Chapter 939: A Strange Bitch, A Strange Guy, A Strange Guy (24)

Keh keh keh...

A laugh echoes out, dry as baked dirt.

It sounds like it would crumble into dust the moment you touch it.

Hollow and arid—this isn’t laughter. Not really.

Because the world is a complete disaster.

Below: land so dry it has split into jagged cracks.

Above: the sun wavers as it spits out relentless heat, a drought so vicious there’s no such thing as “too much.”

So the creatures under that sun—

Those wrapped in shredded rags have cheeks caved in, hollow with starvation.

And just like their bodies, their spirits are exhausted. They hang slack like corpses, doing nothing but wheezing out thin, rasping breaths.

Keh keh...

That hollow laughter rings out again.

The slack bodies shoot an angry glare in one direction, but only for a moment.

Even that is tiring. Even that is too much.

So they just flash a savage look once, then droop again, and in this dried-out drought they do nothing but breathe...

Among them, a woman lifts desperate eyes upward—toward the blazing sun.

What is she feeling?

In this horrifying drought, is she cursing that blazing sun, praying for it to die out as fast as possible?

Of course not.

Because that would be truly catastrophic.

The blazing, searing, sizzling, burning sun’s true identity is the primal essence—what some call the innate vital energy, the root of a person’s life.

If that primal essence goes out, the person dies.

No matter how badly the lower abdomen is suffering a severe drought from depleted qi, what internal energy would dare to covet the root of life?

If someone tried to draw on it, everyone would have to surge up together and stop it with everything they had.

That’s right.

This is the mindscape inside Qing’s lower abdomen.

The tiny Qings—Qing’s true auras—are dried down to nothing right now, because she burned almost all of that internal power away.

Those chubby cheeks have sunk in deep, casting shadows.

The clothes each of them used to wear, matched to their individual traits, are now ragged, patched and stitched, plainly shabby.

Their eyes have turned into little “X” marks, and they’re sprawled face-down on the dried-out floor of the lower abdomen.

Keh keh...

In this situation, the only one having a great time is the Heaven-Sundering Demonic Aura, cackling nonstop.

The laugh is brittle and sandy, but that’s just how the Heaven-Sundering Demonic Aura always sounds.

If you listen closely, it’s actually in a pretty good mood.

Normally the true auras would have punished it on principle, but right now everyone is too weak, so they just let it go in one ear and out the other—fine, laugh, do whatever, we need to rest...

And then.

“O-oh? OOOH?”

A startled voice.

The tiny ones sprawled on the floor turn their heads—and over there, the Heart-Eating Demonic Aura in a heart-pattern rag—

Its sunken cheeks plump back up with flesh.

Oil returns to its flaky skin.

The needle marks and mended seams on its clothes slide away, and the grime lifts out of the fabric.

And it doesn’t stop there.

It springs to its feet and starts blasting a vivid red energy from its whole body.

Aaaaah! An incredible power surges up! the Heart-Eating Demonic Aura shouts, boiling over with strength.

Muscle-Tendon-and-Marrow True Aura, uneasy at the vibration of demonic energy as the head of the orthodox Daoist-and-Buddhist side, turns its head and looks at Moon Maiden True Aura with a dead-serious expression.

Moon Maiden True Aura—what the hell is that...?

Moon Maiden True Aura droops her brows and answers,

“Don’t know... what is that... I’m scared...”

On the other hand, the demonic auras—despite their gaunt faces—force out strained little smiles.

Good. Well done, Seomun Heart-Eating Demonic Aura.

Wipe out those Daoist-and-Buddhist true auras with your own hands.

Right now, you can do it.

And then, suddenly, demonic energy erupts from the Heart-Eating Demonic Aura’s entire body, splitting into multiple streams high above and rushing down toward every true aura.

So that wicked demonic energy is finally showing its true colors!

Qing’s Daoist-and-Buddhist true-aura tiny ones—major crisis!

Why is it coming at us too?! You bitch—betraying us already?!

Qing’s demonic-aura tiny ones—also major crisis!

And so those terrifying beams stretched out from the Heart-Eating Demonic Aura and plunged down into the true auras.

And the result—

The true auras got healthy!

...? ...?? ...??? What. What is this. What the hell is this??

The restored true auras stand up with dumb expressions, clenching and unclenching their fists, staring around like, what kind of nonsense is this?

Because something that shouldn’t be possible just happened.

