Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 707: The Legion’s Power [6]

The old man’s eyes widened a fraction as the energy he had just released, his own law infused water attack, began gathering in Lily’s throat.

His pupils narrowed.

Before he could react, Lily’s jaw split wider and she spat the energy back out.

The old man flicked his sleeve.

BOOM.

The collision ripped a hole in the battlefield, ice vaporizing instantly. Steam erupted upward in a violent pillar.

But as he held the block, another shadow descended.

A giant.

A massive humanoid undead with stone like skin and a towering frame.

Beginning.

The old man’s gaze sharpened.

"Another brute again..."

Beginning roared, the sound vibrating the battlefield. Countless small wounds had been inflicted on him for weeks now, wounds earned from daily sparring with Ghost, Lily, and the others.

It had pushed his power further thanks to his law.

His level had soared.

Level 65.

The giant slammed down with a fist the size of a wagon.

The old man met it with one palm.

B O O O O O M.

A dome of warped space ballooned outward from the point of collision. Beginning’s fist dented the dome of transparent ice deeply but did not break through.

The old man grunted.

"Annoying creatures," he hissed.

Beginning’s other fist struck.

Then his knee.

Then both arms.

Rains of blows.

Each one strong enough to crush a weaker Rank three entirely.

The elder held firm, but his robes fluttered violently and cracks appeared in the ice beneath him.

And then, Prince moved.

Five Shadow bodies stepped forward.

Five demonic supernaturals.

Or what remained of them.

The old man saw them and scoffed.

"You think these scraps will..."

BOOM.

One exploded.

The old man’s barrier shuddered.

Before he could stabilize,

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

Three more detonations hit.

The spatial barrier warped violently, ripples distorting the very air as a hole appeared.

The old man’s eyes widened in genuine shock.

"These...!"

He raised his staff, but the fifth puppet was already at his feet.

Prince’s command echoed through the battlefield like steel.

"Detonate."

BOOOOOOM.

A pillar of light and mangled space erupted upward, swallowing the old man whole.

Beginning was hurled backward by the shockwave.

Even Ghost and the ants staggered in midair.

Steam. Frost. Ash.

The explosion carved out a crater hundreds of meters wide.

The battlefield fell silent for a heartbeat.

Michael did not blink.

Because inside the storm of light, a voice growled.

"You troublesome brat."

A silhouette stepped out.

Slowly.

Tattered.

Bleeding.

But alive.

The old man’s entire right arm trembled violently, his sleeve burned away from the blast. Spatial distortions flickered uncontrollably around him like broken glass.

He was injured.

Badly.

But not defeated.

He raised his head.

And for the first time since he appeared, he looked murderous.

His gaze locked onto Michael.

"I see," he said softly. His voice was hoarse, threaded with pain and rage. "I was mistaken."

The air around him rippled as space tried and failed to stabilize. Tiny fractures of warped light flickered at the edges of his body like broken glass.

"On a normal day," he muttered, almost to himself, "even suppressed, I would not have been pushed this far. To think some brat from nowhere would bring me to this state..."

He inhaled slowly. Mana surged.

"But that is the problem with your kind," he continued, eyes never leaving Michael. "Necromancers. As long as you exist, the rest will keep moving."

He lifted his staff.

The tip pointed straight at Michael’s chest.

Varun’s heart lurched.

"Move!" he shouted, but his voice felt slow and distant.

The old man’s expression hardened into cold decision.

"First rule of killing necromancers," he said. "You cut off the head."

Water and space twisted together at the tip of his staff.

Liquid, clear and serene at first glance, but within it countless tiny spatial blades spun like invisible teeth.

A compressed lance of water law and folded space.

He thrust the staff forward.

The world seemed to skip a beat.

The next instant, the attack was already in front of Michael.

Ruel’s pupils shrank to pinpoints.

Varun’s mind went blank.

Too fast.

Michael’s eyes narrowed. His hand began to rise, mana gathering.

He was not going to be able to dodge.

But fortunately he did not have to.

Something huge moved.

"Master."

The voice rumbled across the battlefield.

Lily.

Her massive body blurred, muscles tearing as she forced herself beyond her limits. She materialized between Michael and the incoming lance just as it arrived.

Her jaw snapped open.

The water lance hit her tongue.

For a split second, it looked like it would pierce straight through the back of her skull.

Then her law flared.

Devour.

The clear liquid darkened as it entered her mouth, fraying apart into motes of twisted power that spiraled down her throat. Spatial shards shredded the inside of her cheeks and throat.

Blood streamed from her eyes and nostrils.

Lily tilted her head back and swallowed.

Gulp.

The attack vanished.

Varun could not breathe.

Ruel stared, frozen, at the giant woman now kneeling in front of them like a bleeding wall.

Michael’s gaze flicked to her.

"Lily," he said quietly.

She turned her head slightly. One enormous, bloodshot eye focused on him.

"I am fine," she rumbled.

More blood trickled from the corners of her mouth. Pieces of her inner flesh slid down her chin as if melting.

The old man watched all of this with a growing, simmering fury.

"You..." he whispered.

He had aimed to end the fight.

To kill the necromancer and let the rest crumble.

Instead, a monster had stepped in front of a killing blow meant to erase a Rank 2 as casually as stopping a thrown stone.

"How many abnormal undead do you have?" he growled. "What kind of twisted collection is this?"

Michael’s expression did not change.

"You were right about one thing," he said. "If you want to deal with a necromancer, you go for the head."

His hand rested lightly on Lily’s massive arm. Black energy pulsed once, flowing into her body and slowing the bleeding.

"But you were mistaken about the rest."

The old man’s eyes narrowed.

"Oh?"

Michael looked past him.

"I am not really a normal necromancer you see."