When the light faded, Wu Chi and the six skulls vanished simultaneously. In their place stood a monster roughly fifteen feet tall, its face blue-green with protruding fangs, hair wild and unkempt, features twisted and hideous. At first glance, it looked exactly like one of the soul-reaping evil ghosts from mortal legends.
Semi-transparent human faces drifted and churned across the creature's body, writhing and squirming with expressions of various miseries, letting out wails that sent chills down the spine.
Yang Kai stood with sword in hand, his expression cold and frigid. "You truly deserve to die."
Those human faces struggling and surfacing on the evil ghost's body were clearly souls! Where had those souls come from? They were obviously the ones Wu Chi had killed and devoured. Not only had those people endured extreme terror and torture before death, their physical bodies consumed, but even their souls could not escape—devoured and refined by him, housed within his body, unable to reincarnate, condemned to eternal damnation.
A Shaman King like this, in later ages, would be a genuine heretical cultivator—the kind everyone would hunt down.
But in this era, with the Bone-Eating Tribe protected by a Shaman Saint, he could do as he pleased.
Now transformed into the evil ghost, Wu Chi's already formidable aura surged to new heights. That terrifying might was comparable to an upper-tier Shaman King.
He let out a cackling, savage laugh. The breath that poured from his mouth seemed capable of killing heaven and earth itself, and the surrounding vegetation withered rapidly. He spread his massive hand wide, transforming it into a screen of light that blotted out the sky, and seized downward toward Yang Kai.
The surrounding space was locked. Yang Kai attempted a short-range teleport, but it was completely ineffective. His expression turned fierce as he charged forward instead of retreating. The Million Sword in his hand swept out a ring of radiance, his body enveloped in sword light as he hurtled toward the great hand, the shamanic power of a Great Shaman surging wildly around him.
The great hand closed, and a muffled grunt from Yang Kai could faintly be heard. But in the next instant, a hole appeared on the back of the hand, and Yang Kai, drenched in blood, burst through it. He descended fearlessly atop Wu Chi's head and brought his sword down in a devastating slash.
Wu Chi remained composed. His other palm swept out through the air, seemingly effortless, as though swatting away a fly.
Before Yang Kai's attack could land, the palm had already sent him flying. The protective shamanic shield had not served its purpose in the slightest—it shattered instantly.
Rumble...
Yang Kai tumbled through the air, slamming into a small hill before he managed to stabilize himself. When he rose again, he was in a sorry state, blood streaming from his nose and mouth.
"It ends here!" Wu Chi's cold, piercing voice rang in his ears. As the words fell, he had already reappeared in front of Yang Kai, reaching out to seize him once more.
"Big words for someone who might choke on the wind!" Yang Kai scoffed. His hands swiftly formed a series of seals, and a mysterious, profound power suddenly surged forth.
Wu Chi froze, inexplicably seized by the illusion that time had stopped. At the same time, an enormous sense of panic and crisis assailed his heart. This baffled him—transforming into the evil ghost was his ultimate trump card. With it, he could contend with an upper-tier Shaman King. His opponent was merely a Great Shaman. Even in a desperate deathbed struggle, what trouble could he possibly pose?
But the panic and crisis were very real, and he could not afford to ignore them.
With that thought, he immediately withdrew eighty percent of his strength to guard himself, assuming a fully defensive stance.
In the next moment, the paused flow of time seemed to resume. Across from him, the Great Shaman casually struck out with a palm. The palm seemed to carry no force whatsoever, yet it gave one the feeling of destroying all things, of returning all things to the cycle of reincarnation.
"Years Like a Shuttle!"
Wu Chi's pupils contracted sharply. Though he could not discern the hidden mystery within this palm strike, instinct told him he absolutely must not take it. If it connected, he would lose at least a layer of skin.
He suddenly opened his great mouth and let out a howling roar.
In an instant, countless hideous specters burst forth from his mouth, charging toward the palm print.
Boom, boom, boom...
Vast and violent forces erupted. Wu Chi used that momentary opening to retreat over a hundred zhang, while every single specter struck by the opponent's palm was utterly annihilated.
Before dissipating, these specters showed no signs of pain. Instead, each one seemed to find release, their expressions peaceful. A few gazes drifted toward Yang Kai, filled with gratitude, before they quickly vanished into nothingness.
What kind of shamanic art was this? How could it possess such power! Wu Chi's expression was a mix of shock and disbelief. The techniques employed by the Great Shaman across from him had already exceeded his understanding.
After that single palm strike, Yang Kai was panting heavily, feeling as though every ounce of his strength had been drained. He cursed under his breath.
The Years Like a Shuttle Seal was a divine ability of an Emperor Realm powerhouse. Though he'd had the opportunity to study it, it was not something he could deploy freely in his current state. Using such a divine ability at the level of a lower-tier Great Shaman was far too strenuous.
So the moment the palm was struck, Yang Kai immediately felt utterly spent...
But Wu Chi had already played his trump card. If Yang Kai didn't give everything he had, he'd have no chance whatsoever.
Not daring to reveal too much, Yang Kai wiped the blood from his face and used the motion to slip a handful of Emperor-grade Spirit Pills into his mouth, swallowing them down. He pointed the Million Sword at Wu Chi from afar and sneered, "Scared or what?"