The earth was scorched a reddish color, the plants grew listlessly, and the air quivered and twisted like a nest of serpents, as the tall cals chanically chewed on water-starved shrubs, such a scene seemingly persisted for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.
If Nemo Point gave the impression of pure white and azure, filled with the sll of the sea,
then the Sahara was a striking bright yellow, both the sky and the land alike, the sll even more so reminiscent of parched earth.
In such extre environnts, it seed that colors were so monochromatic.
Bi Fang had also beco a mber of this vivid color sche.
He was crawling, his shoulder blades rising and falling, his muscles moving in coordination like flowing water, resembling a bright yellow tiger inching closer to the mighty cal that towered over two ters.
Color, movent, atmosphere, all perfectly blended into the environnt.
If it weren't for the detailed view provided by the drone, perhaps no one could discern where Bi Fang was at first glance.
Bi Fang's gaze was fixed on the grazing cal; in his hand, he clutched a rope as thick as a finger, nearly without any disturbance, he approached within thirty ters.
Bi Fang began to adjust his breathing and muscle status.
The air was silently inhaled, his chest heaving, a vast exchange taking place, the oxygen content in his blood steadily increasing, as if awakening from slumber.
The audience's tension also climbed at this mont, their hands and feet unconsciously clenching.
Rising slowly from a prone position, Bi Fang planted his limbs on the ground, pressing low, making the final approach.
Approaching prey involved many phases, from preparation to proximity, until after narrowing the gap to a certain distance, one could proceed with a more rough approach.
At this range, no matter how crude the technique, detection was highly probable; it was more about luck than skill, the cost-effectiveness of crawling closer began to decline.
Maintaining his status while slightly speeding up the distance, much like the preliminary run in a relay race.
Now, it depended on the prey's level of alertness—less alertness naturally ant good luck for the hunter, and if not, they had exerted their best effort. Whether they could dine depended on the will of heaven.
Clearly, Bi Fang's luck was good.
Adult male cals could practically be considered without natural predators; furthermore, having already endured a round of hunting, they were exhausted in body and spirit, with their vigilance at its lowest.
Bi Fang had actually closed another five ters!
The audience nearly held their breath, exclaiming with excitent.
Too close.
Close to a terrifying extent, almost as if a glaring lamp was shining directly on the cal's head.
At this point, even the cal, however thick-skinned or weary it was, sensed sothing amiss.
Yet twenty-five ters was practically at arm's length!
Cals were fast, easily capable of exceeding forty kiloters an hour, but their weight was also substantial.
The greater the mass, the larger the inertia—a fact known even to middle school students.
In other words, slow to start!
Bi Fang charged out!
The sand and gravel beneath his feet grated and shattered, nearly turning into an afterimage.
The tightly drawn bowstring was finally released, as if in the mont before the cal began to flee, the distance between them had already closed within twenty ters.
Bi Fang's run carried an astonishing springiness, matched with his breath expanding and contracting, agile like a cheetah. The full tension of his body rapidly shrank the spatial dinsions, the audience couldn't help but stand on their toes, as if they were running across the desert themselves.
The chase began, yet the distance continued to close relentlessly.
```
This behemoth, weighing over half a ton and needing at least two seconds to accelerate to forty kiloters per hour, had given Bi Fang more than enough ti to do too much. At the mont their speeds were even and the gap was about to widen, they were less than five ters apart.
Bi Fang imdiately threw the reinforced lasso in his hand, which traced an arc in the air, and just as it was about to fly over the cal's head, he yanked it back fiercely.
Due to inertia, the rope stretched taut, creating a temporary elasticity, and the air echoed with the shrill hiss of a whip cutting through it.
The noose, widened by branches, was recaptured, precisely looping around the cal's long neck!
Got it!
The audience erupted in cheers, barely able to restrain their joy.
Bi Fang showed no elation at his success; lassoing the cal was just the beginning.
The mont the cal was ensnared, a trendous force transmitted through Bi Fang's arm, nearly yanking him off his feet, but fortunately, he steadied himself in ti.
For the first few seconds, Bi Fang tried to keep pace with the cal, but he quickly gave up; it was impossible. He ended up being dragged along by the cal.
In just over ten seconds, from the lassoing to being dragged, the audience's emotions were like a roller coaster, wave after wave, irresistible.
Bi Fang lay on his back, bracing himself against the ground with his feet, forming a slanted triangle with the high speed brought on by the cal.
Two long tracks were dragged across the desert, with the friction between the sand and his shoe soles producing an astonishing heat, giving off a faint rubbery, burnt sll.
Bi Fang wound the rope tightly around his arm, clutching the rope to slowly narrow the distance between himself and the cal.
Over the vast desert, the cal ran along the Red Land.
The setting sun cast long shadows as the ground shook slightly. A billowing cloud of dust rose behind man and cal, like a dragon of the land.
The ground under his feet beca softer, aning there were more sands – the cal was running towards the heart of the Sahara, trying to use the terrain to wear down its predator; it was their tried and true trick.
The already short distance, with the shortening of the rope, was swiftly diminished until Bi Fang could clearly see the cal's flying hooves.
If one of those cal hooves, bigger than a human head, landed on his head, Bi Fang had no doubt it would burst open like a waterlon.
Now was the most critical mont. Bi Fang loosened so of the rope from his arms, leaving just a small section wrapped around his hand to prevent an accident from rolling him under the cal, turning him into a pile of mush.
Then Bi Fang began to adjust his posture, switching from facing head-on towards the cal to facing it with his feet.
Although it was just a simple change of direction, it greatly enhanced his vision, giving him far more initiative.
Next, Bi Fang began to look for an opportunity. At this point, the cal's butt was less than a ter in front of him, bobbing up and down.
For now, the cal's legs could not kick him, but if it made a sudden stop and then kicked, it would almost certainly be a hit; he could not give it that chance, nor could he let it realize there was such an opportunity.
There was no ti to hesitate. Bi Fang's leg muscles tensed up and then he swiftly leapt up from the ground, kicking directly into the cal's butt, finally tensing his body!
Man, cal, rope.
The three combined like a longbow, with the man and cal as the bow arms and the rope as the bowstring, forming a stable triangle.
But as Bi Fang stamped on the cal's butt and straightened his body to forcefully pull the rope, the fragile balance was violently broken.
The great bow was forcefully drawn open!
[Holy shit! Aweso!]
[Unbeatably strong!]
The live comnts were filled with exclamations.
The cal's long neck was suddenly bent sideways, its gaze forcibly shifted, and it could no longer control its balance, the massive body toppling over to one side.
Boom.
A huge amount of sand and stones were splattered, the air filled with stifling dust, and Bi Fang too was engulfed in it, disappearing from sight.
```
Reviews
All reviews (0)