The Cold Arrives

After killing the imp, Wu Heng and Elina waited in the carriage for five minutes. The surroundings were deathly quiet, save for the sound of sewage flowing through the drains.

The two began walking forward along the tracks. Halfway through, they spotted the corpse of a security guard in a blue uniform slumped over the rails, a shattered flashlight lying nearby.

Wu Heng unhooked the keys from the guard's belt and handed them to Elina.

"These should be the keys to the subway gate. It's safe behind us; you should head out first."

Wu Heng's hearing was exceptional; he caught a faint, guttural hiss coming from behind a barred gate on the side of the tunnel ahead. The roar was noticeably deeper and more substantial than those of the creatures outside.

Without the carriage to act as a barrier, he wouldn't be able to look after the woman once the fighting started.

"Aren't you coming out? Can't you leave with me? You could come to my place and change into some clean clothes."

Elina spoke with a mix of fear and anticipation.

"There's a big one up ahead. If you stay by my side, I won't be able to protect you. Go on, you've got a nice voice—it would be a shame to die here."

Wu Heng said indifferently.

"Oh, then thank you. I live at 457 Phil Street."

Hearing this, Elina hesitated for a moment before taking the keys and jogging toward the exit.

She didn't drag her feet this time. Not destined to die yet, I suppose.

Wu Heng praised her silently, rolled his neck and shoulders to loosen up, and continued forward.

He saw plenty of corpses along the way—homeless people, repairmen, passengers—none of them intact.

Following the trail of blood, Wu Heng reached the iron gate he had been looking for.

This was the gathering place for the homeless people of the Underground King.

Wu Heng reached out, ripped the damaged, warped gate from its hinges, and ducked inside.

The stench of rot in here was in a league of its own.

Wu Heng followed the inner passage, took three turns, and arrived at a slightly more open space of about two hundred square meters.

An imp, noticeably larger than the others, was using fresh blood to draw a circle nearly ten meters in diameter, the interior already filled with runes.

A pile of tongues was laid out in the center of the circle, and a cluster of corpses hung suspended above it.

The imp turned, spotted Wu Heng, and lunged with a roar.

Wu Heng swung his briefcase, smashing it into the imp's ugly face.

The creature forcibly checked its momentum, dodged with agility, and raked its claws across the briefcase, leaving three deep gouges in the bulletproof material.

Seeing how sharp the claws were, Wu Heng gripped the inner strap of the briefcase, using it as a shield as he charged at the imp.

Frustrated by the blows, the imp thrust both claws forward, piercing deep into the briefcase, but it became momentarily stuck.

Seizing the opportunity, Wu Heng pressed the briefcase downward, pinning the monster's arms to the ground. He freed his left hand, grabbed the imp's head, and smashed it into the floor repeatedly until the tiles shattered.

Seeing the imp dazed, Wu Heng quickly yanked the briefcase free.

"Case weighs 20 pounds, made of titanium alloy."

Wu Heng panted as he spoke, then brought the case down hard on the imp's neck.

"Since we've met, one of us has to die."

Thud. Thud. Thud.

As the words fell, the flesh on the captain-class imp's neck was pulverized, and the bone was completely shattered.

Wu Heng reached out with his left hand, grabbed the monster's corpse, and activated his Siphon ability.

A stream of energy, thick as a chopstick, surged into his body.

He gauged the effect: roughly a ten percent increase. One of these was worth ten of the ones outside.

Just from this subway trip alone, his physical stats had increased by thirty percent. Well worth it.

After killing the imp, Wu Heng tore a strip of fabric from the tattered clothes of one of the hanging corpses and wiped his hands clean.

He observed the suspended bodies.

Among them was an old blind man wearing a golden crown.

However, the frayed paper edges peeking through the damage revealed it to be nothing more than a birthday party hat painted gold.

It seemed this was the King of the Underground Kingdom.

Wu Heng circled the corpses and found the identity the fat man had been masquerading as: Domagoj Patrick. His face was already blue and bloated.

"Looks like things didn't go well for you, buddy."

Wu Heng remarked with a touch of melancholy.

There had been three of them when they entered this world, and now he was the only one left. The fat man had been quite the survivor, yet he had still lost his life.

Wu Heng looked around, but there was nothing else of value.

He glanced down at his own tattered trench coat and trousers, frowned, and decided to head to 457 Phil Street to change.

Carrying his briefcase, he turned and walked toward the exit. After taking four consecutive turns, Wu Heng suddenly stopped in his tracks.

Something was wrong.

Wu Heng clearly remembered that he had only made three turns since walking in from the fence.

Yet, this was already the fourth turn.

There was only one passage here; the possibility of taking a wrong turn did not exist.

Wu Heng did not dare to continue walking forward.

At the same time, the suitcase gripped tightly in his hand began to grow increasingly cold.

This chill intensified, and Wu Heng felt his hand stiffening—a sensation that was all too familiar.

Hell Priest of Ice!

Crack. Crack-crack.

This was the sound of freezing. The sound of flowing water in the nearby sewer ceased as the sewage was frozen solid.

Wu Heng retreated rapidly.

Snap!

The ice surface of the sewer shattered instantly, and a frozen corpse floated up from below. The corpse lay face-up, arms cradled against its chest, with a fake crystal ball made of frozen ice held in its palms, constantly interfering with the crystal ball inside Wu Heng's suitcase.

"Winter. Has. Arrived. You are no—"

The frozen face of the ice corpse began to emit sounds, one word at a time.

Its opening and closing mouth, like shattered porcelain, shed skin and ice shards that fell rustling into the sewer.

The Hell Priest of Ice had come to capture Wu Heng. The act of summoning it at the High Priest's place last time had made it feel deeply mocked and ridiculed; it was furious and intended to tear Wu Heng's soul apart ten thousand times before throwing it into the Rock Pit.

Wu Heng felt the cold radiating from the crystal ball inside his suitcase.

It seems it is time to leave this world.

However, before leaving, Wu Heng intended to give the Hell Priest of Ice one more surprise.

He ran quickly back to the hall of the Underground Kingdom.

Wu Heng looked at the incomplete circle painted by the Large Imp.

He dipped his fingers into the blood on the corpses and added the final stroke to the demon summoning circle.

Fortunately, this ordinary blood only served to repair Wu Heng, causing no injuries, and he was too lazy to absorb it all.

As the circle was completed, the pile of tongues on the ground quickly knotted and bound themselves together.

The hanging corpses turned into red powder and fell to the ground, forming a pile of ash that covered the tongues.

A nauseating song began to echo in the surroundings; anyone who heard this melody could not help but want to tear everything to pieces.

The ash condensed into a grey body, resembling that of a Devil Butterfly. At the front of the body was a head formed from fused tongues that looked like the Underground King, and black wings with patterns extended from the sides of its torso, sending circles of powder drifting in all directions.

This was the Great Demon of Abaddon Hell—The Chanter.

Just as The Chanter was about to fully manifest, Wu Heng recited silently in his heart:

"Return."

Wu Heng vanished from the spot.

The temporary crystal ball in the ice corpse's hands shattered, briefly opening a hell rift from which the Hell Priest of Ice stepped out.

The newly summoned Chanter spotted the Hell Priest of Ice in an instant, and the two hellish entities stared at each other, stunned.

Abaddon Hell and Leviathan Hell were mortal enemies that had been at war for ages.

The Great Demon, The Chanter, manipulated all the powder like a dense fog and launched an attack toward the Hell Priest of Ice...

Would you be willing to trade your collections, monthly tickets, and recommendation tickets for two brushes from me?