The purple lines spread to the factory's dome, forming a purple sky.
Medala picked up the cigarette again, holding it in her mouth.
At this moment, the sphere in the skinny man's hand suddenly paused, and he lowered his head, looking at Medala, and said softly, "Your soul is disintegrating, what did you do?"
"Just a little side effect." Medala glanced at him, smiling, "I know you want to use repeated resistance and suppression to obliterate my resistance consciousness, allowing the thing in your hand to control me more deeply, but that's all. I'm curious how much information you can get by controlling a broken soul, and how similar it can be to the real person."
"Was it the tremor of the Angel Designation earlier?" The skinny man instantly realized, then without hesitation, he quickly pressed the sphere in his hand, aiming to touch Medala's forehead.
This speed was much faster than the previous slow push, almost instantly reaching Medala's forehead, touching her skin.
