[? ? ?]
If a Heart Pivot dared to dig the thoughts out of Paquiao's head right now, the skies above the entire New Spring would probably be filled with question marks—endless question marks.
What the hell? What was going on? Where had this rabid dog come from?
Paquiao had originally been looking down at the changes on the battlefield from afar when the back of his head suddenly went cold—
Everyone had been locked in a life-and-death struggle one moment, and the next, this absurd mishmash of a freak had leaped out, screaming things like "Don't hurt my father!" and "Die, old bastard!" as it charged in...
It was not all that lethal, but it was fucking terrifying!
Boom!
In the blink of an eye, it was close at hand. Then a battle axe halberd, a long spear, and two two-handed greatswords came chopping down at his head. That was not all—one hand gripped a sickle, intending to take advantage of his inattention and go for his crotch, while the last hand pulled a revolver from its ass crack, tipped it up, and emptied the cylinder.
It was as though six people had launched a joint attack. The sudden eruption was so violent and crazed, the strikes so vicious and venomous, that it truly opened one's eyes.
Unfortunately, their ranks were far too far apart!
"Get lost!"
Paquiao did not even turn around. The hand holding the Blood Banner remained steady as a rock, while his other hand instantly drew the dagger at his waist.
With fury in his heart, he struck. The crimson sharp blade, entwined with Blood Flame, cleaved downward.
In an instant, the Blood Flame surged and churned. He showed no mercy with this strike—the power of a Transcendent Rank, the experience of bloodshed through ten