Novel Full Chapter 1141 Calories
Chapter 1141: Chapter 1141 Calories
"Fuck you, Ross! I don’t know what you did or how you did it—but I killed you once, and I’ll kill you again!" Wilson roared, spit flying from his lips as fury twisted every line of his face.
He pointed his blade at Ross with a trembling hand, not from fear, but from the overwhelming rage burning inside him.
Behind him, his men surged forward, forming a semi-circle around their leader.
A sea of bodies—one hundred twenty-one armed fighters, each wearing a smug, confident expression.
Their boots thudded loudly against the marble floor as they approached, the sound echoing like a war drum.
They weren’t just confident.
They were certain.
One man—even Ross—couldn’t stop them.
Ross, seated lazily on his throne, simply watched them approach.
His fingers tapped rhythmically on the armrest, his expression more amused than concerned.
"Is that so?" he murmured, tilting his head as if seeing something humorous in Wilson’s bluster.
Then his grin sharpened.
Without rising from his throne, Ross lifted one hand and made a slow, deliberate gesture in the air, as if pulling invisible strings.
The temperature in the vast chamber dropped.
A chilling wind swept through the hall, suddenly snuffing out several torches.
Shadows stretched unnaturally long.
The ground trembled—softly at first, then violently enough that some of Wilson’s men staggered.
"What the hell...?"
A chorus of footsteps echoed... dozens, then hundreds... synchronized, relentless.
From every dark corner of the hall—from behind pillars, above rafters, and even through cracks in the stone—figures began emerging.
One mask appeared. Then another. Then ten. Then fifty.
A torrent of masked warriors flooded into view, each wearing an expressionless demon mask, each moving with silent coordination.
Their armor was dark, matte, and cold, their weapons forged with eerie, sinister designs.
They surrounded Ross in a perfect circle, forming a wall of death.
One hundred of them... then even more.
At their forefront stood Brandon, towering and imposing, his demon mask marked with jagged crimson streaks that signified his command.
He rested his massive cleaver-like blade on his shoulder, his posture calm, patient... hungry.
Wilson’s men froze.
Their bravado faltered.
"This... this can’t be real," one of them whispered, stepping back.
Ross finally shifted, leaning comfortably into his throne as though he had settled into a private theater.
"Well," he said with a soft chuckle, "now our numbers are equal."
His eyes gleamed dangerously.
"Boys," he called out, his voice echoing like a king addressing his army, "make sure they don’t die too quickly."
He paused.
Then added with a cruel, satisfied smile:
"Make them suffer."
Brandon lowered his blade.
Every masked warrior leaned forward in unison.
And then—
The horde surged.
A thunderous battle cry exploded through the hall as Ross’s undead minions rushed forward with terrifying speed.
Wilson’s men barely had time to lift their weapons before the first clash rang out—metal against metal, bone against flesh, screams mixing with the thunder of combat.
Ross rested his chin on his palm, watching the chaos unfold before him like a private performance crafted for his amusement.
Blood splattered.
Men screamed.
Bodies flew across the chamber as Brandon carved through the front lines with monstrous strength.
And still Ross watched, calm and entertained, as if he were merely enjoying the opening act of a much longer show.
"No—NOOOOOO! GET AWAY FROM ME!" one of Wilson’s men shrieked, stumbling backward, his voice cracking under the sheer weight of panic.
His scream was swallowed by dozens more as the demon-masked warriors closed in like a tightening noose.
The gunfire started first—wild, frantic, uncontrolled.
Muzzle flashes lit up the hall as bullets tore through the air, slamming into the undead soldiers.
Dozens of rounds punched into their arms, chests, and skulls.
Holes ripped through their bodies; chunks of flesh and bone were blasted out.
But the undead didn’t even flinch.
It was as if their bodies were made of fog and iron at the same time.
Bullets entered—but nothing stopped.
They kept walking, jaws clenched beneath their masks, eyes burning with cold malice.
Abilities followed next.
Fireballs exploded across the chamber, bathing undead warriors in flames.
Electric arcs danced between their bodies.
Wind blades sliced through their torsos.
Ice spikes impaled legs and chests.
A barrage of magic thundered forward so violently that the entire hall shook.
And still... they advanced.
Unhurried.
Unstoppable.
Untouched in spirit even as their bodies tore apart.
Brandon took a blast of fire to the face—an inferno that would have melted steel—and swatted it aside with one hand before continuing forward, his heavy footsteps echoing like a death knell.
"WHY AREN’T THEY FALLING?!" another man screamed, voice breaking.
"THEY’RE MONSTERS! MONSTERS!" someone else cried as he emptied his magazine until the gun clicked dry.
But their terror only deepened when the undead finally reached them.
Ross’s soldiers needed no blades. No spears. No guns.
Only their hands.
And those hands were far, far more dangerous.
The first impact was sickening.
A fist smashed into a man’s sternum, caving it inward like brittle wood.
He dropped, choking on blood, eyes bulging from the instant, catastrophic pain.
"AHHHHHHHH! F-FUCK! PLEASE—PLEASE!" the man gurgled before another blow shattered his jaw and sent teeth spraying across the floor.
Nearby, another fighter swung desperately at an undead warrior—only for his fist to be caught mid-air.
The undead tightened its grip.
Crunch.
The man’s wrist snapped backward at an impossible angle.
He screamed, only for a knee to drive into his ribs, snapping them one by one.
He collapsed in a sobbing heap.
But they weren’t allowed to die quickly.
Brandon reached a fleeing man, grabbed him by the back of his neck, and slammed him into the ground so hard the marble cracked.
The victim writhed, only for Brandon to slowly, deliberately grind his boot into the man’s spine.
Pop.
A scream so raw it didn’t even sound human tore through the hall.
Another undead soldier grabbed a man by the ankle and dragged him across the floor as he clawed and kicked, leaving bloody streaks behind.