Crushing Battle

It was too fast. So fast those lower demons could not see its path at all; they only felt a violent gust sweep past them, and then a massive black shadow came pressing down, blotting out the sky.

Bifrons spread his arms. That pair of overlong arms, hanging past his knees, were like two moving mountain ranges; his palms were as huge as cattail fans, and the black claws on his five fingers flashed coldly under the glow of malevolent qi. His many wild eyes locked onto Situ Xuan's body at the same time, each eye calculating distance, angle, and force. Though his intelligence was low, his instinct for battle was carved into his bones, tempered through countless slaughters into something nearly perfect.

He was going to smash this little thing into a meat patty with one punch.

Bifrons's body was enormous, yet he did not look clumsy in the slightest. Every step he took was steady and vicious, every breath came with a furious surge of malevolent qi, and every heartbeat was like a war drum.

His bronze skin and iron bones grew even harder under the infusion of demonic qi. That thick, deep-black hide was covered in rough folds, each fold a natural defensive structure capable of dispersing impact throughout his entire body.

Low intelligence, dull-witted bloodlust—in exchange, he had gained a formidable body that was almost invincible in close-quarters combat.

Among the demons, aside from Demon God Emperor Feng Xiu, Bear Demon God Valefor, and Berserker Demon God Anan, there truly was no other demon god who dared fight this big fool up close.

Unfortunately, Bifrons had run into the ancestor of close-quarters combat.

Situ Xuan watched that black mountain shadow come crashing toward him, and his eyes lit up.

It was not fear, nor tension, but