The Emperor’s Angel of Death

Since status was so important, those who could reside in the Great Black Heaven Palace were naturally the supreme Heart-Eater King, whose divine might even the ant-like candidates at the foot of the mountain could feel.

They also dreamed of one day being able to personally meet this God.

But as they climbed higher, the air began to grow colder, with only the unchanging stench of rotting death—the bodily remains of enslaved mutants left by the roadside, surrounded by bloated flies.

Here once stood a magnificent, shattered temple, which even after being occupied, could still project its influence onto reality; the remains even writhed, as if the life force that should have long been lost still lingered within their decaying bodies.

The candidates ignored the walking dead, climbing along the winding mountain road, guided by the sound of the wind and the evil spirits wandering in the wind, passing through fanged archways. Although screams and clanging hammer sounds, or strange, formless shadows, occasionally came from behind, none of them looked back, because the selection was a death game: the winner lived, and the loser died. Even if they didn't die at the hands of their competitors, they would die from the treacherous environment.

Soon, they passed through the last archway and arrived at a narrow iron bridge, from which they could already see the magnificent Gate of Chaxin, but sometimes what seemed close at hand was actually far away.

This bridge spanned a chasm, connecting the towering towers on the black rocks of the opposite cliff.

However, there were already people on this road.

In the middle of the bridge, five figures turned around, each with a fierce and menacing look, each with blood-stained battle robes, and even the heads of the defeated hanging from their waists.

Without any extra words, the four drew their weapons.

Four against five, this would be a bloody battle, and no one knew if they could survive to the end, especially on such a narrow battlefield.

"This time, we have to fight for our lives."

Tsering's voice was a little excited, his eyes twitching at the impending violence, and his fingers crackling as he gripped his battle axe.

The slave candidate also took up his weapon, an ancient-looking spear with a magically orange-glowing blade.

"Kill!!!"

With a roar, the four charged along the bridge towards their opponents.

The five on the other side also roared and charged up.

But the first thing to collide was not weapons, but bolts of lightning and flames. Although they were all exhausted, they still squeezed out their last bit of psionic power to attack each other. The air was instantly filled with intense sparks and loud noises, and the huge impact shook the entire bridge.

Two figures screamed as they were knocked into the abyss, one from each team. It was not a glorious death, but they had no choice.

Tsering roared almost madly, the tattoos around his body turning blood red, which allowed him to resist the sweeping flames and lightning. Then he punched through the chest of a swordsman on the other side, and then headbutted the opponent, smashing his face, twisted with pain. The slave risked stepping on the edge of the bridge, like a nimble bird, running in a steel-wire-like dangerous situation, and pierced a person with a spear.

The man in armor and a human skin cloak faced off against a man also wielding a black spear. He expected the enemy to wave his spear to defend against this attack, thereby exposing a weak point in his defense, and then he would—

However, the other party slammed the shaft of his weapon against the bridge and spat out the most hateful syllables he had ever heard.

Black flames erupted from the tip of the spear, rampaging across the ground. The man raised his arms in vain to try to protect himself, but instead of feeling searing pain, he felt his internal organs being torn apart. The claws of a supreme demon gripped his muscles and bones, twisting them violently.

The human-skin-cloak knelt on the ground, falling forward, his lower body beginning to dissolve. Through the disgusting pus dripping from his eyes, he looked at his hands, the bones in his fingers already turned to powder, the flesh stretched into ribbons.

He tried to moan, but could only spit out saliva, because his lower lip and tongue had melted together, twitching feebly.

"Die!"

At this time, there were 2 people left on the other side, and 2 people left on this side. Tsering attacked the black spear wielder fiercely, but the other party dodged easily.

But he knew that he couldn't give the other party a chance to chant a spell. This person's witchcraft was very strong, exaggeratedly strong, so he had to attack first. Regardless of the spear blades slashing like a storm, he charged and attacked recklessly, relying on the powerful defensive power emitted by the tattoos that had begun to spontaneously combust, resisting the attacks and exchanging injuries with the other party.

Faced with such a crazy opponent, the spear wielder was a little uncomfortable. After being slashed in the chest and left arm, he wanted to retreat, but the howling Tsering still clung on like a mad dog, finally forcing the man to suddenly turn around and throw off his robe.

The robe, covered in human faces, immediately burst into blue flames and covered the crazy blood-colored tattoos on Tsering's body, making Tsering feel as if he had fallen into an ice cellar, and his speed suddenly slowed down.

The next second, a spear drilled in like a poisonous snake, piercing his shoulder.

"What a despicable crow!"

The momentary pain stimulated the mad blood in Tsering's body. This was the last life-saving trump card his mother had left him, but once he used this thing, the success rate of his future transformation surgery would be greatly reduced.

But at this time, he could only talk about the future if he survived. In a terrifying roar, a symbol belonging to the blood god suddenly protruded from his chest.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!"

His brain seemed to be ignited in an instant. Tsering had forgotten everything at this time, and the whole world had turned blood red, and his only goal was that ugly, bird-like, astonished face.

"Kill kill kill kill!!!"

Tsering turned into a frenzied blood-colored whirlwind, howling and crashing into his opponent. The man hurriedly raised his spear to resist, but the huge force directly knocked his weapon aside, and then the axe made intimate contact with his forehead.

"Kill!!!"

After knocking the opponent down with one axe, Tsering struck again, cutting the opponent in half at the waist, and then frantically chopped the corpse on the ground dozens of times until it became a pool of blurred flesh.

"Slave!"

But the killing hadn't stopped. Tsering's blurred consciousness told him that he still had one person to kill, and that guy—

"You will die pathetically at the hands of a slave."

The next second, a spear pierced Tsering's chest. He looked down in disbelief at everything, then grabbed the stone spearhead tightly with his hand.

"I-impossible... How could you hurt..."

"Tsering, are you surprised?"

The other party's ghostly voice reached his ears, as if it were a life-threatening magic sound.

"Dying at the hands of a slave, how pathetic? This is called the strong are strong alone. Remember, my name is Yeshe."