Secret Art-Mara Dead Sea: Grief Cry!
Casimodo's long-planned spell was somewhat unexpected by Ronan.
The Light of Blasphemy Moon, exceeding the power of a normal mid-stage level five, caused Ronan a slight stinging sensation between his brows, and the Dead Sea before him began to churn once more.
Ronan narrowed his eyes slightly, took a deep breath, and with the blessing of [[Instinctive Grip]], the eight blades of his Spirit Force resonated in unison, influencing the surrounding forces. The gold was reinforced with Itai, and he faced the direction from which the dazzling arrow was shot head-on.
"Boom!"
One white, one black; one dazzling, one fiery.
Like two stars colliding, the magical aftershocks that erupted in an instant stirred up layers of storms in the void. The turbulent energy plowed across the ground, easily tearing apart the bodies of third and fourth-tier Magic Creature, leaving blood-soaked trenches on the ground.
Everyone in the arena stared intently at the center of the energy burst. When the billowing smoke and dust cleared, Casimodo, still in the posture of drawing his bow, froze, his eyes wide with shock. His hands loosened, and the silver longbow, covered in starlight, almost slipped from his grasp.
"How is that possible?"
At the center of the collision, Ronan was clad in Itai, with sixteen pairs of magnificent Golden Eagle Wings spread out behind him, his black hair dancing wildly like flames, and black patterns swirling all over his body.
He held a gun in one hand, and a powerful Spirit Force, a blend of black and deep red, surged around him like a tide. He held the other hand out to the front, his five fingers gripping a crystal-carved feather tightly.
The feathers were exquisite, with countless floating runes on their surface, like a peerless work of art.
However, it was now covered in cracks, and when Ronan gently pinched it with his fingers, it shattered into countless crystal fragments.
"Still... not quite there."
Ronan took a deep breath, and his entire body suddenly became blurry on the spot, then faded and disappeared.
Meanwhile, Casimodo, on the other side of the battlefield, was on high alert, constantly retreating backward.
Ronan stood right in front of him, his feet motionless, yet his body remained perfectly still, maintaining a posture of looking down from above.
Casimodo.
Ronan spoke calmly.
The latter's eyes flickered slightly, the next second...
"Bang! Crack! Crack—"
A shadowy hand suddenly tore through the layers of force field energy surrounding Casimodo and slammed it into his face, shattering the amethyst mask instantly.
When Ronan stopped, Casimodo's entire face caved in deeply, blood dripping down his chin, and he trembled as he slowly slid down to his knees.
Behind him, a group of Black Moon Wizards looked at Ronan with an indescribable gaze, then quickly dispersed in fear.
"Call--"
A heat wave swept in from behind as a massive, blazing white fire python swooped down from the sky towards Ronan, accompanied by countless giant eagles formed from deep blue Wind Blade, as well as some other fifth-tier spells.
Ronan tilted his head slightly, casually raised his spear and swept it horizontally, the tip of the spear drawing a huge crescent-shaped black arc of light.
The immense power of a region swept towards the densely packed incoming spells.
Ronan followed closely behind, charging straight towards the vortex of flames above, where the blazing white fire python's jaws were wide open.
"Pop—"
Like the sound of a bubble bursting, in the blink of an eye Ronan pierced through the enormous fire python, its head exploding into countless flames.
Ronan [Penetration] the fire python and quickly found the shadow of the person behind the blazing white fire python.
The signature robes of the Spirit Lake Flame lineage, short hair, red eyes, and a faint, violent light flashing in his eyes.
Carniel, the Son of Spirit Lake Flame.
Carniel was known as the "Tyrant" in the Flame Faction, but when facing Ronan, he looked flustered and nervous, like a deserter, and kept backing away.
Ronan stretched out his body, slowly raising his Eight-Bladed Spear, just about to pierce Carniel and pin him to the void.
Just then, a shout suddenly rang in his ears.
"Sarlange!"
