It's not the kind of "giving in" where you take a few steps back, adjust your posture, and prepare to fight, but the kind of escape where you lower your body to the lowest level, increase your speed to the highest level, and use all your strength to escape in the direction away from that thing.
The eight claws clawed at the ground wildly, gravel and soil flying behind the claws, leaving a deep, ravine-like drag mark on the ground.
Its body twisted, rolled, and sprinted on the ground, completely losing its "killing all human beings" aura just now.
Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up - it can't die here. It has just woken up, and it hasn't seen the appearance of New World yet. It hasn't killed enough yet, and it hasn't let those who once sealed it see that it's back.
The distance between that thing and it is shortening at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Even from such a distance, Wolunxius can feel the outrageous magic intensity. It is not a matter of concentration, but a matter of level. Its magic is like a river, and the magic of existence is like an ocean.
A river doesn't even deserve a name in front of the ocean.
What's going on?! Wolunxius's brain is running so fast that almost half an era's accumulation has been condensed into an intuitive judgment in a few breaths.
How long has it been sleeping? Those who sealed it were already the top combat forces of that era. Only by joining forces could they suppress it, and they paid a huge price to seal it.
There had never been such a strong individual in that era - never. Where did that existence come from? Is there such a strong guy in this era?
Could it be that the legendary gods have been resurrected? Wolunxius's heart suddenly sank. Gods - those gods who have fallen in earlier eras and once ruled this world.
Their stories are carved on ancient stone tablets, painted on collapsed temple walls, and passed from one cave-in to another by explorers looking for treasures in the ruins.
If the gods are resurrected, then they just came out today and may be stuffed back into the ground tomorrow. This time they may not even be sealed, and they will be beaten directly to death.
How is that possible?!
Wolunxius focused all the vision in his eight eyes on the growing black figure behind him. It was black, darker than the gods Wolunxius imagined, so black that even the light could not penetrate its outline.
It has wings, which are larger than the wings of any creature Wolunxius has ever seen. They are so big that every time they flap, they can set off a hurricane on the ground.
It has horns, twisted, thick, like a burnt branch. It is a dragon but not a dragon, it is a god but not a god. What is it?
Wolunxius doesn't know. It only knows one thing - if it doesn't run, it will be too late.
That huge claw stretched out from behind and grabbed Wolunxius's head.
Five curved fingers covered with black scales closed together from different directions at the same time, and the claw tips were embedded in the gaps in Wolunxius's skull, like five keys inserted into the keyhole at the same time.
Wolunxius felt that at that moment his entire head was crushed into a ball that was collapsing inward, hot, and about to explode.
Voraksa's deep breathing came down from above, carrying a hot breath, like something was burning. His voice was squeezed out from the depths of his throat, hoarse, rough, like sandpaper rubbing against an iron plate.
"Is your name Valeria?"
Wolunxius's brain experienced a rapid transition from fear to confusion and then to fear at that moment. Valeria? It had never heard of that name.
Not the name of the devil, not the name of any being it knows or has heard of. Human beings?
Maybe it was some strong human being who rose up during its slumber? It didn't know. It only knew that the being who asked this question was holding its head and could crush it with just a little force.
"Who then?"
Voraksa repeated it, with a hint of impatience in his tone. He flew for so long, searched for so long, and caught so many moving things, but no one answered "yes".
He has been flying from one location to another, sweeping from one area to another, and has changed from "patiently searching" to "asking if you catch it, and throwing it away if it's not".
His claws tightened a little more, and the tips of his claws dug into Wolunxius's skull. Dark red blood with a faint fluorescence seeped out from the cracks in the skull and flowed down along the lines of the scales.
"No... it's not..."
Wolunxius's voice was very small, as small as a breath squeezed out from the deepest part of its throat. It didn't dare to turn its head, because turning its head would make its neck move between the tips of those claws, and moving would mean being cut open.
It didn't dare to struggle, because struggling would make the tips of its claws sink deeper.
Voraksa was silent for a moment, so silent that Wolunxius thought he was considering whether to let it go. Then - Voraksa's claws closed suddenly.
Click - not the sound of bones breaking, but the sound of bones being ground into powder. Wolunxius's head was like an egg hit by a hammer in the claws of Voraksa. The shell shattered and the contents inside poured out from the cracks.
Liquids and solids of various colors were mixed together, squeezed out from the gap between the claws and the skull, and dripped down the fingers of Voraksa.
Its eight eyes lost their light at the same time, the red irises turned gray-white at that moment, the pupils dilated, and the vertical lines in the pupils dissipated, like eight lamps being blown out at the same time.
Voraksa released his claws. Wolunxius's headless body slipped from under his claws and hit the ground with a dull, wet sound.
Its claws were still twitching on the ground, once, again, and again, and then stopped moving. Dark red blood poured out from the fractured neck, forming an irregular and spreading pool of blood on the ground.