Energy, by nature, has the trait that what is flourishing devours what is declining.

Sure, there are compatibility relationships—wood, fire, water, metal, earth and all that—but if the difference in size is overwhelming, compatibility doesn’t matter. The stronger side just eats everything.

For example, wood is strong against water and weak against fire, but if you hold up a single match to a massive tree, the flame just dies out.

So what is this?

That fierce, wicked power of the Heart-Eating Demonic Aura touched each true aura, and the attribute changed on contact—then filled each one’s emptiness with something that was intimately familiar: themselves.

Like you put fire to wood and the spark turns into bark and slaps itself on, sticking fast.

A miracle that makes no sense at all.

And then—

SHHHHHH...

With the sound of countless waves, moisture suddenly rises from the dried, cracked floor of the lower abdomen and dampens it, soaking it soft.

From now on, this is a shoreline.

Unusually black water swells up along one side of the lower abdomen.

Jubilant True Aura—who never used to sit still for even a second—dives in and starts SPLASH-SPLASHING, paddling and kicking, swimming with little “OOF-OOF!” sounds, going wild with excitement.

But. More than that.

In an instant, every true aura’s head turns at the same time.

At the end of their unified stare is the Heaven-Sundering Demonic Aura—both hands clamped tight over its own mouth.

Shake-shake? Shake-shake. Shake-shake? Nod-nod.

Finally, the Heaven-Sundering Demonic Aura slowly lowers the hand covering its mouth.

And now its big eyes are dangling huge teardrops, wobbling there, as it speaks in a voice that sounds almost resigned.

Keh keh... keh-heh-hhk...

The Heaven-Sundering Demonic Aura is laughing.

*****

The moment Qing’s hand met his, what the Heart-Eating Demon felt could be expressed in one word.

PFFFT...

The sound of something intact collapsing weakly, losing all tension as it fades.

That was exactly what happened to the demonic energy that had been seething and gathering into the Heart-Eating Demon’s palm.

And that wasn’t all.

From the palm where they touched, his internal power started streaming out—straight out—so fast he couldn’t control it.

No matter what he tried, the energy wouldn’t listen.

He couldn’t reverse the flow of qi that ran from his lower abdomen to his right hand.

He didn’t know the cause.

But he knew the culprit.

Because the enemy of his daughter—his mortal enemy—was grinning like a maniac, face wide open in delight, lips split into a bright smile.

And then something flashes through the Heart-Eating Demon’s mind—some martial art whose exact identity was never confirmed, a name whispered in legends and folktales and ghost stories and rumors and suspicions.

A demonic art that absorbs an opponent’s internal power—and when that runs out, ultimately absorbs even the primal essence, sucking it dry.

A demonic art that absorbs “essence.”

Absorbing essence—this is called essence-siphoning.

So horrific that it’s called the most horrific among horrific things, the killing within killing—the strongest, worst, most vicious demonic art in history.

“So—FUCK HIM UP!!”

At Qing’s confident shout, the Heart-Eating Demon snaps back to himself and screams.

“ESSENCE-SIPHONING DEMON ART!”

It was basically a shriek.

His internal power wasn’t moving, it was just pouring out of him, so Sixfold Voice Resonance or anything like that was impossible—he had to scream with his raw throat.

Qing’s brows bend sharply.

“It’s not Essence-Siphoning Demon Art.”

“Don’t bullshit me! A demonic art that sucks out the opponent’s essence—the essence itself—what else could it be but Essence-Siphoning Demon Art?! You bitch, you’re trying to take my essence! You’re trying to drain my vitality!”

Qing’s face turns completely rotten.

No—seriously, why does he have to say it like that?

He could’ve said internal power or true aura.

Why is he suddenly using words like “essence” and “vitality,” the kind of terms you only hear when someone’s talking about fundamentals?

“You bitch—don’t tell me you pretended to run because you were waiting for my vitality to be at its peak! You were trying to take my essence—take every last drop of it! The Sword Demon was right! You didn’t fall into some mystical transformation—you fell into Demon Deviation! A demonic practitioner, and not just any, a great one—AAH!”

Qing’s foot shoots out.

The Heart-Eating Demon’s knees buckle and—

SLAP!

His knee hits the ground with a wet slap, not a heavy thud, because even his knees have gotten fat.