Ronan slightly turned his gaze and saw Ulyian, whom he had previously suppressed, staring intently at him with venomous eyes, gritting his teeth, and shouting hoarsely, his face showing a hint of fanaticism.
"Sarlange!"
"Sarlange!"
More shouts erupted, all from the wizards of the Wizard Heart Hall. They stared intently at Ronan, as if those four words contained some kind of magical Magic Power that enabled them to stand up again.
Ronan frowned slightly, puzzled, when suddenly he felt a chilling, bone-deep tremor and oppression.
It's like the feeling of your fingers being forcibly cut open when you pluck a cold, sharp string.
"Buzz—"
A strange tremor ran through him. With the help of [[Instinctive Grip]], Ronan instinctively twisted his body and thrust his spear fiercely into the void before him.
Suddenly, a dense, chilling dark energy seeped out of the void like water, forming a large puddle. Then, from the black water, a pair of skeletal hands, wielding an enormous, narrow scythe, silently slashed towards him.
The spear and scythe collided without making a sound, as if they [Penetration] right through each other.
"Bang!"
Ronan's figure suddenly exploded, turning into countless pale silver rays that scattered in all directions.
When it reappeared, it was in another location in the void.
Ronan's expression was strange at this moment, as he remained standing with his gun in hand.
He raised one hand and slowly brushed it across his left cheek, where a clear bloodstain slowly appeared.
"This is starting to get interesting."
Ronan lowered his hand, his eyes shimmering like the Dead Sea, and calmly looked towards a certain spot.
In that spot, a tall and imposing figure stood alone.
The figure was dressed in a magnificent black robe and had a heroic appearance. He was the Level Five Wizard of the Wizard Heart Hall who had been forcibly lifted off his throne by Ronan earlier.
He was also the only Grand Wizard in the arena whose strength had reached the late stage of Level 5.
At this moment, his expression was icy, and his pupils strangely split into three pupils. Behind him, altar-like phantoms appeared and disappeared, exuding a terrifying and eerie aura.
On one of the altars, a blurry ghostly figure, dressed in tattered robes and wielding a giant scythe, stood silently.
"They're calling for you? You're Sarlange?"
Ronan looked at the man in front of him and began to find a bit of the feeling he had when he fought Thomas.
No.
It should be even stronger than it was then.
After all, Thomas, as the commander of the First Legion of Tangista, always fought him with a playful attitude.
But the man in front of me is different.
His murderous intent towards Ronan was so strong it could freeze water into ice!
The valiant man did not answer, but instead formed a mudra with his hands and softly uttered syllables of a spell.
The sound of the incantation seemed to come from a distant abyss, and when it reached my ears, it felt like countless sharp little hands frantically scratching at my eardrums.
As the strange magical fluctuations were released, the man's three pupils shone brightly, radiating an eerie, ghostly light.
The blurry ghostly figure holding a giant scythe on the altar behind it suddenly disappeared.
In an instant, that chilling, piercing feeling resurfaced in Ronan's heart.
Ronan's eyes suddenly lit up. Instead of retreating, he advanced. Under the [[Instinctive Grip]], he held the Spirit Force Spear, his sixteen pairs of golden wings fully unfurled. As if foreseeing the future, he swept the spear towards a certain position to his side.
The vanished, blurry ghostly figure reappeared precisely where it was, its massive black scythe slicing through, Ronan's spear slicing through it in an instant.
"Call--"
The two auras, eerie coldness and intense heat, mingled together, forming an indescribable and terrifying wind that swept across the battleground.
Wherever it passed, some of the void was corrupted and eroded, while others were twisted and melted.
This was an absolutely bizarre battle that defied description. As the undisputed king of the Wizard Heart Hall generation, Sarlange was the only one who had reached the late stage of level five and was even capable of challenging level six.
He summoned the ghostly figures enshrined on the eerie magical altar and fought Ronan. The spear and the giant scythe clashed repeatedly, yet not a sound was uttered from beginning to end.
Everyone fell silent, almost holding their breath, their eyes glued to the battle.
Ronan felt a long-lost excitement.
