Chapter 135

Sure enough, the Holy Spirit Angel leaped into the air and pushed both hands forward, firing a beam of light.

Ang had already bolted the moment the Holy Spirit Angel leaped, but he was too far away—he couldn't reach in time, and could only watch helplessly as the beam shot toward Phelin and Lisa, then saw a white figure cut between the beam and Phelin, Lisa, and the others, blocking the beam.

The beam struck the angel skeleton, instantly vaporizing its skin, flesh, and hair, then searing its bones, sending up thick white smoke.

Yet it did not back down, firmly "hugging" the beam, its soul letting out a pained scream: "Aooooo!!!"

The beam was held fast by it, but the holy light burned its soul and bones; the parts of its bones long corroded by the breath of death now peeled away layer by layer, dissolving and evaporating.

Its soul was also being scorched—if this continued, its holy soul would soon be burned away entirely.

Ang's head suddenly burst into roaring flames, his soul instantly linking with the angel skeleton's soul, pouring out an endless stream of soul energy.

Could a mere beam of holy light burn away a soul protected by the God of Undeath?

Clearly not. The angel skeleton screamed "Aoooo!" in pain, but the louder it screamed, the stronger its voice became; it clung tighter to the beam, twisting it into a "ball," bare-handedly "grasping" the holy light—something it excelled at.

The distant knights were stunned—what was going on? A little girl turned into a skeleton, and now she was grabbing the Holy Spirit Angel's holy light?

Something was off. Something was wrong.

The knights sensed something was wrong, but the mindless Holy Spirit Angel did not—it landed, spread its wings, and flew toward the angel skeleton.

The knights immediately lunged, grabbing its head, arms, legs, covering its eyes, then wrapping it in a holy shroud, tying it into a bundle, and securing it atop the horse it had ridden.

If they didn't, the Holy Spirit Angel, which fought to the death, would drag everyone to ruin.

Having secured their own unstable element, the knights turned to the angel skeleton—its bones had already been burned away significantly; the tips of its ribs had vanished, four or five fingers were gone, and it clung to the beam only by holding it with its palm.

Then, guess what? The angel skeleton's bones were originally holy relics—exposed to holy light, they would regenerate. But Ang's holy light contained no divine will, so what regenerated was a fake angel.

Yet now, under the searing holy light, the parts corroded by the breath of death melted away, and the angel skeleton's damaged bones began regenerating; the ball of holy light it clung to was no longer harming it—it was healing its body.

Bones regenerated, flesh regenerated, consciousness regenerated…

As the holy relics restored, the original holy spirit consciousness tied to the relics would also revive—but the soul now occupying the relics was an undead one. Sensing the returning holy spirit, the angel skeleton didn't hesitate—it "bit" down, and even "smacked" its lips.

No matter how powerful the holy spirit, at the moment of rebirth it was vulnerable—it didn't even squeak before being swallowed.

Finally, the entire beam of holy light was absorbed by the angel skeleton. The holy power within it had once been enough to vaporize its soul—but the God of Undeath was right beside it, "shielding" it, pouring out soul energy without regard for cost, forcibly neutralizing the holy light's damage.

The angel skeleton, now restored to the form of a little girl—no longer could it be called an "angel skeleton"—the holy light had restored it into a true angel, except that its holy spirit consciousness had been replaced by an undead soul.

The little angel now glowed white as if luminous; two glowing masses remained at her shoulder blades. She turned and faced Ang, letting out an "Aoooo!"

Ang rushed over, flipped open her wings, and clipped them into place. The two unextinguished glows immediately extended along the wings, protruding from the wing sockets to form two radiant wings.

Negrilis, watching from afar, slammed her tiny paw down: "So that's it! I knew four-wing and six-wing angels' wings were too large to fit aerodynamics—turns out the second pair are energy-based light wings! Back then, Aigan should've captured a four-wing angel for me to study—I wouldn't have had to guess all this time!"

Nearby, Bruce heard this and silently stepped back, expressionless. This ancestor's tone was outrageous—casually saying he'd capture a four-wing angel for study? Didn't he fear the holy spirits going mad?

If Negrilis heard Bruce's thoughts, she'd probably say: Don't worry—the remaining holy spirits are all planted in the ground.

Too bad, no one would believe such a thing anyway. Sigh—sometimes the truth is so bizarre, it's like a minotaur aunt doing a handstand.

"Huh? Those knights are trying to run. Bruce, hurry—you're fast, stop them!" said Negrilis.

No response. Negrilis turned—Bruce had already moved over ten meters away, pretending not to hear.

"Bruce!" Negrilis roared in fury.

Bruce sighed helplessly: "Ancestor, I can't act. If they attack, I can help you drive them off. But if they flee, and I stop them, the situation escalates—it drags the dragon clan into this conflict. I don't want to provoke the crazies of the Church of Light."

"Oh, right—you're the dragon clan chief." After a brief pause, Negrilis bellowed: "Then what good are you! Can't you just kill them all? No one will know you did it!"

Bruce was drenched in verbal abuse, knew he was in the wrong, and just hunched his head, taking it.

He hadn't thought this far ahead—he'd heard Negrilis say "sell yourself to pay the bill," so he'd said, "I'll sell myself too," and bargained for two years.

He'd thought: I'm a Truth-tier powerhouse—I sell myself for two years to protect you, shouldn't you treat me with utmost respect? No—instead, they dragged him out to work, repairing roads that stretched beyond sight.

Fine, work he would—who cared? As long as Ang worked, he'd work just as hard.

Confident Bruce, exhausted, began slacking off—then Negrilis swindled him out of a teleportation array, using his own private funds for materials. Thinking back made him cry.

He couldn't outwork others, his protection seemed unnecessary, and now even fighting—he hesitated because of his status. Just as Negrilis said: What use is this dragon!

Before Negrilis finished scolding, another beam of holy light flashed in the distance—this time, it came from the little angel. The beam was much thicker than before, and the fleeing knights were thrown into chaos—limbs severed, bodies tumbling, rolling in agony.

The little angel tilted her face up, beaming, and shouted "Aoooo!" at Ang.

Ang tilted his head, studying her—the little angel who had just released holy light didn't have her flesh ashing, and her height seemed… "You've shrunk."