Desperate Struggle

Sever your arms.

Yang Zheng's eyes widened in horror, veins pulsing at his temples.

'This man... his heart is more vicious than anyone I've ever encountered! Forcing me to mutilate myself, he wants to strip me of my power, turning me into nothing more than a cripple—helpless, controlled, and broken beyond repair.'

His face paled as a surge of unprecedented fury rose within him. He had already lowered himself to the point of surrender, abandoning any thought of avenging his fallen comrades. Yet, even this surrender wasn't enough for Chen Feng—there was no mercy in his eyes, only the intent to obliterate.

This wasn't just survival—this was annihilation.

"Hmm? I asked you a question. Why aren't you answering? If you can't show this level of sincerity, why should I allow you to live?" Chen Feng's voice remained disturbingly calm, his expression as cold and unfeeling as the grave.

"You're pushing me into a corner!" Yang Zheng roared, his voice shaking the ground beneath his feet, cracks splintering through the stone. He had sacrificed everything—his pride, his allies, his dignity—and yet Chen Feng still denied him the chance for even a sliver of hope. Demanding the severing of his arms wasn't survival; it was slow death. Rebellion was the only option left to him. There was no choice but to fight.

He had come to understand something in their brief exchange: Chen Feng was devoid of humanity. His heart was a void, and once a decision was made, it was irreversible.

Surrender? That had never truly been an option.

From the very beginning, Chen Feng's gaze had been that of a predator, a butcher who looked upon a dead man. There was no intention of mercy, no plan to spare him. Yang Zheng had only one path, and that was to die fighting.

Enraged, he crossed his arms in front of his chest like a cornered beast making its final, desperate stand.

"I gave you a chance, but you didn't take it. Don't blame me for what comes next." Chen Feng's voice dropped, as cold as the grave. "Fura, send him on his way."

At the command, Fura's body sprang forward with lightning speed, her fists cutting through the air like blades. The sheer force of her attack was suffocating, and the very air crackled with the violent surge of power, assaulting the ears of those nearby with the intensity of the oncoming storm.

Swish, swish, swish!

In mere seconds, she was upon Yang Zheng, her strikes a whirlwind of death. Her fists formed a cage, trapping him with blows that came from every angle—no escape, no time to react.

Each strike carried the weight of a hundred beasts, her precision deadly.

Attack, punch, overwhelm.

Her movements were flawless, an unbroken rhythm of brutality, leaving Yang Zheng gasping for air. He had no time to defend himself, no time to even see the attacks coming.

Chen Feng had seen countless martial techniques over the years. He had witnessed fighters of all kinds, some capable of delivering a flurry of kicks in the blink of an eye, earning them nicknames like 'Ghost Shadow.' But compared to Fura's lethal fluidity, those skills were insignificant.

One punch! Two punches!

Yang Zheng's defenses shattered as her fists connected with his chest and abdomen. Blood erupted from his mouth, splattering the ground in front of him. His knees buckled under the weight of her relentless assault.

Victory was within reach, yet a gnawing unease began to creep into Chen Feng's mind.

Yang Zheng staggered back, his pupils dim and lifeless, but his eyes remained locked on Chen Feng like those of a cornered beast, desperation fueling his every breath. He was a lion surrounded by wolves, pressed against the edge of a cliff with nowhere to escape.

The more desperate Yang Zheng became, the more Chen Feng sensed something was terribly wrong. A dark, malevolent energy was stirring deep within him, growing stronger, fueled by his resentment and refusal to accept defeat.

Yang Zheng let out a twisted, guttural laugh that grated like broken glass. His voice, hoarse and rasping, sounded like a crow's screeching cry.

"I refuse! I reject this fate! Monsters, disasters, the calamities that terrify others—I've crushed them all. Anyone who crosses my path is crushed beneath me. Women? If I want them, they end up in my bed! I've survived too many near-deaths, outlived too many threats. How could I lose now? How could I possibly die here?!"

His rage-laced words echoed, and as they did, a sinister aura pulsed from his body. Ghostly, spectral images of beasts began to materialize behind him—thirteen in total. Bears, lions, leopards, and elephants. With each roar, these phantoms merged, their forms twisting into a single monstrous creature.

The abomination was a nightmare given form—a lion's body, elephant's trunk, bear's claws, bull's horns, and a leopard's tail. It stood on all fours, its crocodile-like eyes gleaming with a bloodthirsty, unnatural hunger. Its presence was suffocating, a harbinger of destruction.

Boom!

The ground beneath Yang Zheng splintered as his skin flushed blood-red. A manic grin split his face as he fused with the beast. His voice, now a deep, guttural snarl, reverberated through the air: "I've evolved! Thank you for pushing me to the edge—only through this threat of death could my power grow. Now, I leave. Who can stop me?"

He continued, venom lacing his every word: "Wait for me... when I return, stronger than ever, I'll drown this place in blood. The women? I'll torture them until they beg for death. The men? I'll flay them alive. And you," he pointed at Chen Feng with a trembling, hate-filled finger, "I'll tear out your eyes, rip off your ears, poison your throat until you can't scream, then cut off your limbs one by one. But I won't let you die—no, I'll keep you alive, stuff you in wine barrel and let you perpetually drown in agony for eternity!"

