"Deputy Clan Leader, kill me! I'm in so much pain... my will is about to give out!"
The surviving Marrow Eater who had been brought back with the ancestral wooden plaque pleaded with those around him.
His face kept shifting between that of a normal human, the ugliness of an evil spirit, and a wrinkled, shriveled visage.
His expression was full of agony.
Fleshy lumps and pustules would occasionally swell on his face before rapidly subsiding.
Invaded by the great evil spirit's malevolent energy, he knew what awaited him. He would inevitably become a walking corpse, perhaps even the offspring of that fat maggot.
As a Marrow Eater who fought evil spirits, he would rather die than become one of them. He was a Marrow Eater, and so had been his father. He still remembered what his father had told him before dying: never cooperate with evil spirits.
"Elijah, Milo... my good brothers, help end my suffering. My body is about to be controlled. I can't do it myself anymore!" he cried in a low, heart-wrenching voice.
His clenched teeth ground with a creak.
Then his expression abruptly changed. Half his face became rotten and swollen, with dense little maggots writhing beneath the skin like blooming flesh buds.
The maggots formed a ghostly face and let out a wild laugh. "So what if you recovered the plaque? We've already obtained the coordinates, and this man must die."
The evil spirit cackled viciously, extending gray fingers as dry as mummified wood and constantly scratching at its own face.
The left half of its face was directly torn apart.
The maggots wriggled out from the ruptured face like squeezed mayonnaise, spilling across the ground.
A young man beside him stepped forward. His arm was wrapped in mechanical-style alloy, but beneath it was