648 Teamwork
On the top floor of the beige building belonging to the patrol team, a middle-aged man in a thin black suit heard Jenna’s voice.
The man, a mix of Intis and West Balam lineage, held the crystal skull and recited a mysterious language with a strong sense of death.
In the next moment, a decaying palm extended from the void in front of him. Its joints were thick, and its skin was bleeding, revealing signs of decay.
The palm belonged to a corpse that looked vaguely human but, upon closer inspection, resembled a monster.
Over 1.8 meters tall, its face concealed by a rusty bronze mask, and its torso composed of corpses from various species, including lions, tigers, black wolves, baboons, giant serpents, vultures, and humans themselves–all in a severe state of rot.
The corpse’s bronze mask flickered with dark-red lights in its eyes as it took a step forward, arriving in Camus’s office.
Faced with Camus, who had a revolver in his right hand, staggering toward his forehead, the monstrous corpse removed its bronze mask.
Underneath the mask, there was no nose, flesh, or bones. Only two dark-red balls of light and a mouth that occupied four-fifths of the head.
The mouth opened wide, revealing a pitch-black interior.
A terrifying suction force emanated from the mouth, affecting Camus’s spirit but having no effect on the documents, newspapers, and other items on the desk. It only caused Camus’s spirit to surface, as if pulled by an invisible force, about to be plunged into hell.
As Camus’s Spirit Body materialized, the grayish-white clown seeped out of his flesh, revealing its complete form–a magnified, illusory poker card.
The poker card had no body of its own and was swiftly drawn out by the pitch-black mouth beneath the bronze mask. Camus’s Spirit Body struggled.
Smack!
The poker card materialized and fell to the ground, emitting the sound of a heavy object colliding with solid bricks, but there was no metallic sound.
…
In the Matani Import and Export Shop, the male bathroom lay in ruins. The door and the wall facing the corridor crumbled into fragments, scattering for several meters, as if a storm had passed through.
The Bottle of Fiction had lost its effect.
Amidst the residual fragments of light and the lingering sulfur smell, Twanaku rolled out in his Devil form.
His pitch-black skin bore hideous wounds, and his flesh seemed to evaporate. Half of the two curved goat horns on his head were gone, and viscous black liquid flowed from the cracks.
The bat-like wings on his back were tattered and drooping.
The Hurricane of Light possessed the unique ability to destroy evil creatures and undead beings.
Had Twanaku not resisted in his Devil form and instead transformed into a Wraith, he might have faced severe injury, teetering on the brink of death, or even elimination.
The Hurricane of Light could vanquish Wraiths and injure evil spirits.
Despite being severely injured, Twanaku, still capable of combat, calmly suppressed his tyrannical and bloodthirsty emotions. Realizing he had escaped the seal, he prepared to transform into a Wraith and escape through the surrounding mirrors.
Just as he made this decision, a sudden sense of Danger Premonition struck him.
The malice came from behind, and in the shadows outside the bathroom, Franca, dressed in an Assassin suit, emerged, raising her left hand.
On her left thumb, she wore an iron-colored ring with a thick band and a surface covered in small spikes–Ring of Punishment!
Franca’s lake-blue eyes flickered with lightning, moving many times faster than the fastest bullets, shooting out silently with
Psychic Piercing!
Hidden Blade… Why do I only sense her malice now… The severely injured Twanaku couldn’t dodge in time and suddenly heard an illusory shattering sound.
The shattering sound echoed from Twanaku’s Spirit Body, and intense pain flooded his mind, compelling him to raise his hands to cover his head.
Seizing the opportunity, Franca swiftly took out a mirror and reflected Twanaku in his Devil form.
Black flames ignited in her left palm as she smeared it across the mirror’s surface–
Demoness’s curse!
Black flames erupted from Twanaku’s body, but nearly two-thirds were suppressed by his flesh and blood, leaving only a portion of the colossal Devil’s Spirit Body to be incinerated.
Being a Devil, immune to curses to a certain extent, helped Twanaku endure the Demoness’s curse better, given his already ravaged state from the Hurricane of Light.
Finally free from the influence of Psychic Piercing, Twanaku, with his Spirit Body engulfed in black flames, transformed into a pitch-black, viscous liquid.
