Chapter 652

Perspective shift.

Berserker brought A Xing down onto a building's rooftop.

The Mecha stepped back a pace, standing half a step behind A Xing; the V‑shaped red light passed over A Xing's shoulder and landed on the Giant Fox in the distance that was tangled in battle with the Divine Lord.

The Light Sword was still gripped in its left hand, and the Purple Flame on the blade burned brighter under the dim sky than at any other time.

The tip of the blade dragged on the ground, carving a shallow trench through the rooftop's rubble; the edges of the displaced stones were reddened by the heat, glowing dark‑red in the dim light, like a burnt scar stretching from its foot all the way to the edge of the rooftop.

A Xing steadied her footing, turned around, and looked at the half‑ruined Mecha before her.

She opened her mouth expressionlessly.

"Are you okay?"

The tone revealed little concern.

But for her, being able to ask it proactively was already a great show of respect.

The Magic Cannon in the sky was still booming.

The Giant Fox's burst of black‑red mana had just been struck by the Divine Lord's Upper Hook Punch, spewing it skyward; now that mana exploded aloft like a violet‑red firework, and the fragments began to fall densely, like a sudden meteor shower.

The violet‑red Purple Light Dots trailed long tail flames, streaking across the dim sky, striking the ground and bursting into clusters of dark‑red light.

In the distance, the Divine Lord and the Giant Fox fought each other to the death.

The golden giant punched the Giant Fox's head upward; the Fox's Tail swept sideways, the Divine Lord dodged, the Tail brushed its waist and cleaved the already crumbling building behind it in half.

The scene was absurdly massive, like watching a special‑effects film that had burned an unknown fortune, yet A Xing, standing on the rooftop, watched the two colossal beings trade punches and claws in the distance and felt a strangely comforting sense of safety.

Probably because she was far enough away.

A girl's scream came from not far away.

"Waaah—! Here it comes again, again, again!"

"Left! Left! Dodge to the left!"

"Jiaojiao Jiaojiao Jiaojiao—!"

The voice was clearly Lin's, but what she shouted had been completely twisted by the Meme Virus.

San Yue Qi and Bai Hang leapt up and down among the ruins, like two cats whose tails had been stepped on.

The violet‑red fragments from the sky chased them as they ran and dodged, moving at an absurd speed, yet they shouted loudly enough.

San Yue Qi's pink hair fluttered in the dim light like a moving flag, while Bai Hang's white long hair drifted in the wind like a blown‑up scarf; the two, one pink, one white, ran through the grayish ruins, followed by a trail of explosions and sparks.

A Xing glanced that way, then withdrew her gaze.

She had no intention of going over to help.

The two were running quite happily; they shouldn't die.

Her attention returned to the Mecha before her.

It was riddled with damage everywhere; the chest armor bore intersecting cracks that ran from the collarbone down to the waist side, like a dried riverbed carving deep and shallow furrows into the metal, the left shoulder plate was entirely missing, its broken edge jagged as if something had ripped it off, the left arm below the elbow was reduced to a few twisted metal rods, and the fingers were long gone.

The damaged edges glimmered with a dull metallic sheen in the dim light, some spots still bearing molten marks from high‑temperature scorching that had cooled, like solidified tears hanging on the wound's edge.

Yet these very damages gave it a strange aesthetic.

Deep within the armor cracks, Purple Flame seeped out slowly, like blood flowing from a wound, accumulating and solidifying on the damaged surface, supporting the nearly disintegrating body so it wouldn't collapse completely in the next battle.

The flames oozed most from its eye sockets, coiling around the V‑shaped scarlet light, tinting its already chilling gaze with an even darker purple.

The V‑shaped red light was no longer as steady as before; it flickered constantly, dimming and brightening, as if something struggled within, and each time it dimmed the Mecha's movements slowed, each time it flared again it tensed sharply, as if new power were being injected from inside.

A Xing stood before it, looking up at the iron lump that towered several times her height, its expressionless face revealing no emotion.

She thought it would be as before—standing there, silent and motionless, like a loyal statue.

But this time it was different.

The Purple Flame on the Mecha suddenly surged upward dramatically, as if something inside had exploded.

Flames spewed from every crack, enveloping the nearly disintegrating body in a violet aura.

The light was so bright that A Xing had to squint.

Then the flames vanished.

There was no explosion, no sound; it simply faded away silently.

The violet light that surged from the cracks scattered into tiny specks in the air, drifting down like melting snowflakes, then disappearing.

Where the flames had dispersed, a person stood.

A Xing's eyes widened slightly.

The face appeared especially clear in the dim light, silver‑white hair falling from the shoulders, the tips tinged with a faint green gradient, like a hint of spring color seeping into winter snow.

Her skin was almost translucent white, with faint red markings that, against the still‑floating violet light dots, shone with a porcelain‑like luster.

Her eyes were blue‑purple, each a different shade—one leaning blue, the other violet—like two polished gems set into her fair face.

But there was no light in those eyes; the pupils were scattered.

She wore a long dress that faded from gray‑white to deep green, with a bright orange scarf at the neckline; the orange stood out sharply in the dim light, like a flower suddenly blooming on a withered yellow leaf.

A matching shawl draped over her shoulders, and the hem and cuffs were embroidered with patterns resembling insect wings, light lines fluttering gently in the wind as if something were about to take flight from the fabric.

A thin belt cinched her waist, making it so slender that A Xing felt her own two hands could encircle it.

She wore a pair of gray mid‑heel leather shoes, and her long socks bore a mesh pattern that was hard to discern in the dim light.

She stood there, posture upright, back straight, head slightly raised, looking at A Xing.

A Xing stared at her for several seconds.