Voraksa looked down at the corpse that was still twitching slightly, and rubbed the stains from his claws on its scales.
His expression is not pretty. No, he has no face, but the irritability of "Why should I take this job?" can be felt in every breath he takes.
When he heard King Ghidorah mention the name "Valeria" in the palace, he felt that it sounded familiar. Familiarity means that he should know it, and knowing it means that he should be able to find it.
So he flew out immediately, beating his wings so fast that he almost couldn't keep up with the rhythm, from the palace to the mine, from the mine to the wilderness, and from the wilderness to one after another ghostly place that he couldn't even name.
He flew over mountains, over rivers, and over flooded plains. Halfway through the flight, a thought suddenly popped into his head - he had no idea what Valeria looked like.
Is that guy a dragon, a dog, or a human? Does it have wings? Does it have four legs or two?
He doesn't know anything.
Can he go back and ask King Ghidorah? No. If he flies back now and asks "Your Majesty, what does Valeria look like?", he dares to bet with his newly recovered left wing that King Ghidorah will definitely kick him back to the time when his mother taught him hunting.
Voraksa is silent.
Voraksa flew up. His wings flapped violently, and the figure passed over the body of Wolunxius, without looking back, and flew towards the next direction where "Valeria" might be seen.
The claws were still stained with dark red blood that had not been wiped clean, and there were a few pieces of fine, gray-white bone residue embedded in the gaps between the scales.
He picked up a certain part of the headless corpse on the ground, took a bite, chewed it twice and swallowed it, then threw the corpse on the ground and flew away into the distance.
Blood dripped from the corners of his mouth, and he stretched out his forked tongue to lick it, then increased his speed and disappeared at the end of the skyline.
In the distance, there was a forest that was shaken by the air waves when Voraksa took off.
Several people came out from behind the tree trunk. They didn't come out together, but one after another.
Their clothes were stained with leaves and dust, and their faces had an expression of "Did I just witness something impossible?"
The expression was between shock and confusion, with the eyes fixed in a fixed direction, the mouth slightly open, and the lips moving but no sound came out.
The leader was wearing dark clothes and had a short knife at his waist. His face was very thin, with high cheekbones, thick eyebrows, and a deep vertical line between his eyebrows - the traces of long-term frowning.
He walked to Wolunxius's body and squatted down, stretched out his hand, hesitated for a moment, and then put his fingers to the neck of the headless corpse.
The broken tissue was still squirming, and the dark red blood had not completely stopped flowing. His fingers were stained with blood, which was sticky, warm, and had a pungent smell of sulfur.
"What... is that?" A person behind him finally made a voice, but the voice seemed to have been soaked in water, muffled and unreal.
"I don't know." The leader stood up and wiped the blood off his fingers on the dead demon's scales. His movements were very slow, as if he was thinking about something or simply felt that the blood was dirty.
"Demon God of Shattered Remolding--one of Thirteen Demon Gods..."
"One hit..."
He didn't finish speaking, but everyone knew what he wanted to say.
"Is that the legendary King of Demons?" Another voice floated from further back.
"It's impossible. According to Destruction and Revelation Society, shouldn't that existence be in the northernmost part of the continent?" Destruction and Revelation Society, they have always been a competitor in intelligence and resources.
The information of Destruction and Revelation Society is not entirely accurate. After all, they are all organizations operating underground, and no one dares to say that the information they have is absolutely correct.
The leader was silent for a moment, and then made a series of decisions.
"Go back first - no." He changed his words, his voice a few degrees lower than before. "Inform the 'Sect Leader', please send someone to help us recover the remaining body of the demon god."
The clan leader is the supreme leader of an organization that is so huge that even the "members" like them cannot tell how big it is.
They have never seen the clan leader's face, no one knows who the clan leader is, and no one dares to ask. They only know that what the clan leader says is an order, and you must get what the clan leader wants. If the clan leader says "do it," just do it. Don't ask why.
And that organization, the organization that transformed countless "special individuals" and released them as experimental subjects across the continent, is quietly operating in a corner here that people don't know about.
The leader took out a palm-sized metal prop inlaid with light blue crystals from his arms and pressed the button on the side. The crystals began to glow very faintly, so faint that they were almost invisible in the afternoon sun.
He swept the prop against Wolunxius's body. The crystal flashed a few times and went out. He put the prop away.
"Let's go. Also, let's clean up this place." Several people looked at each other. Some took out talismans from their waists, some took out small bottles from their backpacks, and some squatted down and drew something on the ground around the body.
They move quickly and skillfully, like a well-trained team that specializes in dealing with such "things that shouldn't exist."
The leader took one last look at the corpse of Wolunxius that had been chewed, thrown to the ground and still oozing blood, then turned around and walked deeper into the woods.
His figure quickly disappeared into the shadows of tree trunks and shrubs. There were low whispers and the sound of things being dragged behind him, but he did not look back.