Six-Armed Serpent Demon

Page 107

As he or she spoke, they slowly rose from the sofa cushions, fully aware of his thoughts and ideas.

"Let alone moles, the skill of using a mortal body at its highest level can even adjust and change the soul frequency of the shapeshifter, making it indistinguishable from the target."

Two Patricks stood facing each other, except one had a missing hand and the other did not.

Moreover, Patrick saw that "he" was carrying his signature weapon, "Crimson Kiss," in each hand, as well as a dimensional bag containing all his belongings.

He or she is smiling warmly at him.

Patrick knew that his smile always made others feel cold, but this time it was his turn to feel cold.

“If you kill me,” he said with difficulty, “he will know—”

"so what?"

The "Patrick" on the other end of the line said with his usual bewildered expression and tone, "Oh, I see. You mean, there's no magic like resurrection in this world? So it's impossible, for example, for a quarter of an hour, you die and then someone resurrects you, and you're perfectly fine again? I bet your friend's magic item that's used to monitor your status won't have much of an issue with whether you're resurrected once or twice."

—Damn it, even his mother's punctuation habits are exactly the same as his.

He or she tilted their head to look at him.

“Ah, it seems there’s no need for a bet,” said Ivy Beatrice, or rather, “Patrick.” “I’ve already read your mind, and I guessed it all right, haven’t I?”

Patrick racked his brains, but couldn't come up with any solutions.

“That strange man with four arms and yellow scales,” he said, “you should have seen him before. He’s the one who killed Gululos, the murderer with the burnt scar, the mistress of Ottokan’s lover and henchman, and the Greenman you framed. I handled all the Greenman interrogations related to this incident. I know you did it, but I don’t understand why he’s become like this… He’s your enemy, and I can kill him for you.”

Patrick on the other side looked slightly surprised.

"So it was him. I didn't expect that."

Patrick quickly said, “I’m very capable. I can replace Gululos and take control of the Broncos for you. You can certainly become me, but you have a lot of things to do and don’t have time to do everything yourself, otherwise you wouldn’t have supported Gululos in the first place.”

"Good, you're a smart person. Anything else?"

“The Inquisition,” Patrick said. “This is a special department of the Bronze Dragon Temple in the City of Flame. I have already entered this organization and will gather more intelligence for you in the future.”

"Well said, is there anything else?"

Patrick swallowed hard.

"The whereabouts of the Bronze Dragon," he said, "I only learned after entering the Inquisition that He was neither in the Upper City nor in the temple. After being wounded in battle with the two-headed evil dragon, He seems to have hidden somewhere in the city to recuperate, and perhaps He has also transformed... I can track Him down for you."

The person opposite, "Patrick," laughed.

"It sounds like I, no, you are quite valuable."

"I hope you will reconsider."

The person on the other end, "Patrick," suddenly changed the subject: "Do you remember what you said to me?"

Patrick was bewildered: "What did you say?"

"You and I, we are the same kind."

He or she, in their original tone and expression, said, "We all just follow the rules we set for ourselves, playing games in this world... This world is just a giant, foolish playground, where everything is merely a fleeting visitor. We do whatever we want, based solely on likes and dislikes, caring about nothing, and there are no rules or regulations to limit or hinder us..."

Patrick was deathly pale and drenched in sweat.

He or she reached out and lifted his chin, once again flashing him that damn bright, sunny smile.

"Intelligence, control... you've said so many seemingly useful things. But in my opinion, all of that combined might not please me as much as your expression right now."

Just when Patrick thought he was doomed, the "Patrick" on the other side let go and took a step back.

"Don't worry, fellow human, I won't kill you."

The person opposite you has a half-smile on their face.

"Just live for the sake of such an interesting night... if you can actually survive."

Patrick blinked, puzzled, and saw "him" on the other side vanish in a flash, disappearing without a trace.

Patrick, who had narrowly escaped death, waited a few more seconds, then slowly bent down and let out a deep breath.

Just then, the dragon overseer lying at his feet groaned, waking up from his unconsciousness.

"We need to get going."

Patrick helped the dragon up and said quickly.

"What..." the dragon mumbled, then saw his severed arm and was shocked. "What happened? What's going on?"

