Chapter 796: Phantom

Charak was not stupid. He had sold his body and soul to the devil as a weapon, but he knew the secrets that his brothers did not know.
Discipline is the key to mastering control. Even the most powerful demon cannot fight a closely guarded human soul. They can share flesh and blood, but absolutely cannot rule his existence.
This demon is so powerful that he doesn’t even know what it is called, but he has so much demanded from him in the last few days, and at this endangered moment, it demands everything.
But he is not stupid. Prudence and vigilance are the only way to deal with the creatures in this field. He has seen too much of his brother's body as a boarding den for the devil's wisdom, and all the former existence disappears.
Angry Oaker howled below, they were not like wolves, but a group of madmen.
The howl of the beast is the product of the laws of nature, and the howl of a madman is a blend of anger and the joy of the same torture, born from a life that has been spurned and twisted.
He turned to look at the vague stone pillar.
"At my request, you followed my voice for several days and nights, now you stand before this stone statue carved by sinners according to my image, you have completed all the tests and proved that you are worthy of this integration, now ?Xiarak, now?"
"I'm ready."
Charak said, making an iconic gesture in front of his throat and taking off his helmet.
He could hear the friction between the iron boots and the rock. Ok was about to arrive. From the moment he failed to assassinate the boss, the gang of mad dogs would not stop the pace of chasing.
In his impression, every integration is very different.
Once, it was like a mallet pounding his nerves, as if the devil was drilling into him in an invisible way.
Sometimes, it was like a series of unconscious sensory bursts-the shadow of the lost soul passed through the corners of his eyes, and a whisper from the whole world came through his ears.
This time, he felt that integration was a physiological change, which was a welcome blasphemy for his body that was bleeding and convulsing.
Pain goes deep into the bone marrow and crushes it.
"Well……"
He fell to his knees. Then his eyes hardened in the eye sockets and merged with the bones in the back. He flicked them, scratched them, and pulled them, but his eyes had turned into stone in the skull, dotted from his face The spine stretched out.
The power brings a strong sense of intoxication, and there is no combat potion or sedative that can be compared with the power of drilling into his muscle fibers.
He tore up his armor. He no longer needed these protections. The metal cracked and scattered, making room for the growing chitinous carapace.
Charak endured the pain and concentrated, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat.
Control, control, control!
It’s just pain, it won’t kill him, it can be overcome...but
The pain is too strong, far exceeding all the unity that has been experienced in the past, the pain reaches his essence, beyond the limits of his flesh and blood, the pain passes through his bones and transforms into something deeper, more specific and more Fragile things.
"I'll give you a lesson"
The voice said:
"Not all pain can be controlled."
Charak turned around and roared through his mouth, which had become full of sharp teeth, and his jaw was almost out of control.
Gradually, his voice faded, and the cry stopped abruptly, turning into a different kind of laughter.
"Not all enemies can be defeated."
Fear, the first fear in his life that flooded his body with adrenaline.
"Hello, my new servant, please call me... Wendy."

A pilgrim from hell, he stood on the edge of a towering cliff beyond understanding to the sky formed by madness and pain, and looked down at the army below.
They are nothing but ants and rats.
A meaningless war waged by gravel-sized creatures.
His armor has turned into copper and iron, and has undergone numerous repairs after numerous battles. The weapons he used in the war have also disappeared.
His sword was broken in a massacre a few days ago.
He could see that there was a group of people named Umbra Blade among the ants surrounded below.
For a while, he was also one of them. He served as a vanguard in the war, issued a series of stable orders or listened to reports that kept coming, and smiled in the corners of his eyes and his lips laughed during the killing.
At such a long distance, he couldn't tell whether the fighting army or whether they still had the system.
Even a glimpse of the dust through the sand can reveal the most conspicuous fact that human beings have once again been defeated in the face of enemies overwhelming them.
Personal bravery and heroic actions are useless here.
A battle can consist of tens of thousands of duels of individual souls, but this cannot win the war.
The wind, as always, is a traitor in this field, bringing the irregular fragments of the roar from the valley below to his ears, and he let the wind blow beside him without guilt, as if he did not care about him unraveling Long hair flying in the wind generally does not feel any sense of killing and screaming.
He squatted down, holding the red sand on this poor land, his eyes never left the battlefield, even if he had no interest in who was born or died, the fighting instinct still pushed him.
Below him, Ok's storm boy hovered or flew over the battlefield, adding the clamoring bullet to the frenzy of the battlefield below.
Oak's giant machinery-only at the size of his finger at this distance-traverses the crowd, and the flash of their weapon fire is still enough to leave a bright dazzling track in his field of vision.
He smiled, not because of the battle.
What is the name of this world?
He found himself not even knowing the answer to this question.
His curiosity brought him to another world ~ EbookFREE.me ~ and he is here now watching many creatures die hundreds and hundreds, even not knowing what is worth their sacrifice to defend.
How many warriors are fighting, bleeding, and screaming in the canyon below, which he recognizes?
The vast majority.
He had no doubts about this, and he was ridiculous about it.
He stood up, opened his clenched fists, and let the wind blow away the lifeless dust in his hands. The dust turned into mist and disappeared in sight under the gloomy sun hanging from the sky.
The slender figure turned away from the battle and left the cliff. The footprint marked his course, but he believed that the wind would cover his footprint before anyone noticed it.
He looked at the horizon,
In a space invisible to the naked eye, he saw three huge minarets in the west rushing to the sky. These creations were not created by human or other life skills, but by pure sacred ideas.
That will be his destination.
In this vision that transcends rationality, the landforms shaped by greed and hatred are more real than the craftsmanship of mortal craftsmanship or the magic of natural laws.
He had crossed the annihilated bridge and stepped on the stone island suspended in the void.
He had explored the tombs of countless kings, but he did not take away any traces of priceless treasures.
He has traveled through hundreds of realities and illusions in the realm of the world, and he ignored the feast.
What drives him is curiosity, and what supports him is faith.
At one time, all he needed was happiness, but the master's will has cooled this core.
Silas is no longer a mortal, no longer a shadow blade.
He now calls himself the prince of Kamen, representing the great will of the hungry lady, walking in this land.