Chapter 92: Twenty-Five Seconds （The - has been revised and is now updated）

Chapter 92: Twenty-Five Seconds （The Chapter has been revised and is now updated）

Tenfold gravity bore down on him, drawing a low groan from the joints of his black scale armor. Lin Yan knelt with one knee buried in the sand, coldly studying the swelling figure before him.

An iron man?

For all that growing bulk, he felt little threat.

He looked past the iron-gray shoulder toward the rear. The woman in the gray cloak knelt behind the line, black blood streaming from her eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. Both hands gripped her staff, trembling as violently as the rest of her.

She won’t last much longer.

Chen strode toward him.

With every step, his iron-gray flesh swelled, forcing white currents of energy from his pores. Thick as snakes, they coiled around his arms, chest, and back, churning harder with each lengthening stride.

Two steps, and the surging air swept the sand a meter from his feet.

Four, and the white currents had merged into a glaring whirlwind, scattering grit in all directions. He came through it like a beast of solid iron bursting out of the mist.

The sand erupted beneath him. Chen launched himself into the air, his enormous shadow falling over Lin Yan.

The white energy around his arms rushed into his right fist. With the full momentum of his descending body behind it, the blow came down at Lin Yan’s face like an iron sledgehammer.

He could not dodge.

He had no intention of trying.

Lin Yan braced himself and raised his left forearm beneath the falling fist.

His fist met the bracer with a heavy metallic crash. Air burst outward from the impact, sweeping the surrounding sand several meters away.

Lin Yan sank lower, his right knee driven another half-foot into the ground. But his left arm held firm above his head, stopping the fist from descending any farther.

The white energy around Chen’s knuckles scattered. Skin and flesh split on impact, spattering the black bracer with blood.

Through his faceplate, Lin Yan regarded the bleeding fist.

Impressive entrance.

That’s about it.

The thought had barely formed before Chen’s second punch crashed down through the churning air.

THUD!

Blood sprayed from his knuckles. The white currents caught it, spreading a pale red haze between them.

Then came the third punch. The fourth.

He was getting faster. One fist had barely recoiled before the other drove in, shoulders and elbows working with each twist of his hips. Each blow built on the last, gathering weight as the barrage accelerated.

Faster.

Still faster!

More blood poured from his hands. Every burst of mist was swept back into the currents almost as soon as it scattered, staining the white energy pink, then red, until a dense scarlet aura seethed around his body.

Dozens of punches became a hundred in a heartbeat. Chen’s arms blurred into a storm, each blow screaming through the air with crushing force.

Lin Yan’s raised forearm began to tremble.

His entire view filled with red fists hammering down at him.

What the fuck?!

On the flank, the leather-coated man’s eyes had gone bloodshot.

He gritted his teeth as blood poured from his palm into the revolver. Every remaining round in the cylinder turned crimson, the veins across their tips swelling thicker and denser. He raised the revolver and fired in rapid succession, muzzle flashes strobing through the red haze.

Bullets struck Lin Yan’s armor, bursting their blood coating into mist that spattered the gap in his faceplate and the side of his neck. The blood curse worked its way into him again. His shoulder and arm hesitated just as he tried to push back, and another punch slammed his bracer against his chest.

With every shot, the leather-coated man grew paler. Within seconds, his cheeks had hollowed and his lips had turned an ashen gray. He looked like a living corpse drained of blood.

The last round left the barrel. His knees buckled, and he collapsed into the sand, barely able to hold himself up on his elbows. He panted like a dying dog, his eyes still fixed on the fight.

Lin Yan clenched his teeth and pushed through his right leg, trying to rise from the hollow. Gravity weighed down every movement, while the blood curse delayed his muscles by a fraction. His knee had barely cleared the sand when another punch struck his raised bracer and knocked him backward.

The next blow was already coming.

Still gripping his sword, he braced his right forearm behind his left and forced himself upright beneath the barrage. But he could no longer hold his footing. Chen pressed forward, scarlet fists hammering into his guard, driving the black-armored figure backward as his boots carved two deep furrows through the sand.

The pounding abruptly stopped.

Alarm flared through Lin Yan. The blood-red aura before him had already reversed its flow, pouring into Chen’s mouth and nostrils. His iron-gray chest swelled violently. As he drew back his fist and twisted his body, the muscles across his shoulders and back tightened together, his joints cracking in rapid succession.

The right fist drawn beside his ribs had been stripped of flesh. Scraps hung between jagged, broken finger bones, yet the hand remained clenched tight.

Danger—

The sand beneath Chen collapsed.

Lin Yan never saw him throw the punch. A white ring of compressed air burst against his bracers—

BOOM!

The armor buckled inward. Overlapping plates at his wrists and elbows wrenched out of alignment, their fastenings snapping one after another. Black plates spun away as both arms were driven into his chest, and Lin Yan was hurled backward.

Tenfold gravity still had him. He rose only a few feet before it dragged him violently down. His shoulders struck first, and he rolled through a spray of sand, plowing a deep furrow for more than ten meters.

Lin Yan dug the fingers of his left hand into the ground, carving several more grooves before he stopped. His right hand still gripped the sword. He drew his legs beneath him and pushed up onto one knee, a thin trickle of blood escaping the corner of his mouth.

"Fuck. Bit my tongue."

Before he could look up, wild delight spread across the leather-coated man’s wasted face. Propping himself higher, veins standing out along his neck, he screamed toward the emplacement.

"NOW... FIRE!"

"FIRE THE FUCKING GUN!"

His cries tore through the wind.

Lin Yan raised his head, but the danger he expected never came.

He turned toward the emplacement. Less than thirty meters directly ahead, a broad, dark muzzle protruded between heavy camouflage netting and a sandbag barricade.

So that’s what they were setting up.

The close fighting, the relentless pressure, even that final punch that had sent him flying—all of it had been meant to put him here.

But the battlefield fell silent.

Wind swept sand through the position. Only the leather-coated man’s hoarse cries echoed among the wreckage.

The elation froze on his face.

In the shadows behind the gun, the newcomer assigned to fire it lay in a pool of blood, the back of his skull caved in by a blunt weapon. He was motionless.

Beside the gun carriage stood the newcomer the leather-coated man had slapped to the ground and humiliated before the others—the one whose hand he had pinned against his swollen cheek and ground beneath his boot.

A bloodied wrench hung from the newcomer’s hand. Expressionless, he looked down at the man sprawled in the sand.

Their eyes met.

The young man’s lips moved. No sound reached him, but the words were unmistakable.

Go fuck yourself.

The leather-coated man’s mouth hung open.

[00:25]

Elena coughed up one last mouthful of black blood. The staff slipped from her hands and rolled into the sand.

Her eyes lay deep in their sockets, so obscured by blood and shadow that they looked like two dark hollows. Blood from her eyes, ears, nose, and mouth dripped from her chin; the front of her gray cloak was soaked dark red. The last breath she had fought to hold escaped, leaving nothing to sustain her exhausted body.

Thud.

She fell like a puppet with its strings cut.

Elena.

Burned out. Dead.