Patrick shook his head.

He felt that the six-armed serpent demon shapeshifter's last few words before teleporting were full of dangerous omens.

Suddenly he saw the shadow of the four-armed monster, which stretched long across the living room floor.

The burn scars had returned. His joints creaked and cracked, and he was a whole size bigger than before. His four fists clenched like hammers and opened like eagle claws, and his muscles writhed in a strange way.

Patrick narrowed his eyes.

This guy's power seems to have grown again; it seems he's confident he can return and fight the six-armed serpent demon to the death.

“You’re too late,” Patrick shrugged. “Ivy Beatrice got away and cut off my arm. Listen, I have a plan that can help you—”

The moment the scarred man spoke, he felt as cold as frozen flesh: "The Inquisition, is that right?"

The former Greenman's eyes were incredibly ferocious, and the irregular red patch on his face, covered in yellow scales, was brighter than a fireball, yet his tone was as calm as the sea before a storm: "You were in charge of all the interrogations of the Greenmen in this damn incident, weren't you?"

The Dragon Overseer was taken aback and turned to Patrick: "Why did you reveal the institute's secrets to this guy?"

Patrick blinked, his throat feeling dry and sore.

He suddenly remembered what Ivy Beate had said to him before: "Scum like you, even if I don't kill you today, someone else will."

—That bastard, she must have known back then that the former Greenman had sneaked back, and who knows, she might not be far away now.

He sighed listlessly.

"This night was indeed very interesting...like me."

Chapter 125 Please Come and Kill Me

Patrick has never been in such a predicament.

Although Ivy Beatrice took all of Patrick's belongings, he still had several magical items on him. Not only were two of them quite powerful, but there were also a "Door to Anywhere" and a "Dimensional Jump" for escaping.

But the problem is coming.

The powerful ones could be used immediately, but they weren't confident they could handle Scarred's fist. That guy could even shatter a "Magic Sealing Orb" with a single punch.

However, both "Anywhere Door" and "Dimensional Jump" are oracle bones inscribed with magic, which are similar to magic scrolls.

If Patrick were still the same person, casting spells using scrolls would be a piece of cake.

But Ivy Beatrice's "Crimson Kiss" stripped away so many of his life essence. Now he's a low-level thief, back to his state before he even touched the mysteries of magic. Even his skills with magical devices have become as rusty as they were back then.

He can't activate the magic scroll or the magic oracle bone at all.

Just as he was racking his brains about how to resolve this crisis, a fist covered in burn scars and yellow scales slammed into his left eye socket.

Patrick's body floated lightly across the living room, slamming heavily against the wall in the back before slowly sliding down to the floor. Along with the floor, a cheap decoration that the previous owner had hung on the wall fell to the ground with a clatter.

His left cheek looked like a lump of minced meat, almost completely smashed by the punch from the burn scar.

—Damn it, today is my unlucky day…

Patrick gasped for breath, glaring fiercely at the approaching four-armed monster with his still-open right eye, and chuckled hoarsely.

“Your fist is heavy, why didn’t you just kill me with one punch? It’s not like you can’t do it,” he said. “I just noticed that your hand is covered with a layer of stone… Is that your trick to breaking the magic seal orb?”

He stood up unsteadily, raised his one arm toward the burn scar, and slapped his undamaged right cheek with his palm, making a loud slapping sound.

"Well done, my friend, this deserves applause—please forgive me, this is the only way I can applaud you right now."

Patrick laughed sarcastically, his mouth full of blood, "Lying in wait, after your enemy leaves, calmly showing yourself to beat up a lackey of the Inquisition, a tool, while he's crippled and unable to fight back. Perfect revenge, truly remarkable, absolutely remarkable!"

Flames burned in the scarred eyes.

He ignored Patrick's performance art and slowly walked toward the murderer who had tortured and killed the Greens.

"Please wait a moment. I'll just say one thing, is that alright?"

Patrick laughed as he coughed up blood, raising his hand. "I knew you would kill me, I knew it. Before I die, can you hear one last thing from me? I promise you won't regret it."

Scarface stood before him, looking down at the "Red Assassin" who, despite being almost a red-faced figure, still smiled at him.

He forced out a single word through gritted teeth: "Speak."

