Li Dan did not want to see Uncle Feng suffer a setback. After all, he still wanted to borrow the man's inheritance for a look.
With a light flick of his finger, something landed between the Qin Zombie and Uncle Feng.
The shadows on the ground suddenly began to boil.
Heavy footsteps rang out, each one seeming to tread on everyone's heartbeat.
A burly figure, like a small mountain, slowly emerged from the red light.
He wore a tattered, filthy work jacket, a signature hockey mask over his face, and carried a rusty machete that had no idea how many people it had chopped down.
The Crystal Lake killer, Jason Voorhees.
A violent icon of American horror.
The Qin Zombie was about to press its advantage and cut down the Taoist when it suddenly sensed an incomparably dangerous and evil presence blocking its way.
It stopped, its hollow eye sockets fixed on the strange man wrapped up from head to toe.
Roar!
Feeling challenged, the Qin Zombie let out an angry roar. Its bronze sword shot forward like a venomous snake with a shriek of slicing air, stabbing straight at Jason's abdomen.
Squelch!
The strike was swift and vicious, piercing straight through Jason's body, its tip emerging from his back.
Uncle Feng's eyelids twitched. "Fellow Taoist, be careful!"
Yet Jason did not even grunt.
He lowered his head and glanced at the ancient sword lodged in his belly as though it were merely a toothpick. Then he raised his head. There was not a trace of pain in the eyes behind his mask, only endless indifference and killing intent.
He took a step forward, letting the blade scrape through his body as he closed the distance to the Qin Zombie.
Then he raised the machete high.
There were no flashy