NOVEL NEXT Chapter 438: The Last Kick
The old hag had assumed Ethan, perched on Ormund's back, wasn't a War God-rank fighter and therefore couldn't fly. But when Ormund plummeted and Ethan remained suspended, gripping her weapon, her eyes lit up with sudden opportunity. With a shrill cry, she jerked the chain in her hand, intending to drag him down.
To her shock, the pale spinal column in Ethan's grasp didn't budge. It was as if rooted to the sky. She tugged harder, but he wouldn't move an inch. Fury twisted her face. She had expected to easily subdue some rookie human. Even if she couldn't sense his true strength, there was no way a man his age could be that powerful. Only one human genius in a thousand years had ever reached War God-rank before thirty—and this boy clearly wasn't thirty. If he were a prodigy of that caliber, humans would be singing his name across the continent, not calling him "Master Ethan" like some backwater nobody.
She had planned to crush him with her superior rank and avenge the slap he'd dealt her earlier. Yet here she was, losing face with every passing second. First, he'd stopped her attack cold. Now, she couldn't even reclaim her weapon. In her mind, there was only one explanation: this human wasn't some fledgling warrior—he was a seasoned expert toying with her, letting her humiliate herself.
"Come here!" Ethan roared. No brilliant aura exploded from him, only a raw, surging force that punched through the air. The old hag's body jerked forward against her will, dragged toward him like a puppet.
"Get lost!" he bellowed, and his boot slammed into her chest.
Crack! Her body folded like brittle wood. The impact split her clean in two. The lower half—an oozing, putrid mass—vanished into dust. The upper torso tumbled back several yards, finally releasing its grip on the bone-white spinal column. Yet to her horror, even severed in half, she didn't fall.
Ethan's fury burned, but his mind stayed sharp. He spun on his heel and launched himself toward Hurricane City. Julian, Quinn, and Hank were still there, and Sanctum's activation window would close soon. Time was running out.
"You beast!" the hag shrieked, her half-body floating, eyes glowing with malice. "You dare sever my flesh? I'll make you, your family, your friends—everyone you care for—die screaming!"
Ethan froze mid-flight. Then he spun back, hurtling toward her like a thunderbolt.
"Then I'll erase you completely!"
He had planned to leave her crippled and move on. But she dared to threaten his loved ones. And if she was like other Wormfolk, cutting her in half might not kill her—it might even let her multiply. Her aura had plummeted from mid-tier War God-rank to early-tier, but even maimed, she was dangerous. The moment she saw him return, she panicked and tried to flee.
Ethan activated Swift Flight Form, his body becoming a blur. In a heartbeat, he was above her. His foot came down like a falling mountain.
Wham!
"Ah… no—!"
Her final scream was cut short as his kick met her head. Her remaining torso exploded into a bloody mist, shredded by the force of his strike.
The fight had been brief but devastating. Around them, the surrounding beast-folk froze in shock. They hesitated, their eyes flicking between each other, each waiting for someone else to act first and seize the spoils.
"This human may be strong, but if we attack together, he'll die! Whoever kills him claims the Sigil of the Wild Legion!" a voice howled. Ethan's eyes snapped toward the speaker— an old man, the Beast-Wolf, his eyes glowed an eerie blue. His words lit a fire in the beast-folk. Their hesitation shattered, greed surging to the surface as they advanced in unison.
Boom!
Before Ethan could brace for the onslaught, a muffled thud shook the air. A massive wild bear monster stood frozen, it's stacked together in a guard position. In front of it was a man no bigger than a mosquito, fist extended. For a heartbeat, the absurd collision—like a mosquito striking a truck—was dead even. Both recoiled in the air, neither gaining ground.
"Kid! Run!" the tiny man roared, voice booming despite his size. "The Sanctum's about to open. Leave these beasts to us! We've been starving for fresh blood and meat!"
Ethan blinked, now seeing the figure clearly. The "mosquito" was a man with explosively bulging muscles and a fiery red beard, his face twisted in demonic ferocity. All around, fighters from Forgotten City erupted into battle, clashing with the beast-folk. Ethan noticed that apart from this red-bearded man, it took four or five humans to restrain a single beast-folk. Human individual strength truly pales in comparison, he thought grimly. He wondered how many War God-rank beasts had joined this hunt.
"Red Widow! Clear a path for that kid!" the bearded man bellowed, locking into another titanic clash with the bear monster. The air shook with booming impacts. For a moment, it looked like the massive bear—a living mountain—was actually being pushed back.
"Hey there, sweetheart…" A sultry voice rang out. "Let me cut you a way through! Come to me, fast!"
From the opposite flank, a provocatively dressed woman caked in makeup appeared, twirling a pair of massive shears that materialized in her hand. With a flick, the blades snapped toward Ethan.
His eyes narrowed. Mid-tier War God-rank, wielding an artifact. One snip, and she cut straight through the void. But his shock wasn't at her strength—it was at her weapon. When she unleashed its power, a colossal scissor-shaped phantom split the sky. Four glowing words shimmered across the blades: [Snip of the Ancients].
The attack was aimed squarely at him. Ethan's crotch tightened. Is she clearing a path for me… or trying to snip me in half? He darted aside, narrowly avoiding the phantom. Two beast-folk weren't so lucky. They froze mid-step, and with a crisp snap, their bodies cleaved neatly in two.
"Thanks!" Ethan called over his shoulder. Whatever her intentions, the path was open. He shot forward like a streak of light.
"Oh, sweet thing… no need to thank me," the woman cooed. "Take big sis with you. Big sis is so tired…"
Just as Ethan brushed past her, her body went limp, leaning toward him.