Once that insane idea took root in Mo Fan's mind, it spread like wildfire—impossible to contain.
The droning in the air was growing denser by the second. His internal organs ached with a tearing resonance that was getting harder to ignore.
Mo Fan knew he had less than thirty seconds. Once the Sonic Death Formation sealed its loop completely, he was dead.
"Screw it. All in."
Mo Fan bit down on the tip of his tongue. The sharp pain cut through the dizzying nausea churning in his gut.
Without a moment's hesitation, his right hand plunged into his storage bag and pulled out a weapon wrapped in layers of coarse cloth.
Riiip——
The cloth fell away, revealing the crude entry-level weapon "DIY-crafted" from a giant bear's leg bone and a wind falcon's rib—the Pale Bone Scepter.
The instant it was in his hand, the enormous computational capacity of his Soul Strength finally found a perfect outlet.
He ignored the venom and debris still raining down overhead, planted the scepter against the rock beneath his feet, and drove it down hard.
"RISE."
Mo Fan's eyes ignited in the shadows with a terrifying, razor-sharp light. His nearly full Mana pool burst open like a dam giving way.
[ Skill: Death Frenzy ]
Two dense streams of crimson death-aura—so concentrated they were almost solid—shot from the tip of the Pale Bone Scepter and drove straight into the skulls of Mo Yan and Summon No. 003 not far away.
The two skeletons, whose eye sockets had been burning with pale green soul-fire, shuddered violently the instant the savage death-aura flooded into them.
Crack-crack-crack——
A teeth-grinding sound of bone growth and friction filled the air.
Across their white skeletal frames, a network of blood-red veins blazed to life—spreading like rivers of molten rock.
Savage. Bloodthirsty. Impervious to pain. The berserk CC-immunity state was fully, completely activated.
"KILL."
Mo Fan's command thundered through the soul-link.
The terrifying anti-air interception began.
The first strike came from Summon No. 003—now a blood-red phantom.
This heavy-armored assassin, fusing the traits of demon tiger and shadow leopard, had been pushed by Death Frenzy's fifty-percent strength and agility amplification into something that flatly defied physics.
It didn't bother with a running start. All four limbs locked onto the sheer vertical rock wall beside it.
The Demon-Eye Rabbit hindleg muscles, compressed under the berserk state to an impossible extreme, coiled tight.
BOOM.
The cave wall exploded outward—a two-meter crater punched clean through solid rock.
Summon No. 003 launched off the surface in a blaze of crimson light, rocketing straight up more than forty feet like a blood-red meteor in reverse, jaws wide open, driving directly at the Bat Lord hovering in midair.
"What——?!"
The Bat Lord—in the middle of emitting another sonic wave to complete the death formation—felt a flash of pure, unfiltered terror cross its ruby eyes.
It had never imagined the heavy, dead constructs on the ground below could jump that high.
Survival instinct took over.
It was forced to cut the sonic technique short, frantically folding its massive wings as it threw itself into a desperate sideways roll in midair.
It barely—barely—cleared 003's lunge. The jaws that would have crushed its throat snapped shut on empty air.
But that had only been the bait.
The real killing blow was already baring its fangs.
The instant the Bat Lord committed to its sideways roll—momentum spent, the next move not yet formed—Mo Yan, who had been standing motionless below like a planted javelin, moved.
In the Death Frenzy state, Mo Yan didn't jump.
Instead, it reversed its grip on the cold iron blade in a single fluid motion.
The bone structure along its right arm let out a skin-crawling expansion sound as the force built to a critical point.
Mo Fan's cold micro-command hit simultaneously: "Burst the armor—throw."
A perfect echo of the tactic that had finished the shadow leopard at the bottom of the cliff—but this time, the projectile wasn't its arm.
It was the sword.
BANG.
The reinforcing bone armor on Mo Yan's right arm discharged its entire stored force into the throwing motion, channeling every ounce of that terrifying kinetic energy through the jade-bone arm and into the blade.
FWOOOSH——!!!
The cold iron sword became a black bolt of lightning tearing through the darkness—a precision-guided anti-air missile, trailing a sharp sonic crack, driving straight into the Bat Lord's unavoidable left wing.
