Jiang Chen felt like his brains were made of mush – as if he was in a dream, but this felt much more real than that. Every inch of skin, every bone in his body, cried out in agony.
“Am I dead? Am I suffering through the fires of purgatory that lie in hell?”
Jiang Chen’s first instinct was also that he was dead, but that tenuous hint of breath in his body seemed to remind him otherwise – that he was still alive.