{Chapter: 176: Killing More and More Targets}
After a Fruitless Investigation
Following a round of unsuccessful probing, the team leader narrowed his eyes in irritation as he glanced at his subordinates, who were still jabbing and poking at the strange, pulsing mass with their weapons. There was a tense stillness in the air, broken only by the squelch of metal meeting unnatural flesh.
With a stern voice, he finally said, "Enough. Stop wasting time. Leave it. We move to the next target."
The team members exchanged reluctant glances. They had a gut feeling—something about that thing wasn't right. Something was hidden within it, something unnatural. Yet, despite all their poking, slashing, and scanning, no secrets had surfaced.
One of them, clearly annoyed, reluctantly pulled his blade free from the gory mass, flicking off clumps of viscera with a shake of his wrist. He grunted, "Alright, fine."
As if to vent his frustration, he summoned a brilliant arc of lightning that coiled and sparked along his arm like a living serpent. With a swift downward motion, he released the electrical fury.
A deafening crack echoed across the area, followed by a blinding flash. In an instant, the grotesque lump and the surrounding ground were obliterated, reduced to a scorched, smoking wasteland. Charred soil and the scent of ozone hung thick in the air.
The captain gave a curt nod of approval. "Let's move."
With synchronized steps, the team rose and began making their way toward another location, guided by the ever-glowing light points on their magical tracking devices.
But none of them noticed it.
Clinging to the blade that had struck the mass was a tiny, writhing remnant—barely visible. It pulsed once with life, like a parasite unwilling to die, and latched on tight to its new host.
---
Elsewhere...
Seated comfortably atop a strange, lizard-like beast with thick feathers and a rooster's head, Dex looked absolutely at ease. He was drifting across the land, wandering without urgency.
He'd long since confirmed his pursuers' identities—seventeen demigod-class hunters, fully armed, equipped with an arsenal of tools specifically designed to subdue creatures like him.
Anyone else might have panicked.
Dex, however, merely furrowed his brow in mild annoyance. "Seventeen demigods... huh. Looks like they came prepared. Must've cost them a fortune."
Then he grinned, leaning back as the monster beneath him strolled forward lazily.
"No need to panic... Let's just play a little game of hide-and-seek for now."
With that declaration, Dex reached into his bag and pulled out a small, greasy pouch—emblazoned with what looked like a crudely drawn superhero. He tore it open to reveal a pile of dried, spicy fish jerky, a product he'd bought from some shady merchant in the Bottomless Abyss who resembled a budget-version Ultraman.
He bit into one. Immediately, his cheeks bulged, his lips burned, and tiny flames licked out from the corners of his mouth. Dex paused, eyes watering.
His instinct was to spit it out—but he paused. "Damn, that's hot... but kind of addictive."
Chewing a few more times, he swallowed and coughed out a plume of thick black smoke that floated upward like a dragon's breath. It hovered in the air, refusing to dissipate.
Now he understood why the merchant had slapped a warning label on the bag: "Not suitable for those with low fire resistance. May cause combustion."
"This stuff could power a furnace... nuclear-grade snacks, huh?"
And then, as if struck by divine inspiration, Dex dumped the rest of the bag directly into the beak of the mount beneath him.
"Go on, big guy. Treat yourself."
The rooster-like beast blinked in confusion, then crunched down the jerky with gusto.
"Buzz... buzz... BUZZ!!"
Suddenly, black smoke erupted from the creature's comb, its pupils dilated, and its muscles convulsed. A sound like a revving engine roared from deep in its throat.
Then it took off like a rocket, its claws hammering the ground so fast it blurred into a streak of motion. Sparks flew from the impact zones, dust exploded from behind, and the entire Chrysanthemum region trembled as the chemically-enhanced beast rampaged across the terrain at breakneck speed.
Somewhere far behind, seventeen elite demigods watched in stunned disbelief.
"...He's fleeing?!"
"No, he's taunting us!"
They didn't know the truth.
Dex wasn't fleeing out of fear. He was just bored—and amused—and found it far more entertaining to turn their deadly manhunt into a high-speed game of tag.
---
A Few Days Later, Within the Defense Line
Inside a fortified military base wrapped in magical wards and steel, General Henry Moore sat behind a desk buried in papers. His once-dark hair had turned an unnatural shade of silver in just a few days, the result of constant stress and sleepless nights.
The defense situation was worsening.
His fingers trembled slightly as he gripped the latest report, which detailed the deteriorating conditions across multiple districts. Resources were dwindling. People were panicking. Hope was slipping.
He exhaled slowly and massaged his temples, his voice sharp but weary. "Still no word from Clay and his team?"
Clay—the highly trained commander he'd personally entrusted with the mission to eliminate Dex.
Clay and his seventeen demigods had been given the best—artifacts blessed by the High Council, enchanted weapons forged in dragon fire and divine light, and enough support to rival a battalion.
Henry had placed all his faith in them.
And yet, there had been nothing—no reports, no sightings, no victories. Just silence.
After a long, tense pause, the adjutant standing beside him cleared his throat uncomfortably and said, "Sir... actually, we did receive a message from Lord Clay and his men earlier today."
Henry slowly turned his head, his narrowed eyes gleaming with a mix of anticipation and suspicion. "And?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice. Then, as if hope had taken hold of him despite his better judgment, he pressed, "What is it?"
The adjutant stood rigidly, clearly uncomfortable under Henry's gaze. He hesitated for a moment, then licked his dry lips and chose his words with careful diplomacy.
"The message from Lord Clay is... somewhat vague, sir," he said cautiously. "But the gist of it is that the target seems to possess a clone-like ability—creating false bodies or decoys. Every time they think they've cornered him, he misleads them again. As a result, they've been chasing shadows, and to make matters worse... they've drawn the attention of numerous hidden monsters along the way. At present, they're overwhelmed and—well—on the run."
Bang!
Henry Moore's hand slammed violently onto the reinforced metal desk, the force of his fury echoing through the room. Two deep palm prints remained where his hands had landed, the surface slightly dented.
"Useless! They're wasting time and resources!" he growled through clenched teeth, his tone just short of screaming. "Tell them to move faster. This is the final phase—we can't afford any more delays!"
Even as his blood boiled with frustration, Henry refrained from openly insulting the team. After all, they were demigods—powerful, prideful, and not easily rebuked. Instead of hurling the insult that perched on his tongue, he reined it in and opted for a more composed command.
"Urge them... with all due respect. We need results."
"Understood, sir!"
The adjutant saluted promptly and turned on his heel, his footsteps brisk. But despite the obedient facade, his heart was heavy with doubt. He knew all too well that no matter how sternly or respectfully the order was given, it wouldn't change the reality Clay and his team were facing.
The situation they had reported back was dire. Dozens of demons were in hot pursuit, and Clay's squad was running on fumes. Rest was a luxury they hadn't known in days. At this point, even survival was beginning to feel like a gamble.
---
Indeed, just as the adjutant had feared, the elite demigod hunting team—once the pride of the city's upper command—was now being hunted themselves.
A horde numbering in the tens of thousands was hot on their heels. Demons, creatures of all shapes and forms surged behind them like a living tide, relentless and vicious.
Each of the squad members clutched a magical compass, once considered a beacon of tracking precision. But now those compasses flickered madly with countless glowing points—like miniature night skies filled with stars. The sheer volume of signals was paralyzing.
'What the hell are we even chasing anymore?'
*****
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