Chapter 462: Flesh Shatters Magic Treasures: The Death of Peng Wang

When the Fuhai Pearl fell, the sky above Flame Mountain darkened, and the Black Water of the Northern Abyss blotted out sun and moon.

The deep-blue pearl descended with the weight of ten thousand hectares of water, suppressing the crimson fire veins within the mountain, forcing the mountain’s fiery energy back into the earth, where it hissed in protest.

Niutian looked up, white mist spewing from his nostrils.

“This old bastard has no honor—Su Chen doesn’t use a treasure, yet he brings out a primordial magic treasure!”

Facing the Fuhai Pearl’s assault, Su Chen did something no one expected.

He sheathed the Gui Xu Divine Axe.

Yuanhai the Ancestor had expected Su Chen to summon the Chaos Bell, or at least use the axe to block.

But Su Chen loosened his grip—the Gui Xu Divine Axe dissolved into a streak of light and vanished into his sleeve, as he stepped upward, directly toward the Fuhai Pearl.

Yuanhai the Ancestor’s pupils contracted; the demons of the Yao Shi Palace froze.

“Is this kid insane?”

“He actually intends to meet a primordial magic treasure with his bare flesh!”

“Does he think he’s an ancient Wu Clan ancestor?”

Seeing this, Yuanhai the Ancestor sneered: “Whelp, even arrogance has limits!”

Su Chen said nothing; all he heard was the roar of tides, salt-laden water flooding his mouth and nose.

His Hun Dun Jiu Zhuan surged to full power; all three hundred and sixty-five acupoints in his body trembled in unison.

In each acupoint, a miniature world opened and closed—pure qi rose, turbid qi sank, the Five Phases revolved, Yin and Yang locked together.

His spinal dragon glowed segment by segment, like a pump of primordial chaos, forcing the primordial origin into every limb and vein.

A thudding sound arose.

It was not the toll of a bell—it was the pounding of Su Chen’s blood and qi.

Chaotic patterns flowed across the exposed flesh of Su Chen’s body.

Seeing this, Yuanhai the Ancestor’s laughter died instantly.

He smelled danger on Su Chen.

The next instant, Su Chen raised his fist and smashed it into the Fuhai Pearl.

“Dong…”

The impact shook the heavens; the lower-cultivation demons in Flame Mountain clapped hands over their ears.

The void wrinkled in concentric ripples; the Black Water of the Northern Abyss reversed upward, vast sections of volcanic rock shattered, magma erupted hundreds of zhang into the air, then slammed back down by residual force.

Su Chen’s fist pressed against the pearl’s surface—then his shoulders sank, his spinal dragon surged, and all three hundred and sixty-five acupoints erupted with chaotic qi.

“Go back.”

The Fuhai Pearl shrieked; its deep-blue radiance dimmed under the fist’s force, and it was blasted backward by Su Chen’s punch.

Yuanhai the Ancestor formed hand seals, recalled the Fuhai Pearl, and his black water recoiled a thousand zhang, leaving deep craters where his feet touched the surface, before he finally stabilized.

He stared at the dimmed Fuhai Pearl in his palm, then at Su Chen’s fist.

That hand was pale, slender, with distinct knuckles—not much different from a mortal scholar’s.

Yet just now, that hand had directly clashed with his primordial magic treasure.

Yuanhai the Ancestor’s throat went dry—even the flesh of ancient Wu Clan ancestors wasn’t this strong.

Su Chen now surged upward, crashing into the black water.

Yuanhai the Ancestor hastily unleashed his divine art—the entire sky’s black water became a monstrous, gaping Fuhai Demon Whale, trying to swallow Su Chen, but his surrounding chaotic qi forcibly repelled it.

Su Chen walked upon the water; each step crushed a hole through Yuanhai the Ancestor’s divine art.

Yuanhai the Ancestor roared, again summoning the Fuhai Pearl skyward, unleashing ten thousand sea eyes to crush down and grind Su Chen’s flesh to dust.