SHHK.
Blood sprayed.
Even as the Bat Lord twisted desperately, the blade—carrying the full amplified force of Death Frenzy—raked across the membrane of its left wing and tore a half-foot gash through it.
SCREEEE——!
The pain ripped a shriek from the peak Tier-1 beast.
Left wing damaged, its balance shattered instantly. Its flight path became erratic and lurching.
Caught between 003's sky-piercing lunge and Mo Yan's missile-grade throw—two simultaneous extreme-pressure attacks from below—the Bat Lord, which had been untouchable and imperious just moments ago, completely lost its composure.
The cunning that defined it as a demonic beast was swallowed whole by fear. It had one thought now: escape this cursed anti-air kill zone.
Driven by pain and panic, the Bat Lord beat its undamaged right wing with everything it had.
It lurched and stumbled through the air toward the one spot in the cavern that hadn't been touched by either attack—a dense shadow above a massive stalactite pillar.
A survival blind spot. A safe zone. If it could just reach that, it could regroup.
"Heh... finally."
Watching the Bat Lord stagger toward the blind spot, the hunter hiding in the dark finally showed his teeth.
The moment the Bat Lord crossed into that shadow—before it could even exhale in relief—
HUM.
A wave of death-aura so cold it felt like it would freeze the blood in its veins erupted without warning from the darkness directly below, clamping around its entire body like a vise.
A fatal slow.
The Bat Lord's massive frame seized up.
It looked down in horror to find a layer of grayish-white frost crystallizing across its wing joints—in the span of a single breath.
Its already injury-reduced speed didn't just drop. It collapsed, plunging off a cliff's edge. The creature moved like it had been buried in thick mud—sluggish as a snail.
[ Grave Chill ]. Mo Fan's hard-control trump card.
"What—what is this?!"
The Bat Lord's head snapped downward in terror, following the direction the death-aura had come from.
When it saw what was below, those ruby eyes bulged. The pupils contracted to pinpoints.
The human.
The two-legged creature it had assumed was cowering behind 004's bone shield this entire time—was no longer in the trench.
At some point during 003 and Mo Yan's two waves of near-suicidal anti-air distraction, Mo Fan had used 004's broad, heavy back-plate as a launching pad and scaled the tallest stone pillar in the area without making a single sound.
Like a ghost with no footsteps.
And that pillar stood directly below the "safe blind spot" the Bat Lord had actively flown into.
Mo Fan was standing at the top of a stone column less than thirty feet from the ceiling.
Exactly within [ Grave Chill ]'s maximum casting range.
"You like flying up high, do you?"
Mo Fan tilted his head back. His face—smeared with venom and cave dust—wore a grin of absolute, savage brutality.
The instant [ Grave Chill ] locked in and the Bat Lord was frozen in place—
Mo Fan moved.
Every ounce of explosive force in his body surged to an overloaded, unprecedented peak.
The muscles in both legs swelled like coiling tree roots, and the terrifying power detonated through the soles of his feet.
CRACK—BOOM!!!
The solid natural stone column beneath him couldn't withstand the monstrous recoil. It exploded outward in a web of fractures, shards flying in every direction.
Off that force—that single earth-shattering push—Mo Fan launched himself upward like a comet breaking free of gravity, a streak of pale light screaming straight toward the ceiling.
"GET DOWN HERE!!!"
Wind howled past his ears. On his right arm, blue light compressed and converged with furious intensity.
[ Bone Armament ].
A layer of thick, jagged, unbreakable pale bone plating snapped into place across his entire right fist.
In the Bat Lord's frozen, terror-stricken eyes—pupils shrinking to needle-points—that iron fist, the size of a small boulder, gleaming with the cold light of death, was growing larger.
And larger.
No room to dodge. No way to run.
BANG——!!!
A deep, bone-rattling impact detonated at the top of the cavern like a thunderclap.
Mo Fan's Rising Dragon Uppercut—every drop of Qi and blood, every ounce of pent-up humiliation, every bit of Bone Armament amplification compressed into a single point of contact...
It landed dead center on the Bat Lord's ugly, barb-covered face.