Qing keeps kicking—right foot, right foot, right foot, right foot—smashing her instep into him, over and over, making wet SMACK-SMACK sounds of flesh hitting flesh.

But since his flesh is packed full of internal power, it acts like padding. Aside from his screaming, it doesn’t look like she’s doing much damage.

And Qing’s the same in one crucial way—

Her internal power is blocked too.

Because that’s a defining trait of the Northern Abyss Divine Art: both the one siphoning and the one being siphoned can’t use their internal power.

Wait—why can’t I use mine too?

How is this some “ultimate martial art”?

This isn’t ultimate at all.

The Northern Abyss Divine Art would feel wronged.

In a one-on-one fight, it’s an absurd art where you win the instant you touch the other person’s hand—an art so ridiculous it’s basically cheating.

What more could she possibly want?

“No. Mr. Kim! What are you doing?! I said FUCK HIM UP!”

Qing yells and snaps her head around.

Kim Heojung is standing there, awkward and hesitant.

“No, seriously—what are you doing? Why are you just watching?”

Kim Heojung answers, face oddly flushed, mumbling and fumbling.

“Uh... um. Since you said you were siphoning essence, I thought I might interfere. Don’t mind me, please continue. I didn’t know you were the kind of woman who takes a man’s essence, but I won’t interrupt.”

His form of address shifts, all at once, from “miss” to “you,” like the mental distance just widened.

“No, what kind of insane bullshit are you saying? I {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} said FUCK HIM UP.”

“Oh—so you aren’t taking essence? Then... maybe since I’m watching, it’s—if you’d rather, I’ll watch discreetly so you won’t feel self-conscious.”

“No. I’ve got him pinned so he can’t use internal power. That means we have to finish him now. Otherwise this bastard has so much internal power we’ll be stuck holding on to him all day.”

“AH! You ugly bastard! Kill her! Kill her! She’s an essence-siphoning demonic practitioner—an essence-siphoning demonic practitioner! That cursed essence-siphoning demonic practitioner! Kill her now—AAH! Stop! Stop! Stop hitting me!”

“Hold it, villain! Even if this Seomun warrior has used coupling as a weapon and tempted countless men to take their essence, that kind of improper conduct is not something that deserves death! You villain!”

“She’s an essence-siphoning demonic practitioner, I’m telling you!!!”

“Huh. So that’s the Seomun warrior’s sobriquet. To earn a sobriquet like that, she must have done it a lot.”

Kim Heojung’s Central Plains speech is fluent, because his hateful teacher had served Central Plains people for a long time.

But during training he lived in the mountains, afraid of being seen, so his knowledge of the martial world came entirely from his teacher’s stories.

That teacher did his best, in his own way, to pass on “common sense” to the disciple who would one day complete the Four-Direction Dances and become an absolute power of the Central Plains.

He had explained the Ten Great Demonic Arts and the killing within killing in broad strokes too, but the bigger problem was that the moment the word “woman” came up, the disciple’s eyes would sparkle.

So the teacher spent most of his time repeating, until it was practically scabbed into Kim Heojung’s ears, that there existed seductive demon women who drained men’s essence through sex, and that women must be watched carefully.

“I’m not an essence-siphoning demonic practitioner! That’s disgusting, seriously!”

“You’re not? You truly aren’t?!”

“I’m not! Absolutely not!”

“Really not? Really, truly not?!”

“I said I’m not!”

“Are you willing to swear it on everything? On your honored father, your honored mother, and your honored teacher?”

In other words: swear it on your mom, your dad, and your teacher.

“I said I’m not, you bastard! Why aren’t you FUCKING HIM UP? If the Sword Demon shows up, it gets complicated!”

Kim Heojung’s mind jolts awake.

Right—there was one more enemy.

So Kim Heojung throws a punch.

Black Warrior Fist!

A massive ice-wrapped fist drives deep into the Heart-Eating Demon’s solar plexus.

But the fist sinks into a squishy, nauseating softness, and it doesn’t feel like any impact transfers at all.

Black Warrior Fist—followed by Black Warrior Kick! Black Warrior Ice Shard Shot! Black Warrior Iceberg Drop! Black Warrior Ice-Spike Eruption!

Qing is kicking too—kicking and kicking and kicking and kicking.

If her right arm were fine, she’d beat him with it, but that’s impossible, so she just hammers him with relentless kicks, powered by inhuman leg strength.

“AAH! UGH! Stop! AAAH! AAH! AAAAAGH!!”

