Apocalypse Gachapon

Whether they were level-nine evolved or level-nine mutant lifeforms, none were omnipotent.

This held true for Ye Zhongming, and equally for the troublesome Banner that had given him so much trouble.

Ye Zhongming indeed had no perfect counter for this banner. His main constraint was time—he needed to destroy the banner quickly to protect his forces below.

Risking everything, he had leveraged his level-nine abilities to plunge directly into the banner’s core, hoping to maximize efficiency.

But even after entering and transforming into a human shredder—wielding Wind and Thunder and Undead Sand Moonblade to tear through the spectral souls with relentless energy slashes—he realized that while victory was possible, it would take far longer than he could afford.

And time was precisely what he lacked.

After all, the Banner could replenish its energy indefinitely as long as life persisted below.

It was at this moment that Ye Zhongming sensed the presence of the Saintess within the banner.

Naturally, the Saintess no longer had a physical form—only a wisp of her soul remained, preserved by the banner’s peculiar nature. Perhaps due to her overwhelming resentment, she had manifested upon sensing Ye Zhongming’s intrusion.

This Prison Banner had been reforged by devouring countless lives of Saint Light Hall’s followers. In their final moments, the fractured Hall had unanimously reaffirmed the Saintess as their leader—a state that persisted even in death.

Initially, the Saintess’s remnant soul had seemed inert. Both Sayyid (who had merged with the banner) and Ye Zhongming (who had received her warning) assumed her sacrifice had failed.

This was precisely why Sayyid hadn’t immediately unleashed the banner’s full power earlier.

Only when Ye Zhongming became a whirling blade storm inside the banner did the Saintess’s soul finally reveal itself.

The Cloud Peak King didn’t know what role this remnant could play—but its emergence signaled the final act.

With his last words spoken, Ye Zhongming’s body erupted in radiant light, the swirling blades around him multiplying exponentially.

Sayyid felt the change most acutely. Ye Zhongming’s earlier attacks had already been devastating—any soul touched by his blades would scatter, struggling to reform.

Now, witnessing Ye Zhongming’s escalation, Sayyid urgently recalled all the minor specters he had released earlier. They didn’t need to feast fully—just a taste of life energy would suffice.

The sheer number of these specters had already formed a living bridge between the banner and the ground. Now, as they returned “home,” the sky darkened further, completely blackened by their swarming masses.

Though individually weaker than their larger counterparts, their overwhelming numbers made them deadly. Cloud Peak’s disciplined defenses held firm, but the scattered Holy City residents—leaderless and divided—fell easy prey.

The specters deliberately targeted them. A single minor ghost head would plunge into a victim, feast briefly, then rocket back to the banner to replenish its energy reserves—creating a sustained cycle that barely offset Ye Zhongming’s destruction rate.

Sayyid began to relax—until the Saintess’s phantom, still hovering above the banner, locked eyes with Ye Zhongming.

To everyone watching, it seemed she nodded.

Instantly, the churning sea of souls within the banner froze solid, most of the black mist and specters becoming immobile and dull-witted.

Ye Zhongming didn’t waste this opening. His remaining blade energies converged into a single devastating strike—aimed directly at the briefly exposed banner fabric.

“AHHH—!”

A scream echoed across the Holy City as the Banner thrashed violently in midair, its dark mists dissipating by half. Once again, it reverted to its original tattered state—its true form revealed.

Ye Zhongming’s twin blades rose and fell relentlessly, each strike drawing fresh howls from Sayyid—until, finally, a human figure tore free from the banner and crashed to the ground, mirroring Aba’s fate.

Landing on Yangos’s back, Ye Zhongming gazed at the Saintess’s now-fading visage. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw her smile.

“Rest assured—I’ll kill every last one of them for you.”

He gave a slight nod of gratitude.

He truly was thankful. Without her soul’s intervention, breaching this abominable banner would have taken far longer—and cost Cloud Peak dearly.

Surveying the Holy City, Ye Zhongming noted that while the outer walls stood intact, the interior had been reduced to rubble. The city was now just an empty shell.

With a quiet command, Cloud Peak’s forces accelerated toward the gates, crushing all resistance in their path.

The defenders on the walls descended, regrouping outside the city. Unused gates were barricaded shut with debris.

Ye Zhongming stowed his blades, drawing instead a pitch-black iron bow—stringless, arrowless.

As Yangos climbed to altitude, he drew the bow. From it flew fist-sized fireballs, streaking toward the fading signal flares that still drifted slowly earthward in the sunlight.