Su Chen blocked the sea-eye’s whirl with his flesh, then seized Yuanhai the Ancestor’s shoulder armor.

With a crack, the deep-blue scales on the Profound Sea Patriarch’s body caved in.

The deep-blue scales on Yuanhai the Ancestor’s body caved inward.

Yuanhai the Ancestor grunted, flipping his palm to strike Su Chen’s chest.

Black water coalesced into a vortex in his palm—the Devouring Sea Art aimed to drain Su Chen’s entire blood and qi.

But the moment his palm touched Su Chen’s chest, it struck like a rock before Heaven’s opening—his art had no effect.

Su Chen drove his knee into Yuanhai the Ancestor’s abdomen.

Yuanhai the Ancestor arched his back; the Fuhai Demon Whale shadow behind him writhed in agony, black water spraying everywhere.

He tried to retreat, but Su Chen was too close—his fists, elbows, knees, and shoulders all became weapons.

Above Flame Mountain, the scene was so bizarre it stunned all observers.

Yuanhai the Ancestor, a mid-stage Peerless Saint, wielding a primordial magic treasure, was being pinned down and beaten at close range by Su Chen.

Jiaowang swallowed hard, then muttered: “Our strategist is becoming less and less human.”

Shituo Wang, gripping his blade, nodded seriously: “Don’t insult him—he’s our brother.”

Niutian had no time to watch—he turned to Peng Wang: “Third brother, it’s our turn.”

Peng Wang had been stunned by the battle beside him; only when Niutian spoke did he snap back, his heart turning cold.

Yuanhai the Ancestor couldn’t suppress Su Chen—not only that, he was getting beaten. How could they possibly win?

Niutian didn’t care what he thought—he swung his Iron Club, its strike crude and tyrannical, targeting every wounded spot on Peng Wang.

Jiaowang’s long halberd danced, black tides forming chains to seal off his escape.

Shituo Wang was the fiercest—each slash aimed for the wings, as if he meant to chop them off and roast them.

Though wounded, Peng Wang’s speed remained terrifying.

With a flap of black feathers, he darted between their weapons, his Devouring Demon Spear thrusting repeatedly at Niutian’s throat, Jiaowang’s brow, and Shituo Wang’s waist.

But three against one—how could he land a hit? One struck, and the other two weapons were already upon him.

On the Great Peng Demon King, the black-gold battle armor cracked more and more, his shoulder plates shattered by the Ox Demon King, large patches of feathers stripped from his left wing by the Roc King, and his ribs pierced by the Dragon King’s spear—blood dripped down the armor plates, burning black smoke into the crimson sand.

Peng Wang’s black-gold battle armor cracked more with each strike—his shoulder armor shattered under Niutian’s club, his left wing stripped of feathers by Shituo Wang’s blade, his ribs pierced by Jiaowang’s halberd—blood dripped down the armor plates, sizzling into black smoke on the red sand.

But the other side fared worse: Su Chen struck the Covering Sea Pearl again, forcing the Profound Sea Patriarch’s magic treasure to retreat in defense; his next punch pierced through the black water, shattering half the Patriarch’s scales. The spectral shadow of the Covering Sea Demon Whale opened its mouth to swallow him several times, each time shattered outright by Su Chen’s bare body.

But over there, it was worse—Su Chen smashed the Fuhai Pearl again, forcing Yuanhai the Ancestor to recall his treasure; the next punch pierced the black water, cracking half his scales. The Fuhai Demon Whale shadow lunged to swallow him again and again—each time, Su Chen shattered it with his flesh alone.

Peng Wang was utterly panicked—Yuanhai the Ancestor clearly couldn’t hold Su Chen, and his master hadn’t arrived.

If he delayed any longer, he would die here.

Since becoming a disciple of the Kun Peng, he’d never imagined he’d be cornered by these “brothers.”

