Chapter Thirty-Six: Braveheart (Part Eleven)

Seeing the dense swarm of shadow spirits surrounding them, Wang Yibo pinched his own cheek, feeling the sharp pain and finally confirming this was no dream. His face twisted in misery. "Are we about to be torn apart and devoured? Is this really necessary?"

"Shut your mouth, you jinx! If these monsters want to eat us, they'd better have teeth strong enough!" Li Song’s body trembled uncontrollably, yet his words were full of defiance.

A guttural roar erupted from the spirits, as if they had understood Li Song’s provocation. Bloodthirsty gazes locked onto him, and their voices echoed with feral intensity.

"You dare howl? I'll make you howl!" Li Song, his expression wild, raised his Thompson submachine gun and unleashed a storm of bullets at the spirits before him.

The gunfire tore through the corpses possessed by the shadow spirits, riddling dozens with holes. Yet these bodies were mere vessels, temporary shells for the spirits. No matter how mangled, the spirits themselves—pure incorporeal entities—remained unharmed. The only effect was to slow their movements, making them appear even more grotesque and repulsive.

Li Song’s shooting was like poking a hornet’s nest. The surrounding spirits surged forward, roaring as they advanced. Luo Hanya, Wang Yibo, and Li Song pressed their backs together, forming a triangle. They covered each other, firing their Thompson guns in a desperate barrage.

This frenzied assault lasted about a minute. At the gun’s maximum rate, they fired hundreds of rounds, but supplies were limited. They had no spare ammunition—only Luo Hanya’s bolt-action rifle remained, its slow firing rate utterly ineffective against the spirits’ relentless advance.

As the spirits closed in without the barrier of bullets, the trio could even smell the stench of rotting flesh emanating from the possessed corpses. The spirits howled with madness, ready to feast on their prey.

“Demon’s Flame!” In the midst of despair, Luo Hanya activated his demon form and unleashed his most formidable ability. Blood-red patterns appeared on his skin, glowing intensely beneath his clothes. A dark flame materialized before him, radiating an eerie, mysterious glow that seemed to seize the soul.

The flame’s appearance struck terror into the spirits. Their furious howls ceased, and they halted less than ten paces from Luo Hanya and his companions. Saliva dripped from their mouths as they prowled and growled, hesitant but ravenous.

A strange light flashed in Luo Hanya’s eyes. This Demon’s Flame seemed especially effective against incorporeal entities. He lightly touched the flame, which spun mysteriously, emitting waves of blood-colored light, as if drawing something toward it.

The nearest spirits let out anguished screams. Their incorporeal forms were forcibly torn from their host bodies, absorbed into the Demon’s Flame, which glowed briefly with a cerulean light before the spirits disintegrated utterly.

The Demon’s Flame had awakened its devouring power. With each spirit it consumed, its evolution accelerated, feeding strength back to its wielder.

Relief steadied Luo Hanya’s heart. Though he had appeared calm and fearless, inwardly he was anxious—his demon form consumed spiritual energy to maintain, and activating the Demon’s Flame only increased the drain. He could barely sustain this for less than a minute, hardly enough to destroy all the spirits here; death still seemed inevitable.

Even as the spirits nearest to them were reduced to ash, many more swarmed forward like moths to a flame, drawn to the scent of living souls and unable to resist their instincts.

Wang Yibo and Li Song watched as the spirits’ true forms were ripped from their vessels and fed to the flickering flame. Their anxiety eased, but as time passed, unease crept back. Luo Hanya’s endurance was faltering—his brow was drenched in sweat, his face pale, eyes bloodshot, as if he might collapse at any moment.

Indeed, Luo Hanya was reaching his limit. At first, he believed the feedback from the Demon’s Flame would keep the energy drain low, allowing him to last five or six minutes and annihilate most of the spirits. But unexpectedly, a mysterious force from afar was suppressing him, accelerating his depletion so dramatically that in barely two minutes, he was struggling to hold on.

The moment Luo Hanya activated the Demon’s Flame, a voice echoed from the heart of this earthly nether domain: "Ah, the scent of a demon—how familiar!"

At the domain’s core stood an altar, where countless spirits knelt in fervent worship. The altar had three tiers: the first, shrouded in ghostly aura, served as the base, octagonal in shape, each corner guarded by a fierce demon statue. Dark shadows swirled within, accompanied by anguished screams, as if some ritual was underway.

