coughing up blood.

He coughed repeatedly.

With each cough, dark green dragon blood gushed from the corner of his mouth.

The dragon's blood fell onto the scorched earth, making a hissing, corrosive sound—the blood of the venomous dragon itself was highly corrosive.

But at this moment, the blood's ability to corrode the earth had weakened considerably.

This clearly shows how serious her injuries were.