The Heart-Eating Demon’s screams as he gets beaten with gusto.

His waistband tears and his robe hangs open, his pants rip with a loud TEAR, and the wobbling flesh is a horror show so ugly it’s hard to look at—

WHAM-WHAM-WHAM-WHAM, SLAP-SLAP-SLAP—an uproar of pounding and wet smacking fills the air.

And as that exhilarating beatdown continues—

The Heart-Eating Demon is feeling real fear.

Every time he gets hit, chunks of internal power drain away.

He can’t control it, but some kind of protective effect is burning it off by reflex.

And the moment all that true aura is gone, the next thing to get drained will be the primal essence—

and then he’ll be wrung out like a fish dried to bone.

No. That can’t happen.

Me—me, the great Soul-Seizing Demon Emperor—dying here?!

“AAAAAAH!!! Get off! Let go! LET GO, DAMN IT!! LET GOOOOOO!!!”

The Heart-Eating Demon thrashes desperately.

He swings the right hand that’s stuck to Qing back and forth, and Qing’s body gets whipped along with it.

No matter how superhuman Qing’s body is—no matter if she has the strength of a legendary war god—she’s still in a woman’s body, and she can’t overcome the difference in mass.

So Qing’s fingers jam hard between the Heart-Eating Demon’s fingers—more precisely, into the flesh itself.

She can’t beat the weight difference, but her grip is strong enough to hold up her entire body.

The Heart-Eating Demon whips his right arm down and slams her into the ground.

THUD—AAH!

A pained scream bursts from Qing as she hits hard.

But her already pale hand drains even whiter as she forces herself to hold on.

The Heart-Eating Demon swings his right arm the other way—THUD! THUD!

Sometimes he flings her toward Kim Heojung, sometimes he smashes her into the ground, spinning and thrashing to tear her off—

while screaming for the Sword Demon with his mouth.

“Sword Demon! Sword Demon!! Where are you?! SWOOOORD DEMOOOON!!! Save me! Save me! I’m dying! I’M DYING!”

“Shut up! You’re old enough to—calling for your mom—HUH.”

In that instant, as Qing is whipped through the air, right where her hip drops—

a broad boulder juts up.

And then—

CRACK!

Ugh.

A monstrous pain. Her lungs clamp shut, her breath stops dead, spit dribbles out without her meaning to, and tears flood her eyes.

But Qing’s gaze burns hotter instead—FLARE—blazing with a color so ominous it feels like something that shouldn’t exist in this world.

Qing rebounds.

She hooks her legs around the Heart-Eating Demon’s shoulder, clamps tight, then snaps her core and drives his upper body away—

his arm starts trembling.

And at the same time, a horrific scream erupts.

“AAAAAAAGH!!!!!!”

“DIE! DIE ALREADY!!”

“GRAAAAAAH!!!”

A scream that makes your hair stand up.

And—

CRACK!

The Heart-Eating Demon’s elbow folds in a direction an arm should never fold.

Qing doesn’t stop there.

She loads her weight onto the dangling forearm and jerks it violently, over and over.

“AAAAAAAGH!! AAAAAGH!!!”

The desperate screaming continues.

She’s handling a dislocated elbow brutally—pain beyond words.

The Heart-Eating Demon’s mind turns white.

Reason flies away. Only a beast, writhing in agony, remains.

And then—

RRRIP!

Qing went flying.

In her raised left hand, she’s gripping a swollen hand that’s still bent at a horrible angle—

and below it, she’s hugging the arm that now has nothing left below the elbow.

“Miss!”

Kim Heojung leaps up and catches her, shouting an address that has somehow returned—back from “you,” back from “Seomun warrior,” to “miss” again.

“AAAH! My arm! My arm!! MY ARM!!”

The Heart-Eating Demon shrieks, half sobbing.

He clutches the stump where his forearm used to be, blood gushing as he wails.

Qing stares at him like she’s too stunned to speak.

Seriously—she’s so dumbfounded she can’t even find words.

He’s crying and screaming because he lost one forearm.

One.

Is now the time for that, with an enemy right in front of him?

The bastard who eats other people’s hearts is bawling like this over his own arm, tears and snot everywhere.

And this is supposed to be a Transcendent Realm monster?

He’s really sitting here having a full-on meltdown, holy shit.

Of course—if he’s this out of it, that’s good for her.

Very good.