Chapter 885 - 723: Repaying Grudges? Your Anger Is Over the Limit_2

Chapter 885: Chapter 723: Repaying Grudges? Your Anger Is Over the Limit_2

The team member’s pale face was directly facing him, with eyes tightly shut, seemingly experiencing less pain than the wide-eyed He.

Meanwhile, from a distance, came Feng Mu’s exceedingly considerate explanation:

"Since you are so angry, I’ll give you a reasonable reason to be angry."

Feng Mu pointed to the corpse in Zhang Shenyi’s arms and then pointed to the body of He on the ground.

"Now, you have one more person dead than the White Masks. So, Captain Zhang Shenyi, from now on, you have a legitimate reason to hate me a little more than the White Masks."

Zhang Shenyi gently laid the corpse in his arms flat on the ground. When he straightened up again, an overwhelming killing intent erupted like a waking beast.

The killing intent was no longer a vague aura but was almost tangible.

Like a blood-stained crimson shadow, it surged from within him, as though a vengeful ghost encircling him, or a life-burning blood-red flame, swirling around his body.

He suddenly raised his head, with eyes widened to the point where the boundary between the whites and pupils had vanished, leaving only a lava-like red.

He fixated on Feng Mu, a few steps away, who still wore a smiling face, and with teeth clenched, every word was squeezed out as if from a throat of shattered bones:

"Feng—Mu—you—should—die—ah—ah—ah—!!!"

Feng Mu grinned:

"I’ve heard that many times before, but unfortunately, those who said it never got their wish. I do earnestly hope you can succeed, really, no joke."

At the same time, the bright markers around Zhang Shenyi, reflected in Feng Mu’s glasses, grew unprecedentedly dazzling, akin to lighting a bulb over his head, the light burning bright.

This proved Zhang Shenyi’s intent to kill him had reached an extreme, a visualization of a true life-and-death conflict.

Moreover, the threat level on Zhang Shenyi, initially a light red, was visibly transitioning towards a more dangerous crimson, little by little.

This indicated Zhang Shenyi’s threat level towards him was escalating from ordinary danger to high danger.

It was now half light red and half crimson, with the crimson region continuing to expand.

"A gratifying result..."

Feng Mu muttered in his heart, uncontrollably revealing an increasingly intense smile on his face, a joy akin to discovering rare experimental material.

"It’s this feeling!"

Feng Mu’s voice was tinged with a barely detectable tremble due to excitement. He spread his arms as if to embrace the surge of blood-red killing intent,

"Be angry! Burn! Turn all of you, your will, your potential, into fuel and ignite it fiercely!

Let me see, to what extent can your potential be dug out? Is it enough... for you to survive this feast by chance?"

Before he finished speaking, Feng Mu spun on his feet, deftly sliding to the side.

Almost simultaneously as he sidestepped!

"Boom—!!!"

A metal fist wrapped in a fierce Finger Tiger, entwined with a blood-colored shadow, swept past his cheek with an eardrum-tearing sonic boom.

Where the fist’s edge passed, the air was intensely compressed and then exploded instantly, forming a circle of visible milky white air ripples, violently spreading outward!

The turbulent air blasted upwards, sending Feng Mu’s black hair on his side flying backwards, revealing the faint wrinkles at the corners of his slightly upturned eyes.

Feng Mu’s feet seemed to be mounted on tracks, unobtrusively gliding sideways, his figure swaying, narrowly avoiding the headshot.

The punch’s wind swept past his temples, reducing a cluster of shrubs several meters away to powder.

Feng Mu felt the scorching heat and destructive energy from the fist, almost burning his skin, but his smile became even brighter.

"I am quite looking forward to you surviving in the end, not just for yourself but also for those who have died, and... those beloved teammates of yours who might still die."

These words precisely pierced Zhang Shenyi’s heart, a raw, bloodied wound inside.

The brutal death of teammates, his own incompetence, at this moment were unveiled by Feng Mu in the most "gentle" tone and then sprinkled with a handful of salt called "hope."

"Shut up!!!"

Zhang Shenyi couldn’t comprehend Feng Mu’s malicious rants and had no time to ponder over them.

All he could do was shut off his ears, block out the opponent’s distracting words, and channel all his pain, anger, and intent to kill into the next punch, and the punch after that.