"Oh, here's what happened."

Patrick's gaze passed over the burn scars and landed on the dragon overseer who was sneaking toward the living room door, and he kindly pointed at him.

“That esteemed dragon-born gentleman is my superior and conduct supervisor,” Patrick said. “Mr. Scar, could you let him stand beside me, kill him first, let me watch his brains splatter on me, and then kill me? That’s all I ask for.”

The dragon overseer was just two steps away from climbing out of the gate when he heard this and turned around to look at him, his whole body stiffening.

Patrick wore an innocent expression, a bright, sunny smile plastered on his undamaged side, which looked strangely unsettling. "Oh, Mr. Scar, you know, everything I did in the tribunal, whatever it was, was done under his supervision—"

Before Patrick could finish speaking, the Dragon Overseer roared and charged toward the living room door with both hands and feet.

But just as the dragon's feet began to exert force, the psionic monk, who had already regained "Time Ascension," had already grabbed its tail.

Burn Scar let out a wild roar.

Patrick had just chuckled and put his one hand in his pocket when he saw the Dragon Overseer spinning and flying towards him with an even more ferocious aura than himself. With a loud "thud," the dragon was sprawled out and embedded in the wall next to him.

Blood and brain matter splattered all over Patrick.

Patrick took a deep, blissful breath.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, “I am satisfied, please come and kill me.”

Burn Scar didn't say a word. He felt that saying even one more word to this bastard with blood on his hands would be a defilement to himself.

Huang Lin's iron fist rapidly magnified in Patrick's vision.

Before the punch even landed, the force of the blow made it hard for Patrick to breathe.

The Red Assassin closed his eyes peacefully.

However, just as his head was smashed to pieces by a punch, Patrick vanished without a trace with a magical fluctuation, leaving not even a hair behind.

Burn Scar was first taken aback, then flew into a rage.

For the first time, he hated himself for being completely ignorant of magic.

Patrick had just completed the "Anywhere Door" teleportation when he tripped and fell into the sewage-filled ground. He found the texture under his palms strange; the ground here felt like a single piece of melted and solidified glass.

He was panting heavily as he looked up.

The excruciating pain in his face and severed hand contorted his expression into a grimace.

Patrick glared fiercely around with his right eye, which was still intact, and saw tattered tents everywhere. He then struggled to his feet, using both hands and feet to support himself, and chuckled to himself.

The activated "Anywhere Door" teleported him to the refugee camp in Fire Harbor.

Patrick remains the same loyal hound.

Just as he had promised Ivy Beatrice, he joined the Inquisition under the guise of betrayal, using it to gather intelligence on the City of Fire and to find out the whereabouts of the wounded Bronze Dragon.

This is precisely the condition under which Haislatti, no, Demogorgon, did not fully pursue his responsibility for failure.

How can one successfully corrupt a steadfast dragon overseer within the Inquisition? The answer is "the Jewel".

Nothing is more moving than elevating one's strength and level of existence.

So, Scarface delivered a punch, and along with the Dragon Seed Overseer's blood and brains, the Dragon Seed Overseer's soul, corrupted by the orb, also scattered everywhere.

Patrick cannot directly absorb the soul power of others like Ivy Beatrice, but the energy of the orb is of the same origin as his own and dissipates within such a short distance, which is a different story.

Having reclaimed this bit of the orb's power, arcane magic immediately flickered again deep within his eyes.

The spellcaster's life level was restored, albeit by only one or two levels, but it was enough for Patrick to activate the small magical bone he was holding in his pocket before the fist landed on his head.

Patrick, panting, squinted at his undamaged right eye.

His life level has already fallen so much, he desperately needs the precious pearl to compensate. But he has unfortunately lost the "Crimson Kiss," the magical artifact he used to absorb soul power to create the pearl. If this continues, he will lose his value to the Great Lord, and the consequences will be unimaginable…

--Um?

Suddenly, Patrick was overjoyed to sense the power of another jewel, very close at hand…

Chapter 126 I Don't Want to Die

Tusu bundled the cassava he had dug up that day into two large bundles with vines. He carried one bundle on his back and gave the other to the little boy to carry. The two of them carried it all the way back to the refugee camp.