Mo Hua had chopped the Lesser Faceless Heavenly Demon into "mincemeat."
But in the next instant, the pitch-black flesh of demonic thought writhed together and took shape again. From its blank face came a shrill, twisted voice:
"What are you?!"
Mo Hua did not answer. He seized it by the throat, slammed it to the ground, then hacked it into mincemeat with the God-Slaying Sword.
The Lesser Faceless Heavenly Demon formed a body from the mince once more. Anger had appeared on its featureless face.
They were Faceless Heavenly Demons: faceless, formless, emotionless. They rarely grew angry—unless reality became too absurd.
They had always toyed with human hearts. Never had anyone treated them like clay figures to be gripped and hacked apart at will.
The Lesser Faceless Heavenly Demon said coldly, "What exactly are y—"
But its throat was seized again.
Mo Hua moved with blinding speed and overwhelming force. Gripping the Lesser Faceless Heavenly Demon by the neck as though it were a little ghost, he repeated the trick: he slammed it down and chopped it into a puddle of mush.
That was the third time.
Yet even after being hacked apart three times, the Lesser Faceless Heavenly Demon had not died. It writhed back into its original shape.
Mo Hua frowned slightly. "I can't kill you?"
A mouthlike hollow opened and closed on the demon's featureless face. "You think your paltry skill can kill me?"
The "lesser faceless" Heavenly Demon had little power to injure, but a formidable ability to parasitize. Mo Hua, whom no evil could invade, was its natural counter.
Yet it was also a "high-grade Heavenly Demon." Its rank was too high: the God-Slaying Sword could cut it but not kill it. Mo Hua could do nothing else to it, either.
"Fine..."
Mo Hua sighed.