He resented it—he’d joined the Yao Shi Palace, inherited ancient lineage, cultivated the Kun Peng’s ultimate speed, wielded the Devouring Demon Spear—he should have towered above all demons.

But back then, he let Su Chen escape—and now this.

In his panic, he slipped—Shituo Wang’s blade slashed into his shoulder, nearly splitting him to the breastbone.

Peng Wang snapped back, using the impact to break free from their encirclement, spitting out essence blood that landed on his wings—each black feather ignited with crimson demonic light.

Jiaowang saw this and shouted: “No good! He’s activating a secret technique to flee!”

Behind Peng Wang, the Kun Peng shadow emerged, wings spread wide, tearing fine fissures in space.

He transformed into a streak of black light, fleeing skyward.

This was the Kun Peng’s ultimate escape art—the Kun Peng’s Ultimate Speed.

Though incomplete, it was enough to escape.

At that moment, Niutian’s roar came from behind.

“Think you can run? Impossible!”

Niutian spat out a speck of emerald light.

The emerald light grew with the wind, becoming a staff-length Divine Banana Fan.

Its surface was lush green, its patterns naturally formed; between its ribs flowed the Yin Essence Gale.

Peng Wang turned and his heart froze.

The Ox Demon King’s arms swelled, demonic power flooding into the fan, and even the spectral ox demon behind him roared to the heavens.

Niutian’s arms swelled, demonic power flooding the fan—his own Ox Demon shadow roared to the heavens.

“Third brother, when we swore brotherhood, you said your speed was unmatched in the Three Realms—no one could catch you.”

Niutian grinned, teeth gleaming white.

“Funny—my wife’s fan was made precisely for people like you who run too fast!”

He swung the fan—the Yin Essence Gale howled into the sky.

That wind was no ordinary gale—it was a primordial gang wind.

The space laws Peng Wang had just formed shattered into fragments; his black light trembled violently in midair, the Kun Peng shadow shrieked in agony.

The Great Peng Demon King tumbled out of the void, half his body flayed and bleeding, wings stripped of feathers by the storm winds, like a plucked black chicken.

Peng Wang tumbled from the void, half his body flayed open, wings stripped of feathers by the gale—like a plucked black chicken.

Shituo Wang laughed loudly: “Great fan! Sister-in-law’s treasure is amazing!”

Jiaowang said nothing—he thrust his halberd through the air, piercing Peng Wang’s chest.

Shituo Wang arrived next—his great blade sliced in from the other side, the edge emerging from his back.

Peng Wang looked down at the two weapons piercing his body, lips moving.

What did he want to say?

Plead? Curse? Or recall their old brotherhood?

But no one wanted to hear.

Niutian flew upward, raised his Iron Club high, and brought it down with the weight of ten thousand jin—Peng Wang’s skull shattered, his primordial spirit barely escaping before being crushed into nothingness by the club’s demonic power.

Once one of the Seven Great Saints, the Mix-Tian Great Saint Peng Wangmo, died on Flame Mountain.

Far away, the Ancient Ancestor of the Abyss Sea also saw Peng Wangmo’s death, and his heart turned cold.

Peng Wangmo is dead, yet the Kunpeng has not yet appeared.

What does this mean? It means he too may have been abandoned.

Su Chen punched forward; the Ancient Ancestor of the Abyss Sea hastily activated the Cover-Sea Pearl to block it, its light trembling violently under the fist force.

He used the force to retreat, black water enveloping his entire body, a crack splitting open behind him in the void.

The Ancient Ancestor of the Abyss Sea swept his sleeve, turning the Cover-Sea Pearl into ten thousand layers of black water blocking his front, then turned and dashed toward the void crack.

Su Chen looked up, his chaotic blood qi surging to the heavens, standing within the black water like a ferocious god emerging from before creation.

He let out a cold laugh.

“Now you want to run?”

Su Chen stepped forward, shattering the black water, and reached out to grasp the void crack.

“Too late!”