Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 767 - 708: The Earth’s Fissure
Only the sound of its own footsteps filled the forest as it ran swiftly toward the unfamiliar depths of darkness. Crunching dry twigs and low shrubs, leaving claw marks in the soil, hanging vines were sliced open by the sharp Spine Spikes without hindering its speed. The icy wind whistled a frightening sound as it passed through the gaps between the plants, and a blood scent wafted from an unknown cave.
What should have been an unbearable environment brought it joy, as this filth could mask its scent. The panic in its heart was slightly quelled, its keen sense of smell misleading it into a false sense of security while it struggled to find a direction. Feeling powerless in its surroundings, it naively believed that the hunters behind it were also helpless here. The force of the earth did not enhance the brains of the beasts, so in the dark, it was filled with primal fear.
A faint sound of fabric tearing disturbed the tranquility of the dark. The lost beast was startled, making yet another mistake.
It turned its head back, its bending long neck allowing its head to easily survey what was behind, while its constricted pupils could discern the blurry figure in the dim moonlight.
The trees swayed restlessly, and a taut shadow blocked the view between the beast and the moonlight. Wrapped in a garment as pure and soft as a swan, the fabric fluttering like clouds in the moonlight. But beneath the softness was the hunter’s body, fused with the Shadow of the Moon, gleaming coldly and hard as iron.
Fear, like the shaking tree shadows, veiled the heart of the beast. It recognized these new monsters, fiercer beasts, the death gods of all beasts.
In the last second of the beast’s life, the monster roared in sadness and anger as its life came to an end.
"Iron Swan!"
A sonic boom echoed through the night sky, and a headless corpse lay in the Dark Forest.
Its ender was wearing a dancer’s little skirt, with lace edges, and silk ribbons tied around wrists and ankles as thick as water buckets, the bursting chest muscles crammed into a bodice, and butterfly bow ornaments amidst hair as messy as needles. With a square face heavily made up and fiery red lips that could silence a child, he clenched his fists, standing motionless against the moonlight, obscured by darkness, as if dead in the silent forest.
Soon, the distant thickets erupted with noise. It was a roar mixed with singing, off-key but joyfully displaying the singer’s mood. Mrs. Brandi and four muscular maids linked arms, forming a human wall that bulldozed through the forest. They were no longer human, and with Brandi’s murderous voice leading, this group of muscular devils danced a dance of destruction, crushing everything like bulldozers. Trees, vines, mosses, and rocks shattered under the force of their charge and were trampled into the soil. Behind Brandi, the troupe of muscular maids followed their mentor, repeatedly crushing everything, turning the dense forest into flatland.
"That’s right, boys. Lift your legs, kick, jump, stomp of war, and one more eight-count!"
Brandi laughed while his dance partners maintained zombie-like faces, like an army of the living dead controlled by him. But he did not care, for in time, they would all willingly submit. Brandi pulled his hands away and approached the apprentice who had been hunting alone, this being his trial task.
"Baby, you did wonderfully." Brandi brought his hands together and touched his cheeks, looking at the headless, mutilated prey with a satisfied smile, like a content mother. Then his gaze fell on the garment of the apprentice, the lace edge with a gap. Brandi’s smile cooled.
Poor Caslan had been trembling ever since Brandi had approached, biting his lip, with his back to Brandi, not turning around.
"I scraped it while climbing a tree, it’s not a big deal, I can even go back and find the missing piece, Brandi, my mentor."
Brandi’s hand crawled upon his shoulder, his cloying voice resonating by Caslan’s ear.
"I care not for the fabric, you little fool. This lace represents your flesh, and if this were a bloody conflict, your flesh would not be recoverable."
Caslan’s body went rigid, the force great enough to scatter the air was gathering within, restrained.
"I am a warrior of the tribe, I do not fear death, and that hem is a half-meter away from my ass, even if my ass got hurt... I’d rather it were my ass that got hurt..." His voice grew quieter and quieter, until it was almost inaudible.
"I teach you to master the ultimate physical form, and I will not tolerate casualties. Scars are a dancer’s disgrace; it appears you do not know your own body well enough..." Brandi’s expression went from cloudy to clear, and he patted Caslan’s butt, giving his final judgment amid the latter’s fearful gaze.
"You are unqualified, Caslan. I will continue to help you condition your body. Come to my resting chamber tonight."
This sentence awakened the entire corps of zombie maids, who neatly raised their heads, staring at Caslan with tears at the corner of his eyes, as if they saw something filthy, tacitly distancing themselves from the pitiful ghost. Though Caslan had once been their proud hunting partner, he was about to be unclean.
...
Tendrils entwined around branches, suspending Lyle between two adjacent trees. He crouched like a spider in its web, having just observed that scene among the Ancient Human Clans, his expression odd.
"Your people live quite miserably, Al. In a few more days, dignity and all that will no longer have anything to do with the Guardian Dragon’s clan."
With short black hair, a few red strands mixed in like blood woven through the locks, the young man with features somewhat similar to Mister Dragon sported a haughty, upwardly-tilted smirk that set him apart from his forebears. His eyes were red, distinctly different from those of Alcalon in his dragon form. The human form of the black dragon was a sturdy man, though not quite up to par with the muscle-bound men of the Ancient Human Clans.
The draconic human stood on a frail tree branch, which, by all accounts, should not have supported his weight.
A deep red aura of danger wrapped around the black dragon, unlike the intense holy light, nor as profound as the shadow; nonetheless, it made Lyle’s skin tingle. He was certain he had recently been given extra lessons by his draconic mentor. Just thinking about it was enough to scare Lyle, wondering what torments one must endure in a warrior crash course led by Mister Dragon; when Mister Dragon taught Bone-Spirit Summoning, there weren’t a single intact student, except for Lyle.
The black dragon chuckled like a schemer.
"This is what they deserve. Only after being tortured to near madness by that pervert will this group of barbarians who only respect strength realize how precious my gifts are. I will bring them dignity; I will become their savior."
Lyle pursed his lips, somewhat puzzled. It seemed that when a name included the word "black," the brain had to be tinted with some of that stuff.
"So you’re also going to beat them up in your human form? Is this how you act as the Guardian Dragon, as the savior of the Ancient Human Clans?"
Alcalon wagged a finger, provocatively watching his friend.
"You know too little about them, Lyle. Only when they personally experience the power of the Berserker will they accept my gift. The Ancient Human Clans honor strength above all. If the Berserkers can’t beat the muscle maids, they would rather abandon their pride and continue to follow that pervert’s teachings. How about a bet, Lyle? After I beat them, they’ll still thank me."
"I’ll take that bet." Mister Lyle, the Andrei Nova with four locked mental disorders, an embodiment of an omen that twists hearts, remained expressionless.
"When they realize the strength they traded their dignity and even their souls for is crushed by you, when you render the humiliation of these past weeks worthless, they won’t be in the mood to thank you."
"They’ll be too busy covering their faces, weeping over their misfortune, and then they’ll beat up Brandi."
"Humans remember hatred much better than gratitude."