The second tier was entirely different—resplendent, golden, suffused with sacred chants. Four corners were each guarded by statues of the Four Heavenly Kings, linking the netherworld below with the celestial realm above.

The third tier was the most bizarre: above the nether, atop the realm of the Buddhas, lay a coffin radiating boundless light. The voice emanated from within.

At the instant the voice sounded, the four statues of the Heavenly Kings seemed to come alive. East: The King of the Nation, Ma Lishou, stroked the golden dragon furred marten on his shoulder; its eyes flashed gold, emitting a sharp cry. South: The King of Growth, Ma Liqing, murmured incantations, left hand raised, right wielding a sword of blue light. West: The King of Vision, Ma Lihong, smiled, gently strummed his jade lute, producing melodies as serene as celestial chants, soothing the soul. North: The King of Hearing, Ma Lihai, glared fiercely, uttering powerful sonic waves, and with a sweep of both hands, unfurled the Primal Pearl Umbrella, radiating chaotic light.

Each Heavenly King unleashed their divine powers, intent on suppressing the coffin. Yet the boundless light from the coffin faded, replaced by waves of black radiance. Black mist rose from within, swiftly engulfing the third tier and threatening to invade the second.

The Four Heavenly Kings cried out, exerting their full strength to barely hold back the spreading darkness.

While the Kings struggled, the myriad spirits encircling the altar began to howl and cluster together, performing sacrificial rites. Streams of blue light shot toward the altar’s second tier, assailing the Heavenly Kings in a bid to aid the darkness’s escape.

A cold laugh echoed from the coffin: "Born of the nether for countless ages, do you four mere gatekeepers think you can suppress me?"

The Heavenly Kings were unafraid, their statues shining ever brighter, the air filled with majestic chants. "If our true forms were here, would you dare be so arrogant?" Ma Liqing, ever hot-tempered, sneered.

"Hahaha! If your true forms could cross the realms, even a novice from Mount Sumeru could subdue me. But this is the earthly nether domain—connections to the great netherworld are severed, only projections remain. How can your celestial realm be so bold?" The coffin’s inhabitant laughed wildly, mocking them.

"Even so, you will be suppressed by us four," Ma Lihong shook his head, voice thunderously dignified.

The coffin’s voice grew somber: "Born of the nether, shaped over endless ages, and now finally I have this chance. Though you prepared the altar to seal this place, and tried to redeem the spirits here, it matters not! I shall be reborn! When I rise, I’ll shatter the nether and destroy the celestial realm!" It howled in madness.

"Benefactor, you are consumed by wrath," Ma Lishou pressed his palms together with a gentle smile, his serene face masking lethal intent. "Let us redeem you and make you a guardian of Mount Sumeru."

"My moment of freedom has come. Speak not of redemption—your clay forms shall perish today!" The presence within the coffin grew ever more terrifying, the black mist spreading relentlessly. As the spirits’ sacrificial frenzy intensified, the altar’s second tier flickered with sacred light, which seemed about to be devoured by darkness.

"Foolish ghost, do you think the netherworld has no defenders? Still driving these spirits? You know not your own doom!" The fierce demon statues on the altar’s base suddenly stirred. The eight demons laughed wildly, dissolving into streams of black smoke, merging into a colossal monstrous form.

Before the monster could fully manifest, torrents of ghostly energy surged, thunder roared, and the cries of the damned filled the air.

A deafening roar signaled the monster’s arrival. It was terrifying—a headless giant, its neck thick as a millstone, severed by some ancient blade, oozing sticky black blood and reeking monstrously. Its skin shone with a deathly blue, its waist wrapped in beast pelts, muscles knotting across its body, every inch inscribed with sinister runes. Most striking were its chest and abdomen, where a massive face was formed: nipples for eyes, navel for mouth, black blood streaming from its eyes, twisted in hatred and rage. In its left hand it gripped a bronze shield, mottled with rust and blood; in its right, a long axe, fresh blood dripping from its blade.

As recorded in the Classic of Mountains and Seas, the Formless One battled the Emperor for godhood: "The Formless One and the Emperor contested here for divinity. The Emperor severed its head and buried it on Changyang Mountain. It used its nipples for eyes, navel for mouth, and wielded shield and axe as it danced."