Forty Seconds

Chen Guan did not hesitate. He drove his feet into the ground and charged straight toward the core of the magic formation, carrying the scythe brimming with the power of lingering hatred.

Above him, the phantom of the six-winged figure opened all twelve of its eyes at once. The gazes descended as tangible pressure, trying to nail him in place.

Less than thirty meters remained between him and the heart’s remains.

“You won’t make it.”

Liu Xiao’s voice came from behind, once again carrying a trace of composure.

He tried to give chase, but Long Ao’s bloodied right hand seized him by the collar. His fingers dug into the fabric, the veins on the back of his hand standing out.

“Stay right there!”

Liu Xiao lowered his head and looked at the bloodstained hand, disgust rising in his eyes.

“You’ve got a hole through your left shoulder, and you’re still playing the hero?”

“None of your damn business!”

Long Ao bared his teeth. Blood seeped between them, giving his grin an even more ferocious edge.

Purple demonic energy gathered in Liu Xiao’s palm. He had intended to slam it into Long Ao’s chest, but something hard blocked the blow.

A muffled impact rang out. Even with the turtle taking the hit, the force still sent Long Ao skidding several meters backward, his feet plowing two deep furrows into the ground. Yet the fingers clutching Liu Xiao’s collar only tightened their grip.

“That’s it?”

Long Ao spat out a chipped tooth and a mouthful of blood.

“My grandpa hits harder than that.”

Hong Yuan’s massive axe came down from the side, forcing Liu Xiao to spare one hand to block it.

“That’s enough, both of you!”

At last, impatience crept into Liu Xiao’s voice. Each of these people was weaker than him individually, yet they were all as irritating as cockroaches that refused to die.

“Whether it’s enough isn’t up to you.”

Hong Yuan thrust the axe handle forward, using the force of the block to close the distance in an instant.

Nearby, An Changqing dragged his wounded body to his feet. His gaze swiftly swept over Chen Guan, who was being suppressed by divine might, then shifted to Liu Xiao, who was being firmly held back by two men and a turtle. He immediately made a decision.

“Liu Chengjun. Liu Feiyu.”

The two of them turned toward him at the same time.

“The channels in the formation are still supplying energy. We can’t destroy the heart, but we can cut off its supply.”

An Changqing’s eyes fell on the blood-red patterns still glowing across the ground.

“Liu Feiyu’s idea of freezing it was right, but the range wasn’t enough. We need fire to work with it.”

Liu Feiyu immediately understood.

“Alternate water and fire—extreme cold and heat. That should make the channels rupture on their own.”

“Exactly.”

The three of them quickly split up and ran toward the black channels connected to the heart’s remains.

At the center of the stage, Chen Guan knelt on one knee amid the shattered ground, using his scythe to support himself. The black mist of lingering hatred along the blade had already dwindled to less than half.

“Your body is nearing its limit.”

Baal’s voice rang out in his mind.

“I know.”

“Astaroth’s divine might is acting directly on your soul. It has nothing to do with how strong your physical body is. Your soul is the thing weakening.”

“Mm.”

“‘Mm,’ what? Don’t you have any sense of urgency?”

Chen Guan did not answer. He focused all his attention on figuring out how to take the next step.

The black mark in his palm continued to burn. While the barrier blocked the corrosive power of lingering hatred, it was also consuming his mind.

He took his eighth step.

The six-winged phantom above him let out a deep, resonant hum. Two of the twelve eyes blinked, and the pressure weighing down on him doubled instantly.

Chen Guan’s raised right leg slammed back onto the ground. He dropped to one knee again, and the scythe in his hand nearly slipped free.

“Chen Guan!”

An Changqing’s voice came from the distance.

“Give us another thirty seconds!”

Frost had already spread across the three channels on the western side. Liu Feiyu’s technique had slowed the energy flowing through them.

Liu Chengjun followed close behind, flames scorching the surfaces of the channels. The alternating extremes of cold and heat made the channels emit a shrill creaking sound.

One of the channels shattered.

The heartbeat of the remains became visibly erratic.

But the blood-red formation on the ground immediately began repairing itself. New channels grew from the cracks, rapidly replacing the one that had been destroyed.

“Too fast!”

Sweat covered Liu Feiyu’s forehead.

“The self-repair is faster than we expected. If this continues, we’ll be the ones who collapse first.”

An Changqing’s sword pierced through a newly formed channel, black blood spraying out and splashing across his face.

“Keep destroying them. Even if we can only disrupt it for an instant.”

He wiped the blood from his face.

“This is the only thing we can do.”

Chen Guan heard their exchange, but he still couldn’t get up. The black mist on his scythe was dissipating faster and faster.

Thirty meters.

Under normal circumstances, that distance would take no more than a few breaths.

But now, every inch of air was heavy with lead. The gaze descending from the six-winged phantom had pinned his soul in place, leaving him unable to move.

“Hahaha, see that?”

Liu Xiao’s laughter came from the melee. He sent Long Ao staggering backward with a single palm strike, then casually brushed aside Hong Yuan’s incoming axe blade. After noticing that Chen Guan was unable to move, he looked almost unnervingly at ease.

“This is the limit of mortals. You’ve already reached the ceiling.”

Blood still flowed from Long Ao’s left shoulder. He swallowed the metallic sweetness rising in his throat and planted his feet firmly once more.

“Enough crap.”

He charged again.

His right fist slammed into the purple barrier, making his bones creak, but the barrier remained utterly unmoved.

Hong Yuan circled in from the other side, sweeping her axe handle across and forcing Liu Xiao to turn sideways and block.

The two of them grew more and more coordinated, yet they still couldn’t break through the barrier in the slightest.

There was only one thing they could accomplish: keep Liu Xiao from chasing Chen Guan.

“You have that much faith in him?” Liu Xiao asked with genuine curiosity as he tilted his head to avoid Long Ao’s elbow strike.

“He can’t even stand anymore, yet you’re risking your lives to stop me. What exactly are you hoping to achieve?”

Long Ao did not answer. His iron fist crashed forward again.

Hong Yuan did not answer either. Her axe blade came down once more.

Liu Xiao’s smile faded slightly. He suddenly found it all rather boring.

At the center of the stage, Chen Guan’s breathing grew thick and labored. Every rise and fall of his chest consumed what little strength he had left.

“Baal.”

“Mm?”

“Is there any way around suppression at the soul level?”

Baal’s voice was tinged with languid amusement.

“Of course there is. Hand your body over to—”

“Something else.”

“Tch.”

Baal clicked his tongue, clearly displeased.

“Then no. Astaroth’s divine might acts directly on the essence of the soul. Unless your soul is stronger than his, there’s no solution.”

The scythe was embedded in the shattered ground, and the black mist peeled away from its blade strand by strand.

Kneeling there, Chen Guan could feel the gaze high above grinding his soul thinner layer by layer.

“The lingering hatred in your scythe won’t last much longer.”

For once, Baal’s tone held no trace of teasing.

“Based on the rate at which it’s dissipating, you have forty seconds at most. Forty seconds left to struggle.”

“After those forty seconds, if you don’t want to die, hand everything over to Lord Bael. Don’t forget—you’re not alone.”

“Behind you are your friends, that coffin you treasure more than anything, and Song Zhiheng. Oh, right—Guan Jinyue’s little sister. That girl is in your hands too.”