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Book 11: Chapter 93: Face (2)

Dyon’s figure flashed forward. In his rage, he led with his foot, planting in firmly between Death’s flaming pupils.

He felt for a moment as though he had kicked a solid steel wall, but his persistence was so unending that he forcibly broke through before using Death’s head as a springboard to flip backward.

He had every intention of following up with his next attack immediately, but the sight his eyes landed on was simply too abnormal.

Death’s back had arched backward such that the top of his head practically touched the ground. Yet, his feet were firmly planted, having not moved even an inch backward.

His bones crackled and flexed as he slowly stood upright, his flaming gaze meeting Dyon’s own as though noticing him for the first time.

Death’s shrill cry sounded again, its back arching backward once more as though its body was a seesaw. But in the next instant, it used its own body like a bow, tightening and releasing it to lash out with its scythe.

Dyon’s intent blazed. He could feel that Death’s scythe wasn’t just a half-immortal weapon. In fact, it wasn’t a normal Venerable treasure either. It was actually a half-step from the Empyrean grade!

How such a low-level world produced such a weapon… Dyon had no idea. But all he could focus on was the whipping shadow that careened toward him, intent to take his life.

Dyon reacted quickly. Since his senses were failing to properly track the scythe, he relied entirely on his instinct as his Perception and Divine Sense slowly became one.

With a duck of his head, he slipped beneath whipping shadow. Countless spinning [Carnage] arrays appeared around him, violently tearing through the air in perfect rhythm with Dyon’s actions.

However, Dyon could have never expected that instead of pulling his scythe strike back to prepare to attack again, Death simply used the momentum of his missed strike to turn his body into a bow once more, flexing his opposing arm and sending his chain and horse flying toward Dyon!

No matter how much battle experience Dyon had, he had never seen such an obscene and outright bizarre battle style.

Death’s half-dead steed took the brunt force of Dyon’s flying red spears. Their homing ability interrupted mid flight.

Death continued to walk forward. It was as though Dyon’s attack had woken him up from his half-drunk state.

His movements became more exaggerated, his legs kicking up into the air to perform vertical splits with every step.

It would have been a comical sight had it not been for the ridiculous flexible of Death’s body. Every time he kicked upward to move forward, his body bent tightly like a bow. Every time his lifted foot hit the ground once more, he would send another attack flying forward.

At first, it was obvious which – the flying chain horse or scythe – was coming. But after a while, it became completely unpredictable with Death somehow switching his weapon as he pleased.

Dyon initially believed that somehow Death had gained Ax True Weapon Will, allowing him to switch which hand his weapon was wielded in. However, after observing the truth, Dyon almost cough up blood in anger. The answer was simply too ridiculous!

Every time Death took a step forward, his back would arch so much that his head would nearly touch the ground. However, at the same time, he stretched his arms backward as well causing them to meet as though he was clapping his hands behind his head. Taking that opportunity, he would swap his chain and scythe as he pleased, making it almost impossible for Dyon to tell which was coming.

The sight was completely comedic, but it only infuriated Dyon further.

This was Death. This was an entity all feared. A presence that even the most powerful couldn’t escape. It had taken his parents from him and who knows how much it would take from him in the future.

Yet, this very Death, the very thing so many put their hearts and souls into defeating… Walked like a fool! He battled like a clown! He screamed like a madman!

Dyon couldn’t find anything to laugh about. For every comical action Death took, the fire in his gaze, his limbs… his heart… They grew fiercer.

Dyon’s war qi billowed uncontrollably. The air and atmospheric qi around him boiled, giving off a heat far fiercer than even the true War himself.

War’s weapon responded in kind. The mysterious qi of this world may have relied on faith comprehended over countless years, but ultimately, its foundation still lied within its host.

War had simply never felt the level of rage Dyon was feeling right now. He hadn’t ever reached the point of wanting to destroy everything.

Dyon’s crimson sword flashed forward, both of his hands tightening around its hilt as it exploded to over ten meters in size.

Death’s steed was sliced in half completely, its rotting flesh flying through the air only to be incinerated by Dyon’s raging war qi.

Death quickly reacted, sweeping its scythe upward and screaming outward with its shrill cry once more, a fog of death qi whipping about it.  

Sword and scythe met.

Dyon’s gaze seemed to want to pierce through Death’s flaming pupils and out his skull, his own roar drowning Death’s.

The fourth horsemen could no longer remain firmly planted. His lanky body was sent flying, crashing into a bestial pillar only to produce the very first crack this battlefield had seen since its creation.