Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 747: Power of a Legion [1]

Pain became fuel.

Any normal body would have collapsed the instant the Withering Law touched it. Even Rank Three beings of equal strength would avoid direct contact with that gray domain.

Michael did not.

The blackened cracks on his forearm spread for a heartbeat.

Then they reversed.

Blood surged backward through his veins. The crumbling flesh thickened instead of thinning. New muscle formed beneath ruined tissue, denser and tighter, as if his body was learning how to survive the attack in real time.

The gray-robed man’s eyes widened.

Michael stepped forward.

The Withering Law gnawed at him again, trying to hollow him out from the inside, and Brutal Rebirth answered.

The closer his arm came to destruction, the more violently his body pushed back. Pain did not weaken him but sharpened him, and every moment of loss became force.

Michael threw another punch.

The gray-robed man retreated instantly.

He did not allow Michael to close the distance again.

A wave of gray surged outward, forcing space itself to thin and fade between them. Michael was pushed back mid-stride, his feet skidding through empty air.

The gray-robed man’s expression hardened.

This was no longer disdain.

This was caution.

Michael lunged again.

His body cracked the air with another sonic burst as he forced his way through the gray pressure. His skin aged and regenerated in the same breath, then stabilized stronger than before.

He reached the edge of the gray domain.

The gray-robed man unleashed a sweeping decay wave meant to erase everything in its path.

Michael punched through it.

The force detonated outward, ripping the air apart. Gray energy scattered like torn cloth as Michael burst through, blood spraying from fresh wounds that closed almost instantly.

The gray-robed man was forced back again.

For the first time, he lost ground.

Michael followed relentlessly.

Every step brought more damage. Every exchange carved new wounds into his body. And every wound made him stronger.

Undying.

Unyielding.

A monster built from loss and return.

The gray-robed man stopped trying to overpower him.

Instead, he kept distance.

Decay fields layered upon one another, forming barriers, dead zones, hollow spaces where life could not exist. Michael forced his way through them one after another, each breach leaving him more damaged.

Then a shadow flickered.

Fade reappeared above the gray-robed man.

The mantis struck without hesitation, its scythe aimed for the back of the man’s neck.

The gray-robed man twisted sharply, gray flooding upward to intercept the strike. Fade’s blade withered at the edge again, shedding ash, but the interruption was enough.

Green light surged in from the side.

The elf returned to the fight.

Roots erupted beneath the gray-robed man’s feet to limit his movement.

Michael crashed forward through the opening they created, his fist slamming toward the gray-robed man’s chest.

The gray-robed man raised his arms, law flaring violently as he barely blocked the blow.

The impact detonated.

Space rippled outward.

The gray-robed man was thrown back, his robe tearing further, gray energy spilling unevenly from his body.

Michael landed lightly in the air, blood dripping from his knuckles, but his open wounds were already sealing.

The elf hovered to his left.

Fade flickered to his right.

For the first time since the battle began, the gray-robed man was surrounded.

And this time, he did not smile.

Michael’s fist hung in the air for a heartbeat, knuckles dripping, and he exhaled slowly.

Brutal Rebirth still raged through his body like a furnace, keeping him upright through damage that should have ended him.

But he could feel it.

The clock.

The echo was thinning.

Michael’s awareness sank into the veins that connected him to his legion.

He reached for Beginning again, but not the law this time.

Something else.

The race trait that made Beginning what he was.

Beginning was a titan.

A creature built to turn mass into inevitability.

At his peak, he could swell beyond twenty meters and still move like an avalanche with a mind.

Michael could not take all of that.

Still.

Even half of a titan was not human.

Michael’s blood-stained fingers flexed.

”Echo,” he muttered, voice rough.

The Law of Echoed Existence responded.

Michael grew.

His height pushed past three meters.

Then four.

His limbs thickened until they looked sculpted rather than grown, wrapped in dense muscle that carried unnatural weight. Every movement made the air complain. His heartbeat sounded like distant drums inside his own skull.

The elf’s eyes widened.

Even Fade paused mid-flicker, its mantis head tilting.

The gray-robed man’s eyes widened in horror.

Michael’s body did not stop at four meters.

His spine cracked, then reforged.

His ribs widened with a grinding sound that made the air tremble. Muscle stacked on muscle violently, as if his body were being hammered into a new shape by an invisible smith.

The cloth that remained on him died first.

It tore.

Then it burned away under the pressure of his expanding heat and mana, shredded into drifting scraps that withered into ash the moment they touched the nearby gray domain.

Michael stood naked in the sky.

Seven meters tall.

A titan-shaped shadow hanging over the battlefield like a coming calamity.

Blood ran down his chest in dark rivers, yet even that looked wrong, because the wounds were already closing. The torn flesh stitched itself in thick cords. The bruising under his skin faded before it could fully form.

Michael looked at the gray-robed man.

And smiled.

It was not a wide grin, but it was deeply unsettling when a bloodied, handsome giant fixed his gaze on you.

The gray-robed man’s throat moved as he stepped back in midair, thoughts flashing through all of Brian’s old and future generations.

He could not understand what had happened.

This youth was not at the stage where he had even begun cultivating a law, and even if he were, what was this monstrosity?

What level of power had this youth gained now that if Michael touched him even once, the impact would be a disaster?

The gray-robed man raised both hands.

His pale domain swelled outward, thicker than before.

”Stay away from me,” he said, voice tight.