These liquids seemed to originate from the darkest corners of the human heart, representing the most sinister and shadowy desires and emotions.
Twanaku abandoned Wraith Form, choosing Desire Apostle’s Desire Incarnation because Demoness’s black flames targeted the Spirit Body more.
Before the pitch-black viscous liquid could fully elongate into a human figure, he fled into the nearby darkness, sensing a strong Danger Premonition in his heart.
At the corridor’s entrance, Anthony Reid, donned in military-
green attire, appeared in a blind spot.
His eyes took on a faint golden hue, transforming into vertical pupils—Psychological Invisibility!
Frenzy!
He entered a frenzied state. Already grievously injured and subjected to Psychic Piercing and the Demoness’s curse, he was on the verge of losing control.
Rumble!
Light-blue sulfur fireballs pelted the surroundings, propelled by Twanaku’s wild instincts.
Franca’s form quickly shattered into mirror fragments, while Anthony’s body sprouted grayish-white dragon scales. He leaped toward the wall for cover.
Rumble!
Using up Franca’s Mirror Substitution, Lumian teleported behind the frenzied Twanaku.
Having already unleashed the accumulated spirituality and strength within him, Lumian’s spirituality surged, no longer drained.
Enduring the scorching sulfur flames and the blast’s impact, Lumian focused on the oblivious, frenzied Twanaku. He harrumphed.
Two beams of white light shot from his nose, hitting what appeared to be Hisoka.
Twanaku collapsed, and the signs of madness began to fade.
Lumian didn’t allow him to reach the ground. Extending his right hand, he grabbed Twanaku by the shoulder and teleported him into the spirit world!
In seconds, Lumian materialized at the edge of the primitive forest near Port Pylos.
Even during this process, he let out a harrumph. The pale-
yellow light emitted from his mouth knocked Twanaku out again, preventing him from regaining consciousness.
At that moment, a woman stood at the edge of the primitive forest. It was Hela, dressed like a black widow but not as distant as before.
Observing Twanaku, no longer in his colossal Devil state but emitting a sulfuric scent, with dark patterns on his skin, Hela nodded at Lumian and said, “It should be Hisoka.”
Every time Hisoka participated in the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society, he only disguised himself superficially. If Hisoka’s true identity was targeted, Hela, who was responsible for providing the gathering venue and entrance method, could still recognize him.
“Ha!” Lumian chuckled and added a new Spell of Harrumph to Hisoka.
Hela seized his arm and chanted an incantation.
The two of them, along with Hisoka, vanished like pencil drawings erased by an eraser.
In the ancient and dilapidated palace of the Nation of the Evernight.
As Lumian emerged from his concealed state, he harrumphed.
Two beams of white light descended, and Hisoka remained unconscious.
Hela’s tone chilled as she remarked, “I’ll let you enter the same dream.”
“Thank you.” Lumian released Hisoka, reclining against a broken stone pillar.
Moments later, his thoughts blurred until he heard Hela’s voice.
“It’s done.”
Lumian snapped back, gazing into the interrogation room where Hisoka sat opposite.
This member of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society, Twanaku Tupián, bore light-brown skin, a blend of Northern and Southern Continent descent. His eyes gleamed flaxen, his hair dark. While not unattractive, his demeanor exuded indifference to life.
At the sight, Lumian’s lips curved into a smile.
He had sought Hela’s assistance primarily to craft an environment where he could safely unveil his plans after capturing Hisoka alive.
Otherwise, restraining Hisoka’s resistance would have posed a significant challenge. Communicating with him would have been impossible if he remained unconscious until his demise. Destroying Hisoka’s frontal lobe would strip away frustration, pain, and resentment, making it difficult to fulfill the requirements of the Reaper ritual.
Upon spotting Lumian, Hisoka suddenly struggled, but an invisible force held him back, preventing his transformation into a Wraith.
This was a dream controlled by Hela.
Hisoka calmed down and gazed at Lumian, posing the greatest question on his mind, “How did you manage to evade my Danger Premonition?”
Lumian’s smile deepened. He looked down at Hisoka and said casually, “No need for a Demon Hunter’s assistance. A sufficient distance and a Hypnotist would do the trick.”
This 𝓬ontent is taken from f(r)eeweb(n)ovel.𝒄𝒐𝙢