Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 748: Power of a Legion [2]

Michael took one step.

It was slow. Very slow.

But the step crushed the air beneath his foot. A visible shockwave rolled out, distorting the sky in a widening ring.

Michael lifted his arm.

His fist was the size of a boulder now.

The gray-robed man’s Withering Law surged to meet it, eager and starving, trying to drain him down to bone and dust. But like before, though the pain hurt, it only strengthened Michael.

Michael swung.

The punch was not fast, but the gray-robed man did not dare to block.

He could not risk it.

He twisted sideways and threw distance between them in the same motion, his domain rippling as he used it like a wall to push Michael’s strike off course.

The fist missed by meters.

And still, the shockwave tore through the air and shattered a band of dead space behind him, leaving a ragged hole where his Withering had been thickest.

The gray-robed man’s eyes widened.

He retreated again.

He kept moving, refusing to let the giant close.

And it would have worked.

If Michael were alone.

A flicker of black appeared above the gray-robed man’s head.

Fade.

The mantis struck like a guillotine, its scythe aimed for the neck.

The gray-robed man’s Withering snapped up instinctively.

The edge of Fade’s blade withered again, ash spilling mid-swing.

But Fade did not stop.

It flickered, reappeared, struck again.

The interruptions were small.

And that was all the elf needed.

Green surged into the gaps the moment the gray-robed man moved.

Roots bloomed where he wanted to retreat.

Leaf blades curved where he wanted to slip.

Living pressure tightened around him, not to crush him outright, but to steal his angles and reduce the space he could use.

The gray-robed man’s jaw clenched.

Michael took another step. It was slow and heavy.

His smile did not fade.

The gray-robed man threw out another decay field, wider than before, a hollow wedge meant to erase anything that entered it.

Michael walked into it.

Michael raised his fist inside the dead zone.

The gray-robed man’s expression shifted fully into alarm.

Because if that fist landed, his law would not save him.

Not at that distance.

Not against that mass.

”Law Skill,” the gray-robed man snapped, his voice sharper than it had ever been. ”Severing Autumn!”

The elf’s hands moved at the same time.

”Bloom.”

Fade struck again.

The gray-robed man’s defense rose again.

And for a single instant, his attention split.

Michael stepped through that instant.

He was slow.

But the distance was no longer large.

The titan’s shadow swallowed the gray-robed man’s figure.

Michael’s fist came down.

The gray-robed man’s eyes widened, and the pale domain surged violently, trying to push the blow away at the last possible moment.

It was too late.

The fist slammed into the air in front of him, and the world detonated.

A thunderclap rolled across the battlefield, louder than any before. Space rippled outward in rings. The gray-robed man was thrown back like a doll, his robe shredding, gray energy spilling from him in uneven bursts.

Michael remained where he was, chest rising, his naked body steaming with heat and blood.

The echo inside him screamed.

The titan form was eating time.

But Michael’s smile widened anyway.

Because the gray-robed man, at this point in time, only had half his body.

His upper body had disappeared.

For a heartbeat, everyone below forgot how to move.

Whether it was the elves, the four-armed race, or the winged race.

They all stared in shock.

How rare was it to see someone who had not stepped into the void kill someone drenched in it?

It was rare to the point of being almost impossible.

They all stared in shock at the giant hanging in the air.

Seven meters tall, blood-streaked, and smiling.

The elven representative hovered stiffly, her pupils tight.

She had been trading laws with the gray-robed man for too long, reading the depth of his authority with every exchange. She knew what his Withering could do. She knew how strong his makeshift domain was.

And yet...

She was watching him come apart.

And this was not where their shock ended, as two loud roars echoed in the distance.

They came from the Rank Four Amazari and the Rank Four drakeblood who were still fighting.

Shockingly, for the three races, it turned out those gods were at the ends of their ropes too.

The Rank Four drakeblood roared as it tore through the air, its massive wings beating hard enough to fracture clouds and scatter storms. Its scales glowed with layered hues of crimson and black, veins of molten heat crawling beneath them.

And yet, it was being held back by Michael’s undead.

Ghost was at the center.

The ant’s body looked small compared to the drakeblood’s vast frame, yet every segment of its obsidian shell was packed with terrifying density.

Four other ants flanked it, lesser than Ghost but still monstrous. They moved in perfect coordination.

And above them, Lucky screamed.

The winged wolf tore across the sky in a blur of black and green, wings cutting arcs through the air. Poison fire spilled from his jaws in thick streams, green-black flames that hissed and screamed as they struck the drakeblood’s scales.

The drakeblood howled as the poison fire seeped between its scales, not enough to kill it, not even close, but enough to hurt.

”Filth!” the drakeblood roared, slashing backward with a claw the size of a tower.

Lucky twisted midair, wings folding as he dropped under the strike by a breath. The claw missed him and instead crashed into one of the ants, killing it in a single blow.

On the Rank Four Amazari front, the situation was somewhat the same, but also strange.

And this was because of Beginning.

Thanks to Michael’s nurture, Beginning was at level sixty-five.

Though it made it harder for him to reach the third stage of his Brutal Rebirth enhancement, when it did trigger, the result was clear.

For a short duration, Michael possessed a half-step Rank Four powerhouse.