"I want you... to live in endless torment!"

With that, Yang Zheng unleashed a punch, the monstrous beast behind him charging forward in sync, its roar an ear-splitting cacophony of wild animal howls, echoing like cannon fire. Even Fura, fierce as she was, felt the crushing weight of his unleashed power.

Bang!

Fura couldn't withstand the force. Her body was thrown through the air, spinning violently before crashing to the ground. Her arms hung limp, paralyzed from the impact.

Having unleashed his fury, Yang Zheng turned, casting one final, seething glance at Chen Feng before launching himself into the distance like a meteor, fleeing into the night.

He ran!

Despite the surge of newfound power, he chose to flee, not fight. His mind remained sharp and calculating, understanding that lingering would mean certain death. Given time to recover, he would return even more dangerous—more monstrous.

If Yang Zheng returned, the factory would face a massacre, a hellish retribution.

"Running? You think you can escape? You think you're invincible, but you're nothing more than a rabid dog!" Chen Feng's voice roared, filled with fury. "Dark Elf, Harbinger, Dretch—emerge! Hunt him down. His life ends today, and not even the gods can save him!"

As Chen Feng's words thundered through the night, three rifts tore open the air. The Dark Elf, the Harbinger, and the Dretch emerged without hesitation, their presence a harbinger of death.

The Dark Elf wasted no time, her sharp, thorn-tipped arrow already nocked on her longbow. With precise, lethal intent, she pulled back the string and released, sending an energy-charged shot hurtling toward the fleeing Yang Zheng.

The Harbinger emerged from the shadows to Chen Feng's left, its blood-red eyes glowing with a deathly gleam from behind a veil of rusted barbed wire. Its presence alone exuded such a chilling aura that it made one's skin crawl.

The Dretch, ever grotesque, maintained its disturbingly sweet smile, but its dozen writhing arms fanned out wide, lunging at Yang Zheng like a vengeful specter from the depths of a nightmare.

So many powerful beings!

Each of these creatures exuded a level of strength equal to Yang Zheng's own—perhaps even greater. How could Chen Feng command such horrors?

Panic surged through Yang Zheng, shattering the last remnants of his pride. As he bore witness to the terrifying cards Chen Feng had only just revealed, disbelief and dread paralyzed him. His heart skipped, and for the first time, true fear clouded his eyes.

Pftsh!

The Dark Elf's arrow streaked through the air like a bolt of shadowed lightning. In his broken state of mind, Yang Zheng barely registered its approach. The arrow pierced through his right leg, shredding muscle and tendon, sending him crashing to the ground with a sickening thud.

Before he could even process the searing pain, the Dretch was upon him. Its dozen arms latched onto his body like iron chains, each one tightening with the force of a hundred pounds, crushing him from all sides. His bones groaned under the pressure, and it felt as though his insides would burst at any moment.

Grooawrhhr…

The Harbinger arrived, towering over Yang Zheng's writhing form. Gripping its weapon, the Epic Fang, it swung with all its might, aiming for Yang Zheng's exposed neck.

Thud!

His head, still contorted in disbelief, terror, and shock, rolled across the ground. The legendary Yang Zheng was dead—his life severed in an instant, without fanfare or resistance.

The combined might of Chen Feng's most terrifying subordinates had proven overwhelming. Yang Zheng, once destined to be a future legend, hadn't even been granted a moment to comprehend his impending death. His demise had been swift, brutal, and undeniable.

Chen Feng surveyed the scene, his eyes gleaming with a cold, crimson light as they settled on Yang Zheng's lifeless body. A man whose name would have echoed through the future had been brought down by a single command from his lips. The power in this act—this absolute control over life and death—surged through Chen Feng, filling him with a dark satisfaction.

This feeling!

It was indescribable. The knowledge that he could dictate the fate of those around him, that their lives hung by the thinnest of threads, and that he alone held the scythe that could sever them.

With the Dark Elf, the Harbinger, the Dretch, and Fura standing at his side, Chen Feng's presence was that of a true demon lord. His aura spread like a palpable shadow, thick and oppressive, instilling a primal fear that gnawed at the bones of anyone nearby. It was a fear that made even the most hardened warriors want to kneel in submission, their wills broken by the sheer weight of his power.

Even Wei Xun, lying injured with his twisted arm, stared in stunned silence. His pain forgotten, his gaze fixed on Chen Feng. It was the first time he had truly seen the extent of Chen Feng's strength—utterly overwhelming, leaving no room for hope.

Sensing Wei Xun's gaze, Chen Feng spoke in a low, chilling tone. "Your injuries are severe. Even if you were treated by a healer, your arm would remain useless. But you've shown loyalty, defending my foundation. As a man of principle, I reward merit and punish disloyalty. Today, I will grant you an opportunity—a chance to reforge your arm with the flesh and blood of the strong."

Chen Feng's eyes settled on Yang Zheng's lifeless form, his voice a chilling whisper, like death itself speaking. "You dared to shatter my subordinate's arm? Then your body will be the price paid in full. A fitting offering—your flesh and blood, once full of arrogance, will now serve a far greater purpose. I will carve you down to nothing, and from your remains, Wei Xun's arm will rise anew. A sacrifice—fitting, isn't it? In death, you'll be reduced to a tool, just as you should have been in life."