551: Chapter 551 Crimson Sky

Wufa remained standing in place, motionless.

The wind blew from the end of the blood-colored sky, carrying the scent of sulfur and rust, stirring the slightly messy hair on his forehead.

His figure was as thin as a withered leaf hanging on the edge of a cliff, yet it had taken root, nailed to this land soaked in killing intent.

Three terrifying auras, capable of moving mountains and filling seas, had completely locked onto him.

The air was oppressed to the point of emitting an unbearable drone, and the rocks beneath his feet cracked inch by inch, the fissures spreading wildly like a spiderweb.

His expression was incredibly calm.

This was not a forced composure, but a clarity bordering on nothingness.

It was as if the monstrous killing intent, the hideous demonic manifestations, and the imminent death were, to him, nothing more than a speck of dust passing over a mirror, incapable of stirring even the slightest ripple.

His gaze was very faint, as faint as the cloudless autumn sky, or like the cold water of a deep pool that had remained unchanged since ancient times.

His eyes swept over the three figures whistling towards him, wrapped in destruction—

Ao Huang's demonic claws tearing through space, Xu Ming's treacherous and tricky spatial blades, and Hun Yan's silent yet soul-piercing, sinister needles—

There was no fear, no anger, not even a trace of instinctive vigilance.

Only calmness.

A calmness stripped of all Impurities, absolute and chilling to the heart.

The killing intent had already kissed his skin.

Ao Huang's Dragon claws carried a bloody wind, the sharp tips flashing with cold light, now less than three feet from the center of his brow.

The gale first tore apart the fabric on his shoulder.

The spatial folds manipulated by Xu Ming were like invisible blades, quietly slicing through his raised hem.

The soft sound of cloth tearing was drowned out by the roar of energy.

Hun Yan's intangible mental needle was the most lethal, having already touched the skin of his brow.

A point of bone-chilling sharpness attempted to drill into his spirit platform—

At this very moment.

Time seemed to have been choked by some more overbearing force, experiencing a momentary stagnation.

A figure, as if stepping out from the shadows of antiquity, or like a mountain that should have stood there all along, suddenly stood between Wufa and them.

Wutian.

Devilish Qi, more solid and violent than Ao Huang's, erupted, like a sleeping ancient Vicious Beast opening its scarlet eyes.

A spatial control force, more refined and majestic than Xu Ming's, instantly opened up an absolute Domain, securely protecting Wufa within it.

Divine Soul power, more vast and resilient than Hun Yan's, transformed into an invisible shield, rippling outwards in layers.

All these destructive forces were not displayed sequentially, but in the same instant, twisted into an unrivaled torrent, and exploded violently!

Boom—!!!

A visible, solid black wave of Qi, with Wutian's burly body as the core, spread wildly in a perfect sphere in all directions.

This was not a simple shockwave.

Within the wave, countless tiny demonic patterns were born and perished, spatial fragments wailed, and Divine Soul ripples oscillated.

Ao Huang, who bore the brunt, his hundred-foot-long hideous Dragon body crashing in with the force of ten thousand tons, felt as if he had collided with a meteor flying head-on.

Crack—

The sound of bone cracking was clearly audible.

The thick black Devilish Qi wrapped around the Dragon claws was forcibly shattered, flying away like burnt ashes.

Several Dragon scales, harder than refined gold, shattered, and dark red, near-black Dragon blood drew a miserable arc in mid-air like splashed ink.

The Dragon body flew backward uncontrollably, smashing several towering rock pillars in the distance.

The spatial blades of Xu Ming, capable of silently cutting through the Void Realm, encountered absolute suppression the moment they touched the black wave.

They did not produce the sound of metal clashing, but rather, like snowflakes thrown into a raging fire, they quickly twisted, disintegrated, and dissolved in the face of a higher-order spatial Law.

The wave, its momentum undiminished, slammed hard into his body, which was covered in spatial fold defenses.

He felt as if he had been struck by an invisible giant hammer, and the profound spatial runes flickering on his four arms flashed wildly.

Several of them dimmed and shattered with a "pop" sound.

He was thrown backward, tumbling wretchedly in the air for a dozen turns before barely stabilizing his figure—his aura instantly withered.

The most insidious Hun Yan, his mental needle was not shattered, but instead collided with an invisible yet more resilient Divine Soul wall.

This Divine Soul power from Wutian not only firmly blocked it but also returned it with its own method, carrying an even more overbearing will, and bounced it back violently!

A look of horror appeared on Hun Yan's paper-white face for the first time.

He jerked his head to the side.

The reinforced mental needle reflected back grazed his temple, and a few strands of gray-white hair silently snapped and drifted down.

The sharp Qi carried by the needle still cut a thin line of blood on his cheek. A bead of blood slowly seeped out and slid down his gaunt jaw.

He stuck out the tip of his tongue to lick the bit of crimson stained on his fingertip, his eyes gloomy enough to drip water.

Within them surged suspicion, resentment, and a trace of imperceptible fear.

The smoke and scattered energy slowly settled.

That figure, burly as a mountain and steady as a rock, became completely clear.

Wutian stood before Wufa, having not moved an inch, his clothes not even slightly ruffled.

There was still no expression on his face, like a carved stone statue.

