Old White touched his neck.
Am I still alive?
What a life I have!
He instinctively wanted to pick up his Double-Bladed War Axe, which had accompanied him day and night, but was surprised to find that his hand seed to pass right through the handle, as though it were insubstantial.
"Weren’t you always curious about what the world after death is like?"
A cold voice suddenly echoed in his ear.
"Who...who’s speaking, is it Miss Furin?"
Old White rembered when Furinjira broadcast her voice to their group earlier.
"It’s , Prajna."
"Miss...Miss Prajna, do you an that I’m already dead?"
Old White instinctively touched his neck again, and found it was still intact. Then he realized, after taking a slap from a Centurion-level figure, it was impossible not to sustain any injury.
His Talent was ordinary, and it was only in his later years, through rich experience, that he was barely promoted to Corner by Lord Leon. It was impossible for him to have such skills.
Looking around, the world had beco foggy, and everything seed to be covered with a layer of green glow, obscuring all other colors.
The fierce cries of slaughter seed close, yet by the ti they reached his ears, they felt as distant as another world.
So this is what the world after death is like.
"Regrettably, yes, that’s the case."
Once Old White understood his situation, he didn’t seem overly flustered or incredulous but instead calmly asked, "Miss Prajna, can you still communicate with during the battle?"
"Yes, in fact, I’m not only speaking with you."
"Do you have sothing you want us to help with?"
"That’s right. Would you like to fight your enemies one more ti?"
"Can I?"
"Give your Soul Power to , and I can enhance my strength. The cost is that your souls will dissipate rather than go to Hell to reincarnate."
"Of course!"
"I an, of course, no problem!"
Old White said with a face full of gratitude, "I never thought these old bones of mine could still help my clansn, not to ntion that people like us would definitely be thrown into the Fire Prison for punishnt even in Hell."
He continued, sighing, "It would be my greatest honor to fight these pups one more ti. Thank you so much, Miss Prajna."
"No need to thank ."
Old White laughed heartily, "The last thing I must say, Miss Prajna, is that your voice is really beautiful."
Prajna was silent for a mont before replying, "Everyone says that."
"If you are truly a Soul Hooker, this must be the greatest kindness Hell bestows on the mortal world."
"You are quite eloquent, but I am not."
"What a pity."
He looked back and saw countless flickers of souls flying toward the Ghost Gate-like Black Shield. So were familiar, and many were new faces. Ever since Basilicata reorganized into the Wolf Race Federation, there had been so many newcors that even soone as old as him couldn’t recognize them all.
He observed for a long ti, looking at those young faces, feeling a mix of relief and sadness.
It turns out, even though Basilicata no longer exists, everyone still loves this family.
It’s just a pity for these young people who, having endured so many hardships, were supposed to have a bright and new life in Texas.
Without hesitation, he spread his arms, allowing the invisible power to pull him in, transforming into a green ethereal light, entering the pitch-black Ghost Face Shield.
The ghostly wind howled.
A storm composed of hundreds of powerful souls swept across the Underworld, sky-darkening in its onslaught.
The Ghost Face Shield cried with a mournful expression. For it, this was truly a bittersweet mont; the number of souls harvested in this short ti was more than half of what it had gathered in the past combined.
But just obtaining them only to expend them imdiately, it could only savor the scent but not the taste, inflicting it with a heart-piercing agony.
Not just Furinjira had hidden cards, Prajna did too.
...
Losa looked at the scene in front of him, feeling an absurd sense of a girlfriend turning into a beast. Wasn’t it only Furinjira’s Tyrant Transformation that was so terrifying?
Thinking about it, a true-world powerhouse couldn’t possibly be confined within the frawork of a few system-assigned Skills. Their abilities couldn’t possibly be summarized in just a few lines of text.
The system notification sounded like an alarm:
Your Attendant has consud enough Soul reserves to temporarily enter an Anomaly state.
Anomaly: A display of the sa Attendant’s power at different stages.
You may spend a blank Six-Star template to permanently save this state, or you can wait for the right opportunity for the Attendant to explore and master the Anomaly template’s abilities independently.
Warning: The personality of Anomaly Attendants may undergo dramatic changes; please handle with care.
"Turns out it’s Anomaly, Prajna really hides deep."
Losa didn’t act further; he saw Prajna, with fingers like white bones, pierce through the bodies of two Centurions in succession. The remaining few tried to restrain her together, but even if they severed her fingers, they would grow back quickly.
A pitch-black Barrier enveloped the entire Tower, and the Wolf Race Centurions experienced a shift in their vision, seemingly transported to an endless Purgatory. The ground beneath their feet was a blend of blood and flesh; shriveled dead hands sprouted from the gore, resembling white flowers blooming in this red wasteland.
The heavy atmosphere of death pressed down, making it hard to breathe.
If a Heavy Iron Guard, famous for its resilience and defense, could compensate for its final shortcoming in Attack Power, it would undoubtedly be an all-rounder Hexagon Warrior.
Losa couldn’t see what was happening within the dark curtain. The enemies had been enclosed, and he couldn’t intervene, yet he didn’t want to rush to support elsewhere, fearing that Prajna might not be able to handle those people and he would need to step in later.
So he simply pondered how to get Prajna to master the Anomaly state on her own.
As for saving this state with a Six-Star template?
Forget it.
The so-called blank template, Losa felt, was rarer than a Six-Star Attendant. Recently, his lottery draws had only offered petty gadgets, even producing a 300 Gold Coins voucher or a Non-Elite Level 1 upgrade ticket, such trivial rewards, not to ntion even a single One-Star blank template hadn’t appeared.
There’s really nothing impressive.
If not for Jeanne frequently reminding him to check for new and beautiful ladies, he might have even forgotten his weekly routine draws.
Plop—
The black Barrier, like a writhing stomach, regurgitated a mass of blood and flesh.
Losa identified from the aura that it was the Centurion who had just thrown a Long Spear at him; he assud that this Centurion belonged to the elite tier among Centurions. Yet, in Prajna’s Barrier, they didn’t last even ten seconds.
But this Centurion was indeed persistently alive; despite its current state, the mass of flesh continued writhing, trying to regenerate its form.
Losa opened his mouth and exhaled a small-power Dragon Breath; the flesh seed to let out a sharp scream, convulsing until its surface turned into black char and finally ceased its movent.
"What should we do now, sir?"
The Texas Centurion hesitated for a mont before finally speaking.
Each section of the city wall was deeply engaged in a bitter struggle. He thought that instead of standing by here, they should go and support other battlefields.
Losa thought for a mont before answering, "Hold your positions. Clan Leader Juliano must have reserves. If any section of the wall can’t hold, he will surely dispatch reinforcents, so this isn’t sothing you need to worry about."
"Alright, okay."
The group fell into silent waiting.
A mont later, new enemies climbed onto the city wall.
These were evidently the enemy’s reinforcents.
But just as they ascended the wall, they experienced a shift in vision as though they found themselves in Purgatory, standing on a bloody and muddy terrain. Dried, withered hands reached from the ground, grabbing their ankles.
A ghost with a spiral horn and waterfall-like green hair swung its claws, sharp as swords, at them horizontally.
"Be careful, this monster’s power is terrifying!"
One Centurion, who had long been confined within, clutched his bleeding wound, shouting in terror.
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