Slaying God: I, the insane and witty god

The string called balance in the air broke with a sound.

The murderous intent, like the rising tide, silently yet violently surged over everyone's ankles.

An Qingyu's pupils shrank to the size of a needle tip, and in that seemingly casual standing posture,

Every inch of muscle has entered the perfect attack state.

The threads entwined in his fingertips were almost imperceptible to the naked eye.

At this moment, it trembled slightly, making a humming sound that only he could hear.

That was the excited and deadly whisper of a spider web as it sensed its prey.

The smile on Singh's face did not change at all, but deep in his blue eyes,

But it reflects an inhuman, indifferent divine brilliance.

He looked at An Qingyu's sudden burst of alertness with great interest, as if he was appreciating an interesting work of art.

It was as if the life and death of the person in front of him was just an insignificant pastime in his long life.

"Amazing insight,"

Singer's voice was gentle, but it carried a sense of pressure that brooked no argument.

Like a cold winter wind blowing across exposed skin, "How did you find out?"

However, it was not An Qingyu who answered him.

At that critical moment, a petite figure appeared between the two of them like lightning.

Si Xiaonan, the seemingly harmless girl, is like an indestructible dam at this moment.

The murderous intent that was about to collide was abruptly interrupted.

She turned her back to An Qingyu and looked up at the tall Singh.

The corners of his mouth curled up in a playful arc.

His tone was as casual as if he was discussing the weather: "Mr. Singer, why bother with my things?"

"He's just a chess piece I planted that doesn't obey me very well. Sometimes he misunderstands me and needs to be disciplined."

Before she finished speaking, she ordered without turning her head: "An Qingyu, kneel down."

These two words were light and airy, without any emotional ups and downs, but they made the stagnant air even more oppressive.

It was a suffocating tension hidden beneath a false submission.

The divine light in Singh's eyes flickered slightly.

His scrutinizing gaze moved back and forth between Si Xiaonan and An Qingyu, as if judging the authenticity of this abrupt performance.

An Qingyu's heart seemed to stop beating at this moment.

But after only a pause of 0.1 second, he understood Si Xiaonan's intention.

Without the slightest hesitation, his right knee bent and slammed heavily into the thick snow, making a dull thud.

The whole movement was smooth and standard, without any hesitation or unwillingness.

He lowered his head, his hair covering his eyes, which were as calm as a deep pool. His voice was steady and respectful: "Master."

A murderous intention that could have killed two people instantly was quietly resolved in the blink of an eye by an unspoken performance.

But An Qingyu knew that this was only temporary.

Singer's doubts were not completely dispelled. They were like walking on a tightrope on the edge of a cliff.

Any small mistake will lead to irreparable disaster.

Singh stared at An Qingyu kneeling on the ground for a few seconds, and finally let out an ambiguous chuckle.

He retracted the oppressive feeling that almost became tangible and shrugged: "So it's Miss Si's family matter. I'm sorry for being so abrupt."

The crisis has been temporarily resolved, but the invisible blade is still hanging on everyone's throat.

The team continued to move towards the abnormal area known as "Phantom Light".

It was a forest shrouded in eternal twilight, with phosphorescent spots of light floating in the air, magnificent and deadly.

Just before stepping into the range of the phantom light, Si Xiaonan, who was walking at the end, paused slightly.

She sent a subtle signal to An Qingyu behind her out of the corner of her eye.

An Qingyu understood what he meant, and he quietly took a step behind.

A white thread that almost blended into the snow popped out from his fingertips and sank into the snow under his feet.

A snow mouse controlled by silk threads emerged from the snowdrifts, using its frozen claws to

He pawed at the smooth snow at an almost convulsive speed.

A line of twisted handwriting gradually took shape behind it, each stroke filled with a dying struggle.

When the last word was completed, the snow mouse's body suddenly stiffened, completely losing its breath of life and turning into a small ice sculpture.

On the snow, the words written at the cost of one's life were clear and shocking.

He is not Loki.

Before the handwriting was covered by the wind and snow, a cold wind that was even colder than the surrounding environment had quietly risen from somewhere.

There are no snowflakes in this wind, but it carries a sharp edge like a blade.

It blew away the floating snow on the ground, but did not erase the line of desperate warning.

The wind howled, as if conveying some message.

At the end of the snowfield in the distance, on the dark horizon that the phantom light could not reach, two blurry shadows were moving forward slowly.

They were not walking fast, but every step they took made no sound on the snow beneath their feet.

It was as if they were part of this dead ice field.

They are the truly patient and deadly hunters in this hunting ground.