Chapter 879: Kill Them All

The wind whipped past Zhong He's face as Thick Earth pushed him aside, forcing his eyes shut. When they opened, the metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils. Thick Earth stood motionless, split from shoulder to waist like a hewn log.

Arms limp and head bowed, Thick Earth stared blankly ahead. Blood sprayed as he toppled forward.

His last conscious thought flickered:

Whatever, I won this time. Can't wait to rub it in Tall Sky's face...

Whoosh.

The Black Gold boomerang curved back through the air, streaking toward Zhong He.

He armored himself with Phantom instantly. The weapon struck his chest, hurling him eight meters back—but failed to pierce his shadowy defense.

"First Firelord! Nomad!"

Amon caught her returning boomerang mid-stride, rushing to check her fallen comrades. Two glances told her everything; neither would be brought back to life.

"Bastard!" Fury blazed in her eyes as she charged at Zhong He, weapon raised.

Shadow erupted from beneath Zhong He's feet as he rose. It coalesced into a towering soldier, wielding an enormous axe that crashed down toward Amon.

Clang.

Her boomerang caught the blow, but the force threw her back several meters. She stumbled, then steadied herself, eyes widening at the sight before her.

Zhong He stood wreathed in darkness, countless strands of shadow energy writhing around him like living smoke. He'd become something otherworldly—a demon risen from the depths of hell.

His Phantom had evolved, reaching level 7. No longer bound to his form, no longer limited to flat shapes or partial manifestations. Now his shadows lived, autonomous and able to take three-dimensional forms. The element’s power, speed, and strength sat at the top among all elemental Talents.

Deep in Zhong He's mind, his inner coward remained trapped in that dark room, searching desperately for an exit. But Zhong He no longer sought escape or craved the light. Let the coward rot in darkness.

Only one thought consumed him now:

Revenge!

Against whom?

Don't know. Doesn't matter.

"Shadow Legion!" The command tore from his throat.

Eighteen shadow warriors materialized before him, each unique in size and form. Ancient plate armor covered their ethereal forms, their weapons spanning the arsenal of war—spears, glaives, axes, morning stars, shields, and bows. Their leader towered above the rest astride a massive shadow steed, his long-handled glaive gleaming with menace.

Zhong He’s eyes turned a pure black with no detail.

Amon was stunned.

Amon froze, remembering Colorless's warning: beyond War Tiger, Gao Yang, and Wang Zikai, be wary of Zhong He, their once colleague, most of all. His Phantom ranked thirteenth among all Talents—just outside the top twelve. They couldn’t be more wary of him.

Zhong He's black gaze fixed on Amon. Lips parting, he uttered an order to his legion: “Kill them all.”

The shadow warriors surged forward like a black tempest unleashed.

Amon knew she couldn't escape. She raised her boomerang as a shield, deflecting a shadow arrow, but that split second of distraction was all they needed. A shadow assassin materialized above her, shortsword gleaming. She moved to block, already too late.

They came in waves: an axe fighter, a spearman, another with a morning star, a swordsman. Their weapons were mere extensions of their shadowy forms—each soldier a living weapon itself. Amon's defenses crumbled under the assault.

The shadow warriors transformed into streams of pure darkness, eighteen strokes of black calligraphy converging on their target. Amon retreated desperately through the dark tempest.

After the barrage, the shadow soldiers collapsed into pure energy, flowing back to Zhong He's body like ink returning to its well. Dark power radiated from his form.

His breath came in sharp bursts—his first time wielding level 7 Phantom's ultimate technique had drained him severely. He paused, struggling to control the complex web of energy pathways writhing beneath his skin.

Amon stood motionless, eyes wide, face frozen.

Clang.

Her boomerang hit the ground.

A heartbeat later, crimson lines bloomed across her body. Blood sprayed in fine mists. The shadow strands had penetrated her completely, holding her form together even as they destroyed it from within.

"Amon!"

Colorless rushed forward to aid her, but it was too late.

"Stay with me!"

She knelt by Amon’s side and jabbed a syringe of Medicine C into Amon’s bloodied chest. It didn’t feel like she was putting a needle into a human body, but a ball of cotton.

It didn’t work.

Amon’s body was bleeding from all parts; like a completely dried land, it couldn’t retain any water.

She fixed her gaze on Colorless, lips moving. Only hisses emerged, but Colorless read the words:

"I've asked you many times... Why wouldn't you visit my shop... Are you... that scared of me?"

Amon tried to smirk one last time. She couldn’t.

Her head fell forward.

"No, no, nonononono..."

Colorless clutched her companion's cooling body. She'd lost teammates before. Lost loved ones before.

But never had words failed her so completely.

"No..."

"No..."

"No."

Seconds stretched like hours. Colorless laid Amon down with terrible gentleness. Her pale face twisted, bloodshot eyes burning with rage through tears.

Power burst from her like a shockwave. Petrify reached level 7.

Without hesitation, she turned her ring, injecting herself with the medicine of Equivalent Exchange. Her power doubled instantly.

Curse of Red Snakes!