Chapter 408: Capturing a 'God' Alive

The Faceless Skull's mocking laughter echoed in the void.

From its giant mouth bristling with barbs, it spat out foul-smelling mucus.

It loved seeing Sun Wukong in this helpless, furious state.

Aren't you good at fighting?

Aren't you trying to flip the table?

How many apostles can you cut down?

You can save this one, but can you protect that one?

The Faceless Skull continued to taunt: "Once the light shell breaks, your master's old heart will be chewed to pieces."

Sun Wukong stood amidst the scattered scrap copper and iron filling the sky.

His breathing suddenly slowed.

Extreme fury did not burn him to ash.

Instead, upon touching that critical limit, a strange anomaly occurred.

He broke through a certain shackle of reason.

He looked at the grayish-white Chaos Dao iron in his hand.

His mind felt an unprecedented clarity.

What's the point of killing all these flies they've thrown out?

That bastard, the Original Mistake, hides behind the scenes.

It's watching the show.

It's enjoying its own misery.

Sun Wukong retracted the violent crimson-gold flames on his body.

The ferocity on his face vanished completely.

His whole being became as still as an ancient well.

Like a stone that has lain at the bottom of water for ten thousand years.

"Had enough laughing?"

He lifted his head and stared straight into that bloody maw.

The Faceless Skull's laughter cut off abruptly.

It could see no trace of anger in the monkey's eyes.

Only a stillness so deep it made the Abyss shudder.

"Your laugh sounds truly fucking awful."

Sun Wukong thrust his left hand forward violently.

His five fingers ignored the limits of spatial distance.

He drove them straight into the Faceless Skull's giant mouth.

He grabbed its upper jaw and lower chin in one grip.

"Jibber-jabber, wasting my time on real business."

His arm muscles bulged.

He gave a hard pull.

With a crisp "rip" sound,

the Faceless Skull was torn cleanly in half.

Foul black blood sprayed across the void.

The taunting image shattered along with it.

Sun Wukong roughly wiped his mucus‑slick hand on his Linked Golden Armor.

He was no longer satisfied with merely beating these cannon fodder to the point of body and spirit destruction.

He needed a live captive.

A specimen he could cut open, peel apart, and study closely.

A flesh‑based radar that could trace back to that bastard's lair.

He closed his eyes.

He spread out his vast divine sense.

Crossing countless dead starfields.

A withered monk won't do.

That thing is just a pile of empty shells stitched together; cutting it yields only mist.

Mechanical apostles won't work either.

Pangu's mass of substance has already been smashed by him into scrap iron; its core logic is pure gibberish.

He wants something solid.

Something with flesh and blood, with genuine physical causality linking to that old immortal behind the scenes.

Sun Wukong opened his eyes.

He found it.

At the far edge of the Star Sea.

Once the immensely prosperous Heavenly Pivot Star Federation, now it's become a slaughterhouse.

A colossal sutured beast, its volume incalculable, lies upon the federation's main star, gnawing at it.

It is a monster forged by forcibly stitching together countless demon god corpses from the Wanshen Fenchang.

The wings of the Nine-Headed Dragon Demon, the torso of the Golden Metal Demon God, and the resentful heads of countless failed monkeys.

It is too material.

Every piece of rotting flesh carries strong substantive karma.

This is the best prey.

Sun Wukong steps and shatters the spatial barrier beneath his foot.

His figure flickers.

Directly crossing half the universe's distance.

Descending upon the skies of the Federal Main Star.

The Patchwork Monster uses seven or eight thick arms to uproot the entire Metal Main City from the crust.

Several hundred heads bearing Sun Wukong's face are frenziedly gnawing on the surviving steel-clad civilians atop the city walls.

Sun Wukong appears.

No thunderstorm, no golden light.

He simply floats calmly above the monster's head.

The Chaos Dao Iron in his hand is casually shouldered.

The Patchwork Monster stops its eating motion.

Its hundreds of heads all turn in unison.

Thousands of eyes brimming with hatred stare fixedly at Sun Wukong.

It senses the prey's aura.

And it is the prey that the master despises most.

Roar——!

The Patchwork Monster lets out a roar that tears the heavens.

It doesn't even know how to write the two words 'fear'.

It is the aggregation of the resentments of the defeated.

Its huge body arches backward.

A giant arm assembled from dozens of demon gods' thigh bones, clenched into a fist comparable to a meteorite.

Carrying the violent force capable of destroying a star system, it smashes down toward Sun Wukong's head.

The fist's pressure causes the planetary surface below to be instantly covered with spiderweb-like fissures.

Sun Wukong doesn't even lift an eyelid.

He does not retreat but advances.

Facing the meat mountain fist pressing down from above.

He loosens his left hand.

Held flat in front of his body.

Without using the chaotic power of Chaos Dao, nor using the destructive primordial source of the Equal Heaven Path.

A clump of dead‑gray light shines in his palm.

This is the primordial source of 【Order】.

This power once belonged to Hongjun.

The main point is absolute rationality, absolute rules, absolute analysis.

