Chapter 287: Destroy The Cursed (103)

Chapter 287 – The Last StandMeanwhile, back on the Cursed Island...

Han was on his knees.

Blood poured from his mouth, hot and bitter, burning down his throat. The pain from this form was beyond anything he had ever felt... his health bar was nearly empty, his body on the edge of collapse. Every heartbeat was a stab of agony, and yet he refused to fall.

If he had to describe it, it was worse than dying.

But even through that abnormal, heart-wrenching torment, Han forced his broken body to move. He was the only one left among the ten who could still fight. If he blacked out now, then everyone else... the entire strike team was done for. Their deaths would be brutal, meaningless.

He couldn’t allow that.

He wouldn’t allow that.

With raw willpower, Han forced his blurred vision to clear. The world steadied just long enough for him to face the Dark Emissary once more.

Lightning crackled. Flames roared.

Both elements burst out from his body, merging into a chaotic storm before condensing in his palm.

"Fourteenth Jungle Art—Tiger Punch: Lightning Flame Style!" Han roared, his voice tearing through the storm.

He struck. The air warped, space bent inward, the impact shaking the heavens themselves.

But the Dark Emissary only grinned. She raised her hands... dark energy spiraled around her like a living void, surging outward in a tidal wave of corruption.

Han’s punch collided with the storm.

A deafening explosion tore through the chamber. The ground split, pillars shattered, and shockwaves burned across the air.

The Emissary was blasted backward, crashing through two stone columns before slamming to her knees. But that twisted grin never left her face.

Han didn’t grin.

He didn’t even breathe.

He spat out a mouthful of blood and fell, body hitting the ground with a bone-cracking thud. The darkness she’d planted inside him had ravaged everything... his flesh, his nerves, even his soul. His HP was down to single digits. His energy reserves were gone.

If he merged again with Ifrit and Thunderwrath in this state, it’d be suicide.

His mind raced through the haze, I have to stand... I have to stop her... I have to do something.

But his body wouldn’t move. His limbs were dead weight. Even his fingers refused to twitch.

And he could feel her eyes on him those dark, merciless eyes.

She was going to finish him.

The Dark Emissary lifted her hand. Darkness gathered. She moved in for the kill...

...then the ground shook.

A blinding white fist slammed into her from the side. She barely flinched but before she could react, a dark-purple arrow shot through the air, whistling toward her head.

The arrow shattered before it reached her... crushed effortlessly by her power.

But that didn’t matter.

Because standing between Han and the Emissary now were the rest of his team , Silver Wing, Shae, Shin, Bron, Aiden, Alexa, Balor... and Little One.

Han’s heart froze.

What the hell are they doing here?

Ronan stepped forward and crouched beside him, pulling out a small jade pill.

He pressed it into Han’s hand.

"The last Restoration Pill I got from the Glorified Roulette," Ronan said calmly. Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by N0velFire.ɴet

Han looked at him, half-conscious. "If I told you to run, would you listen?"

Ronan’s blank expression cracked into a faint, fearless smile.

"No. If we run, we die anyway. So why bother?"

He stood, unsheathing his dread sword, eyes locked on the Emissary. "You heal up," he said over his shoulder. "We’ll hold her... no..."

He raised his sword. His voice was cold steel.

"We’ll kill her."

Han stared after him, a bitter laugh caught in his throat.

"They’re all insane..." he muttered.

Still, he swallowed the pill.

Because if insanity was all they had left... then he’d fight with it.

Han swallowed the restoration pill. His insides were wrecked... burned, twisted, and crawling with corruption. Even with the pill’s power, recovery would take time. Too much time. He just prayed he’d heal fast enough before the others were overwhelmed.

The Dark Emissary’s grin widened, eyes darkening like a void ready to swallow light itself.

She was about to charge... then stopped.

Her head tilted.

A blur flashed past her flank, and an explosive shockwave ripped through the air.

The Dark Emissary raised a hand just in time to catch a punch that would’ve shattered a mountain.

The figure twisted free, landing lightly before strolling to the side of the heroes with a crooked grin.

Jay.

"Guess I won’t be handling her alone after all," he said, jerking his thumb toward the Dark Emissary.

None of the others smiled. Their faces were hard, carved with resolve and exhaustion.

Jay wasn’t stupid, if she blocked one of his strongest strikes like it was nothing, then soloing her was suicide. He might be reckless, not suicidal. Fighting alongside the others gave them a real shot, maybe.

"Wait," he muttered, scanning the group. "Where’s the white one?"

Aiden and Ronan exchanged glances. Everyone knew who he meant.

Ronan pointed. Han was seated behind them, eyes closed, focusing all his energy inward as the pill worked to heal his ravaged organs.

Jay exhaled. "Rough fight, huh?"

Just one glance told him Han wasn’t in any laughing condition.

Jay stepped to the front beside Ronan. Even with all ten of them standing together, he still felt it... that suffocating dread. Like they were staring down a god, and they were just... mortals.

Still, retreat wasn’t an option.

If they were going to take her down, they’d have to go all out.

Jay clenched his fists. His back hunched slightly, teeth sharpening into fangs, fingers turning into black, clawed weapons. His body trembled as power flooded through him.

Then, he roared.

A sound so fierce it shook the chamber to its core.

The roar of a beast, primal and unrelenting.

The Fifteenth Jungle Art... Lion Roar.

And this was the second time today.

No one was insane enough to use it twice. Except Jay.

---

Meanwhile, far away from the Cursed Island...

A man lounged in a gaming lounge, a controller in hand, laughing at the screen.

Jon wasn’t just a gamer... he was a global icon. A comedian, a showman, and a damn legend in the digital world.

The match ended. His opponent... some rich hotshot who had bet against him... slammed his controller in frustration. Jon just grinned, leaning back with a sigh.

"Damn, I’m too good for my own good," he muttered, stretching.

He’d been in the casino for only a few hours, but almost everyone knew him already. Not because of his fame, but because of his absurd skill. They were already calling him Game Master.

But even Jon knew that title didn’t truly belong to him.

A face flashed in his mind...

A young boy, short black hair, eyes too mischievous for his age.

"Yeah," Jon murmured, smirking faintly. "We should have that rematch soon."

Just then, his phone buzzed. Unknown number.

He glanced at the ID and his grin twisted into surprise.

"Speak of the devil..." he said, answering.

He listened. The smile slowly faded.

His expression hardened, voice dropping low.

"...Got it. I’ll be there."

He hung up.

"The Cursed Base... already under attack?" He exhaled through his teeth. "Of course. Should’ve known those lunatics would stir up trouble again."

No more time to waste.

He rose, cracking his neck. "Guess it’s hero time."

A bright flash pulsed from the ring on his hand.

Armor unfolded across his body... sleek, sharp, pulsing with golden energy.

In a heartbeat, the laid-back gamer was gone.

In his place stood Lightrunner... his eyes glowing gold, his grin sharp with confidence.

"Well," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Fun time’s over. Time to get busy."

And then... he vanished.

Lightrunner had joined the fray.

[To Be Continued...]

AUTHOR’S NOTE

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– Ultra