A completely naked man is hanging with both hands on a steel beam traversing the floor, several dozen centiters thick.
A brilliant golden fla bursts forth from his body, enveloping him entirely.
The emitted light seems to have life, drifting slowly like ribbons, swirling around his body incessantly.
What’s more remarkable is that this light does not expand freely around, as if constrained by an invisible barrier.
When the light reaches the edge of a radius of about two ters, it stops, condenses but doesn’t disperse.
It distinctly isolates the smoke and fire inside and outside the circle, forming an independent domain of light.
The concrete debris and twisted steel bars falling continuously, as soon as they touch the edge of the light circle, seem to hit an invisible force field, and are deflected and bounced away.
Only creating ripples on the surface of the golden flas.
With the blessing of this golden light, his defensive power and temperature resistance seem to have risen to a superhuman level.
The injuries sustained from the Infinite Explosion Beehive, skin areas largely carbonized.
Are now visibly being nurtured by the golden light, regenerating skin at a fast pace, scabbing over until healed.
Charred dead skin falls off in pieces, revealing the new tender pink skin underneath.
Ghost Scythe’s heart pounds wildly, swallowing hard.
"No... impossible! How can this guy still be alive?"
What terrifies him more is Fang Cheng’s behavior at this mont.
Right in the center of a ruin that might completely collapse at any mont, he remains unnaturally calm and unhurried.
His hands grip the steel beam, body hanging suspended.
As if not experiencing a life-and-death disaster, but undergoing so ancient and sacred training within the raging inferno.
But his movents are extrely slow, even bearing an indescribable sense of weight.
As his body slowly pulls up, the biceps and deltoid muscles on his arms bulge prominently, veins protruding like earthworms.
Then his legs also slowly curl up, feet bracing against the remaining half of a thickened shear wall behind him.
His stance in mid-air resembles a recurve bow ready to fire.
The bowstring is that several dozen-centiter-thick H-beam.
The arrow, naturally, is Fang Cheng’s refined body.
And the target, precisely Ghost Scythe a hundred ters in the air.
"Creak— Creak—"
The heavy steel beam emits unbearable groans, amazingly beginning to visibly twist and deform under his pulling.
Clearly, within his body, thousands of tons of hydraulic power are accumulating and compressing furiously.
What is even more unsettling is the state of Fang Cheng’s back.
The spine, like a waking dragon, crackling and twisting violently.
The entire back muscle group, engorged with blood, bulges.
A distinctly twisted ghost face, as if silently weeping, is vividly imprinted on his back.
Blazing steam and flas gush from his pores, making him look like a demon freshly pulled from a furnace.
Ghost Scythe watches this scene, eyelids twitching uncontrollably, a naless sense of impotence rising in his heart.
Is this guy even human anymore?!
Bear in mind, the "Infinite Explosion Beehive" he deployed is a forbidden technique that could even destroy heavy tanks!
His gaze fixates on that figure surrounded by the sea of fire, appearing stuck in mid-air unable to advance or retreat.
Ghost Scythe forcibly suppresses his fear, quickly regaining composure.
No matter how strong his opponent is, at least he holds air superiority, maintaining the advantage.
"White Owl, do you know why the organization sent here?"
He shouts with a grin, though his voice wavers with tension:
"It’s because my ability completely restrains brute force creatures like you!"
As he speaks, he swiftly retrieves the last clump of high-activity clay from his toolbox, quickly kneading it into a sharp spiraled spear.
The spear tip flickering with dangerous cold light, radiating a scent of death.
"Since you refuse to obediently head to Hell, I’ll just send you on your way!"
"Go to hell for !"
Saying this, he swings his arm vigorously.
The clay spear cuts through the air, releasing a piercing whistling sound, aiming straight for the golden light.
Just as the clay spear leaves hand, Fang Cheng’s buildup reaches its peak.
The crying ghost face on his back suddenly reveals a hideous, wild smile.
"Boom—"
A deafening explosion.
The half-shear wall under his feet shatters instantly into powdery dust.
anwhile, his hands abruptly release.
The energy unleashed in that instant is terrifying to the extre.
Fang Cheng’s entire body catapults out, drawing a visible white shockwave through the air, instantly crossing over a hundred ters of night sky.
Such speed, such montum, sothing no human could possess; it was simply a humanoid missile.
The spear thrown by Ghost Scythe had only flown dozens of ters before eting this terrifying "human missile" mid-air.
Fang Cheng made no attempt to dodge.
Only slightly tilting his body during high-speed flight, he brushed past the spear at an unbelievable angle.
The speed was so intense that the airflow knocked the spear off its trajectory.
His forward montum did not diminish, still carrying with it an unstoppable force, directly pouncing towards the hovering Ghost Scythe.
"What?!"
Ghost Scythe’s eyes widen.
At that mont, he feels like a seagull targeted by a giant-toothed shark charging from the Abyssal depths.
That is the most primal, most desperate fear a creature feels when facing its natural enemy.
What kind of explosive power is this?!
Although his heart is full of horror, Ghost Scythe’s reaction is extrely quick.
He decisively detonates the off-target spear, trying to use the explosive shockwave to block the opponent.
"Boom!"
A massive fireball explodes in the airspace below them.
The hot blast collides fiercely with Fang Cheng, simultaneously blowing Ghost Scythe several ters upward.
Ghost Scythe stabilizes himself strongly mid-air, using the trailing jet from his wings, feeling a mont of fleeting relief.
However, before he can exhale completely.
"Slap!"
A pair of large scorching white-smoky hands, ripping through the firelight, suddenly grab hold of his ankle.
What’s happening?!
Ghost Scythe looks down in terror.
eting his gaze is a ghostly mask, turned crimson by the firelight.
And those eyes, hotter than fire, deeper than the Abyss.
"Got you, little bird."
Fang Cheng’s voice, right by his ear.
Calm to the point of horror, yet carrying a chill that freezes Ghost Scythe’s soul.
This scene remarkably overlaps with the "falling from the sky" vision Lin Chuqiao prophesied.
Only now, the roles of attacker and defender have switched.
The black-clothed man with wings becos the desperate prey, and the non-flying Fang Cheng is the true Hunter.
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