"Boom!" "Boom!" "Boom!"

His feet pounded heavily and swiftly, each step resonating like war drums, causing spider-web-like cracks to splinter the ground.

The steps seemed simple, yet they contained a profound mystery, each step creating resonance between the ground and his muscles, as if he secretly extracted the earth’s power and merged it into his punches.

And his fists transformed into two blood-colored bolts of lightning, without much subtlety or flourish, just the simplest, most direct straight fists.

But the blood gathered at the fist tips crazily tore through the air, emitting a piercing whistle like a train horn.

The air ahead of the fists was forcibly displaced and compressed by high speed and strength, forming visible, short-lived vacuum vortices.

The terrifying pressure and suction from the vortex centers pulled surrounding grass blades, stones, and soil into them, shattering and grinding them into residue, scattering with the fist wind.

A handful of Feng Mu’s hair was accidentally sucked in and turned into debris.

Mind you, he never lost hair normally; every strand seemed to share a life-and-death bond with him. He dubbed Zhang Shenyi the strongest barber to commemorate his fallen hair.

Feng Mu stepped back repeatedly, but didn’t forcibly widen the gap or use mysterious displacement techniques.

Instead, amidst the overwhelming blood-colored fist shadows, he exhibited precise maneuvers, turning, dodging, sidestepping, and tilting his head with exquisite accuracy.

Occasionally, when the fists were too densely packed and unavoidable, Feng Mu would raise a hand—whether palm, finger, or claw—to forcibly collide with the opponent’s iron fists.

Feng Mu’s left arm was like a flexible vine lash, sweeping upward fiercely, with the outer muscle of the forearm tensing instantly like iron, elbow like a knife coming down on the opponent’s wrist.

Sparks splattered, making him nearly think he’d hit a piece of iron.

The strong recoil forced Feng Mu’s left arm to sink slightly, and the ground beneath creaked with fissures.

His body leaned back with the impact, while his right palm darted forth like a viper, striking towards Zhang Shenyi’s exposed armpit due to his punch.

Before his fingertips reached, a sharp pain already hit.

Zhang Shenyi reacted with astounding speed, twisting his arm muscles bizarrely and dropping his elbow down like an iron gate.

Feng Mu’s finger snake collided with his elbow, the fabric at the elbow tearing to reveal ancient bronze skin that gleamed like metal, only a shallow white mark left behind.

Missing the strike, Feng Mu switched his move instantly.

The right palm, once pecking, transformed into a claw, five fingers like hooks fiercely tearing downward at Zhang Shenyi’s arm muscles—this claw, if landed, could rip five deep furrows through steel!

Zhang Shenyi didn’t care and thrust his elbow forward like a charging bull, forcibly deflecting Feng Mu’s claws.

At the same time, his long-charged left fist moved, like a shell from a cannon, aiming straight for Feng Mu’s brow center, the fist wind pressing Feng Mu’s skin tightly around his brows and eyes.

Feng Mu sharply tilted his head back, the movement very slight, perfectly allowing the massive fist to graze past his brow bone, the fist wind scraping off half his eyebrow, turning it into a sharp broken eyebrow.

"My martial path falls short; my martial arts haven’t reached my hair yet," Feng Mu thought.

Meanwhile, his swiped-away right claw drew an eerie arc in the air, bypassing Zhang Shenyi’s defenses, and five fingertips stealthily extended a terrifying finger bone, like malicious iron hooks, slashing towards Zhang Shenyi’s ribs.

"Hiss—!"

But the touch was unexpectedly obstructive.

Feng Mu felt as if his fingertips pierced through layers of exceptionally tough leather, Zhang Shenyi’s rib muscles contracting tightly, staunchly enduring this strike potent enough to pierce steel plates.

Though five fierce blood holes marked him, hardly any blood dripped before the muscles clamped shut, trapping Feng Mu’s five fingers.

Zhang Shenyi’s muscles tightened, his wounded left rib muscle clamping Feng Mu’s not fully withdrawn right fingertip.

His arms charged to strike Feng Mu’s head again, the chill felt acutely by Feng Mu’s brows and hair.

He couldn’t lose his eyebrows again; a half could still be called a broken brow, but none would look unattractive...