Everything inside the chemical plant’s domain had been forsaken by him, giving way to the current state—all for the sole purpose of finding the Soul Devouring Beast.
All those zombies he created were merely byproducts.
Now, truly seeing the Soul Devouring Beast sprawled here like a mountain range, he became even more certain of his judgment.
The intelligence from the Scorching Sun Department wasn’t necessarily completely accurate, and the Soul Devouring Beast was not entirely invincible.
At this very moment, he could sense it: the Soul Devouring Beast was weak. By the Scorching Sun Department’s reports, nothing should have been able to affect the beast, and yet, now, something was already at work.
He had racked his brains, adding his own unique power and brand into the constantly churning black water being fed here; at last, it was beginning to show results.
Last time he’d come here, he hadn’t even been able to see it; even getting close made him feel as if his soul would soar right out of his body.
This time, though, he could look upon it with his own eyes, able to come this near to the Soul Devouring Beast.
He stretched out a hand and slit open both his wrists, letting his blood gush forth, pooling into the black water, flowing toward the Soul Devouring Beast.
"Be stained with my bloodline—take my bloodline. I am the only one in this world whom you need to obey. I am the one who will lead you out of this place, who will truly bring you into this world..."
The fresh blood mixed into the black water, slowly invading, and all along the Soul Devouring Beast’s nearly transparent, blue-glowing body, threads of red began to surface.
When Wen Yan led Uncle and Qin Kun, blasting through the wall and stepping inside,
a sense incredibly familiar to Wen Yan emanated from the giant hole ahead.
"The Soul Devouring Beast... it’s closing in..."
A tentacle, glowing with a ghostly blue luminescence, rose up from the hole, lifting Fake Mo Zhicheng.
Fake Mo Zhicheng, wearing a pair of half-rimmed glasses, raised his hands high and slowly ascended.
A massive blue-glowing tentacle swayed behind him.
Standing behind Wen Yan, Uncle’s aura of murderous wrath began to boil over, morphing into black mist that rolled and churned relentlessly.
But Wen Yan didn’t speak; Uncle likewise kept his eyes closed, standing behind him motionless.
Looking down at the group, Fake Mo Zhicheng spotted Wen Yan and immediately asked:
"Wen Yan, did you bring what I wanted?"
"Brought your fucking leg."
Fake Mo Zhicheng was a little taken aback. He scrutinized Wen Yan carefully.
"Seems I underestimated you. Still, nothing you do now will make a difference."
He looked toward Qin Kun, who still had his eyes shut.
"They’re all your enemies. Kill them."
There was a strange power laced in his voice; when it entered Qin Kun’s ears, his eyes flew open, both irises blood-red. He was panting hard, Yang energy surging over him as he fought against that influence.
Then—just a moment later—Qin Kun simply turned his head to glance at Wen Yan.
The red in Qin Kun’s eyes, the struggle, faded in a flash; he bent over, his stomach convulsing furiously as if he’d vomit out his very bile, retching so violently it seemed the world spun.
All that brainwashing, through this violent retching, was forcibly purged from his body.
Fake Mo Zhicheng frowned slightly, turning his gaze to the expressionless Wen Yan and the zombie behind him sheathed in what looked like black armor.
"I’m not your enemy. That much is true."
Wen Yan smirked with contempt, Uncle still didn’t move, and the malevolent mist on him grew ever more intense.
Fake Mo Zhicheng was genuinely shocked. Since transforming into a True Architect, this was the first time his brainwashing had absolutely no effect.
"So that’s it. This is your trump card, isn’t it?"
He suddenly understood; at last it was clear where Wen Yan’s confidence came from.
"A pity; if this had happened two days ago, I’d have fallen right into your hands. But now, it’s all too late."
Wen Yan couldn’t be bothered to waste words with him. He took a deep breath and looked at Uncle.
At once, he received a prompt.
"Armored Corpse (Big Executor).
His time is up. Have you made up your mind? Are you ready to let him fulfill his obsession?
Temporary Ability: Scorching Sun.
When he dissipates, your corresponding temporary ability will also vanish. Are you truly prepared?"
Wen Yan smiled wryly. This prompt was a real bastard—at this hour, still tempting me.
He reached out and gave Uncle’s shoulder a firm pat.
Uncle, who had kept his eyes shut all along, snapped them open in an instant. That glint of gold in his pupils seemed, at this moment, to truly blaze forth.
With a flicker of movement, he leaped over ten meters in a single bound, charging straight for Fake Mo Zhicheng.
The tentacle supporting Fake Mo Zhicheng twitched lightly, carrying him skyward, and another tentacle whipped rapidly toward Uncle’s body.
That tentacle was like sinking into a quagmire—the moment it stalled, Uncle’s body was already tearing right through it.
Uncle’s eyes were hollow—no soul, no spiritual intelligence, only obsession remaining.
He ignored the Soul Devouring Beast, disregarded Fake Mo Zhicheng’s mind control; even now, there was no malice or intent to kill. He simply wished to fulfill his final duty as Big Executor.
Fake Mo Zhicheng furrowed his brow deeply; even now, he hadn’t realized that Uncle was the very Big Executor Corpse he himself had orchestrated and created.
Standing atop the tentacle, he pointed one finger at the sky.
"From this moment, I will possess Tuoba Martial God’s peak combat power."
As the words left his mouth, a countdown appeared in Fake Mo Zhicheng’s mind.
Feeling the countdown, not fear but elation overtook him. Thirty seconds—that meant he’d become incredibly strong.
Strong enough that, in thirty seconds, he could slaughter these people a dozen times over.
Yet as the countdown began, he felt no power surge within him at all; searching inward, he sensed something, but it was pitifully weak.
And that was it—just that faint feeling, then nothing more, no further enhancement whatsoever.
Once so confident, Fake Mo Zhicheng was stunned on the spot.
Impossible. He’d seen Tuoba Martial God fight in person, watched with his own eyes that terrifying Yang energy strong enough to burn through a sixth-level domain; if he’d seen it, it must mean it could be made real, even if only temporarily—he should be able to wield that power at will.
Ten seconds had already passed, but still he felt no rise in Yang energy, no surge in power. His face darkened as he canceled the transformation.
In the distance, Gan Tang stood atop a nearby building, Deformed Corpse in tow behind her.
"Sister Tang, you really won’t interfere?"
"No. If he’d seen me attack with his own eyes, and tried to manifest my power, all it would take is a single breath for Wen Yan to die."