Yet in his legendary dark golden double pupils, it was as if the purgatory fire from beneath the Nine Netherworlds had been ignited.

In his slowly rotating pupils, there was a fury like the collapse of stars, as well as an unquestionable, absolute will to protect.

Where his gaze fell, the air became heavy and viscous.

His gaze, like a cold blade, slowly scraped over the three people who had been forced back—finally, it locked onto Hun Yan's gloomy face.

His voice was not loud, even somewhat low, but every word felt like it was wrapped in ten thousand tons of demonic iron, heavily slamming into the Divine Soul of everyone present, causing waves of palpitation:

"Wanting to touch him—"

A brief pause pushed the invisible pressure to its peak.

"Are you even worthy?"

Ao Huang coiled in mid-air, his Dragon body trembling slightly, and Dragon blood continued to seep from the gaps between his scales.

He was furious, emitting a low Dragon roar, but deep within that roar, a trace of undisguisable horror was hidden:

"Wutian! Have you gone mad?! For a piece of trash who cannot even forge a demonic foundation, you want to make a complete enemy of me, Xu Ming, and Hun Yan at the same time?!"

He deliberately emphasized the word "three", both as a threat and to remind the other two of their shared position at this moment.

Xu Ming did not speak.

His four arms slowly raised, the spatial runes on them that had not yet dimmed suddenly erupted with unprecedented, blinding light—like four pale suns forcibly restrained on his arms, ready to strike.

The space around him began to twist and fold unnaturally, emitting faint cracking sounds, clearly prepared for an all-out fight.

Hun Yan gently wiped the bloodstain on his cheek, his fingertips rubbing the slightly wet trace.

He placed his blood-stained fingertip to his lips and stuck out his tongue to lick it slowly—his movements were eerie and cold.

He raised his head, his eyes, which seemed capable of devouring light, surging with calculation and coldness.

"Wutian." Hun Yan's voice was soft and slow, like a venomous snake slithering over withered leaves, "You need to think clearly."

He paused, his gaze crossing Wutian's mountain-like figure, trying to capture the expression of the calm youth behind him—but he only saw an unsettling indifference.

"To offend the three of us at the same time for a piece of trash destined to never leave any mark on the Demonic Path. Can you afford this price? Is it worth it?"

Wutian did not answer.

He was even stingy with letting his gaze linger on them for another second.

He just turned his head slightly, extremely naturally.

The dark golden double pupils, which had originally contained endless rage, seemed to have their violent magma instantly solidify and settle when he turned to his side, transforming into an indescribable, complex emotion—there was concern, inquiry, and even a deep-seated, bone-embedded tacit understanding.

His gaze fell upon Wufa.

This thin, weak youth was still standing in place.

From beginning to end, not even the angle of his fluttering sleeves had changed due to fear.

His expression was still the same, calm as an ancient well.

However, the moment Wutian looked at him, Wufa's eyes, black as ink and seemingly absorbing all light, curved ever so slightly.

That was a very, very faint smile.

There was no sound, no shape, yet it seemed to say a thousand words.

Within it was unreserved trust, tacit certainty, and a kind of fatalistic realization—as if he had long known that no matter what he faced, this figure would always arrive as promised and stand before him.

No words needed, it had already become a vow.

Wutian withdrew his gaze and cast it back onto the three figures opposite, who were once again gathering dangerous auras.

He still said nothing. No roaring, no declaring.

But his burly, mountain-like body, like the most loyal barrier, and even more like a wall dividing life and death, stood towering between Wufa and that sky-filling killing intent.

Unmoving, as steady as an ancient demonic mountain.

This posture was more deafening than any impassioned declaration, more unquestionable than any vicious threat.

In Ao Huang's huge Dragon eyes, the flames of rage were still burning, but they were already covered by a layer of deep dread.

The Demon Race's number one Prodigy, Wutian, who suppressed his generation—his strength was never just a rumor.

That understated yet earth-shattering counterattack just now had thoroughly demonstrated his despair-inducing dominance.

This was not simply a case of one against three without falling behind; this was a crushing, higher-level dominance.

He looked at Xu Ming, whose surrounding spatial light flickered uncertainly; he looked at Hun Yan, whose eyes were deep and unfathomable.

Three powerful Divine Thoughts silently intersected and collided in mid-air for an instant.

The killing intent receded like the tide. At least, for the time being, it retracted its naked edge.

"Heh... interesting." Hun Yan suddenly laughed lowly, his voice dry, carrying an eerie excitement like finding an interesting toy.

The bloodstain on his face had not yet dried, making that smile look exceptionally sinister. "The dignified number one Prodigy of the Demon Race, His Highness Wutian, who has the potential to rule a territory in the future, actually treasures and is so nervous about a 'waste'..."

His gaze again attempted to pierce through Wutian's obstruction to look at Wufa, curiosity and malice intertwined in his eyes.

"I am truly... becoming more and more curious." Hun Yan licked his lips, his voice as soft as a whisper, "What secrets are hidden on this kid named Wufa? Or rather, what exactly... is he?"

Wutian finally spoke again.

His voice was not loud, but it carried an absolute coldness and pressure that severed all prying and froze all thoughts, slamming down a heavy echo in the solidified air:

"With you—"

"It has nothing to do."