Sarlange's magic blends the essence of Darkness-Type and Undead Arts, carrying the aura of a powerful and ancient heritage, making it more bizarre and ruthless than he had ever seen before.
He could feel the oppressive force of death at all times.
This sensation caused the Power of the Dead Sea hidden deep within Ronan's Ancient Power to surge violently.
Ronan's melee combat system has two areas that urgently need improvement.
One is the [Ascetic Body Forging] skill, which has reached Master Level of proficiency.
The other is the Power of the Dead Sea, brought about by Ancient Power.
He had sensed an opportunity for breakthrough in both aspects when he was entangled by the shadow tentacles, but unfortunately, the pressure was not enough.
Now, facing the level 5 king of the Wizard Heart Hall, Sarlange, the pressure he has been looking forward to has increased dramatically.
Although the breakthrough of [Ascetic Body Forging] seemed to be slow to materialize, during the battle, the power of the Rule Control of [[Instinctive Grip]] was constantly being leveraged, and the power of the Black Dead Sea was being continuously unearthed.
"So close, so close."
Ronan unleashed a series of [Mirror Flower Water Moon] magical clones, battling against the elusive, blurry ghostly figures, while guarding against the terrifying giant scythe that could strike from any angle at any moment.
Before my eyes, inside my body, the once silent Dead Sea was churning more and more violently.
The feedback to him was that more and more scarlet runes etched on the Eight-Bladed Spear in his hand lit up, and large swaths of dark crimson surged from beneath the black Spirit Force surrounding him.
"Tear—"
Ronan's eyes were bloodshot, and suddenly sixteen pairs of golden wings on his back closed together, enduring a giant scythe-like slash from the blurry ghostly figure. He then recklessly thrust his spear at Sarlange, who was controlling the ghostly figure in the distance.
Sarlange's three pupils darted around, and a dense array of eerie black veins suddenly appeared on his cheeks and neck.
As a strange syllable was uttered, another strange altar emerged from the phantom altars behind him, and a burly figure wielding a giant guillotine stirred up a raging black tide, slashing down at Ronan with the blade.
"Click-clack—"
A long, narrow scythe followed closely behind, two terrifying dark undead weapons, one in front and one behind, forming a pincer movement, as if to cleave Ronan in two.
Countless forbidden arcs of black and dark blue lightning fell from the sky, making the entire battlefield seem as if it had suddenly fallen into a ghostly abyss.
And Sarlange, standing out from nowhere with ancient altars behind him, is the king who rules over this ghostly realm.
In an instant, everyone's eyes gleamed, as if they couldn't wait to see Ronan's defeat and death.
At this moment, the pressure Ronan felt also reached a peak.
Under the terrifying pressure of life and death, his primal instincts were awakened, and the Dead Sea within him seemed to boil over completely.
Endless crimson emanates from beneath the pitch-black Dead Sea, its scarlet waves roaring and surging.
Ronan seemed to hear the cries of countless wronged souls buried at the bottom of the Dead Sea, echoing through countless millennia.
Ronan suddenly stopped.
The gold armor on his body Itai, crumbled and peeled off piece by piece under the pressure of the two forbidden forces from the front and back.
He held a long spear, his head slightly lowered.
In the blink of an eye, he suddenly looked up, revealing a pair of blood-soaked, scarlet eyes.
"Call--"
The next second, Ronan's black Ancient Power rune tattoos turned completely red, and the black Spirit Force surrounding him also transformed into a deeper, thicker dark red, like semi-congealed Blood Plasma.
Countless dark red arcs of light exploded from Ronan's body, unleashing an extremely powerful, desolate, and majestic aura.
Ronan raised his dark red spear lightly, as if a vast, turbulent dark red Dead Sea was following behind him.
He exuded a terrifying aura far exceeding that of ordinary Forbidden Law Domain.
"Secret Technique - [Mara Dead Sea - Lament of Sorrow]!"
"Boom!"
This is the fourth update, bringing the total to over 15,000 words. Please vote with monthly tickets! Thank you!