Bang.

One big and one small fist collide.

The expected heaven‑destroying, earth‑annihilating explosion simply does not occur.

It's overly quiet.

The Patchwork Monster's mountain‑sized fist halts before Sun Wukong's insignificant palm.

Not even an inch can be pressed down.

The gray light in Sun Wukong's palm spreads rapidly across the contact surface.

Like a high‑density gray‑white net, in the blink of an eye it envelops the monster's entire fist.

Analysis begins.

This feeling is like a top‑tier hacker, provoked countless times by a bored keyboard warrior, finally growing tired of the shouting.

He follows a virtual network line and directly invades the opponent's system.

He violently pushes open the firewall.

Lines of code reveal their true form under his gray light.

Sun Wukong closes his eyes, feeling the information flow coming from his fingertips.

This chunk of meat is the right buttock of the Chaos Earth Demon, the resentment is too mixed, trash.

The gray light passes.

That truck‑sized chunk of rotting flesh turns directly into flying ash.

This bone is a dragon bone dug out from some ruins, rotted through, cut off.

The gray network lines are like a precise scalpel, wildly rushing inside the monster's body.

Peeling away layer by layer the demon god's body that it prides itself on.

Forcibly sorting, categorizing, and then smashing its chaotic resentments.

The Patchwork Monster panics.

It feels no pain.

But it felt its own existence being forcibly torn apart.

The vengeful logic controlling its left half was deleted by Sun Wukong.

Its massive half-body went limp directly, collapsing like a puddle of mud.

The panic of being pressed onto a chopping board and having its innards rummaged through made it emit a distorted wail.

It desperately tried to pull back that huge arm.

Trying to create distance.

Couldn't pull it free.

Sun Wukong's left hand simply rested on its finger bones.

Yet it felt like bearing the heaviest shackles of the universe.

Firmly stuck to it.

"What are you running from?"

Sun Wukong raised his head, his eyes filled with icy gray light.

"I still need to borrow your brain to find someone."

The gray light crawled up along its arm.

Crawled over its torso.

Crawled over the hundreds of wobbling heads on its neck.

Every invisible causal thread connecting these flesh pieces was marked by Sun Wukong.

He was following the vine to the melon.

These flesh fragments pieced together must have a main control line.

That line is the coordinates leading to the lair of the Original Mistake.

The hundreds of mouths on the patchwork monster simultaneously let out shrill screams.

It swung its dozen or so movable arms, frenziedly smashing down at Sun Wukong.

Sun Wukong used only a tenth of the power of Chaos Dao Iron, casually swinging.

A layer of gray‑gold barrier appeared above his head.

The dozen‑plus arms smashed into it, all shattered bone and tendon.

Rotten flesh fell like rain.

"Behave."

Sun Wukong furrowed his brows into a dead knot, "You lot are really fucking noisy."

The gray light finally penetrated the core chest cavity of the patchwork monster.

There lay a mass of black‑like‑ink flesh tumor.

This is the convergence point of all grudges and commands.

Sun Wukong curled the corner of his mouth into a cruel arc.

"Got you."

His palm snapped back in a fierce grab.

The gray net tightened instantly.

Under this absolute order's pull, the patchwork monster's boundless massive body began to shrink at extreme speed.

Hundreds of heads were forcibly kneaded together.

Countless demon god skeletons were crushed into a lump.

The pig‑slaughter‑like wail echoed throughout the star field.

Sun Wukong completely disregarded its life or death.

Five fingers closed together.

The huge monster was squeezed by him into a black flesh ball the size of a fist.

Firmly gripped in his palm.

The flesh ball struggled and jumped desperately in his hand.

Sun Wukong snorted coldly.

A strand of Equal Heaven Primordial Source turned into a golden needle, mercilessly piercing the core of the flesh ball.

Erasing all its resisting consciousness.

Leaving only a pure causal thread pointing straight to the source.

Sun Wukong placed the flesh ball in his palm.

His eyes locked onto that black causal thread only he could see.

This thread spanned countless dimensional barriers.

Extending all the way to the outermost edge of the universe.

In that untouchable void deep beyond.

"Hidden pretty deep, huh, mouse."

Sun Wukong gripped the Chaos Dao Iron tightly.

His divine sense surged along that line, ruthlessly charging forward.

He wanted to see where that self‑righteous Original Mistake was hiding in what dog hole.

His divine sense broke through layer after layer of sticky negation barriers.

Speed reached the extreme.

The sound of dimensional tearing boomed in his ears.

Ahead lay a pale expanse where no substance existed.

Finally.

He burst through the final barrier.

His vision suddenly opened up.

He saw the end of this karma thread.

It was a vast void from which even light could not escape.

But at the very center of the void, there was no nameless horror monster.

Only an utterly ordinary rattan chair.

Sun Wukong's divine sense stood still.

His blood surged straight to his head.

He saw on that chair a gaunt old man lying.

The old man closed his eyes, holding a broken palm-leaf fan, slowly swaying it.

That was the face of the Bodhi Patriarch.