Chapter 611: Chapter 611
After a round of chaotic discussion and planning, the neo-human conference came to an end. Leaders of the various neo-human factions left the conference room one after another, heading for the hall's large dining room. This was only the first meeting; two more were expected to be held in the afternoon and evening. They would continue until every issue raised was completely resolved.
At the hall entrance, a lanky figure stepped out onto a landing encircled by several white stone pillars, glanced at the bright sunlight, and pulled down the brim of his black wide-brim hat. Magician Bass's eyes lay in shadow, while the lower half showed no expression. He slowly descended the steps.
Just then, someone behind him called out.
"President of the Psychokinesis Association—oh, sorry—may I call you Bass?" The White Tower leader, wearing gold-rim spectacles and a white cloak, hurried over. "President Bass, why were you silent throughout the meeting just now? The Psychokinesis Association is a major power among neo-humans and has always played a decisive role in past collaborations. If President Bass could present the association's own demands and issues, everyone would be more enthusiastic..."
He came up beside Magician Bass and peered down. The White Tower leader stood on the landing, while Bass had already stepped one stair lower. Thus, their lines of sight differed in height; the leader looked down while Bass had to look up. Who knew whether that was on purpose?
Magician Bass kept walking, seemingly with no intention of responding to the White Tower leader. But then he spoke while continuing to walk down the stairs. "The Psychokinesis Association has no demands or issues. Likewise, there is nothing worth discussing. Because after all..."
A summer insect cannot speak of ice.
Bass's words cut off abruptly. He walked away at an unhurried pace, leaving the White Tower leader only a black-clad back to look at. On the landing, the White Tower leader's ever-calm flawless mask seemed to crack slightly. The corner of his mouth twitched and his narrowed eyes grew dark.
"Spurn my courtesy, will you? Psychokinesis Association... When Black Rain Manor revives and the neo-human circle enters a new era, there will be no place for you. Don't blame me then..."
A hundred metres away, Silver Gun Solo watched quietly, then turned and left. He had a feeling that this revival of Black Rain Manor was far from simple. Perhaps it was not merely hidden currents but a terrifying tsunami that would sweep everything away. A sense of unease filled his heart.
Could the righteous neo-human forces, united under White Tower, really control everything when the manor revived? What of those evil powers lurking in the shadows like the White Skull? What were they doing now? Were they scheming around the manor's revival too?
Moreover, the new Psychokinesis Association seemed far more than a simple change of regime. Solo had sensed a pair of pitch-black giant hands manipulating and shrouding the association, slowly reaching for the whole neo-human circle. Would the hands' master choose to enter the field and smash the circle's existing rules and order?
Layer upon layer of undercurrents would sooner or later become a tsunami! And Solo could feel that day drawing very, very near...
The neo-humans' third meeting concluded by evening. As the various factions exited, a hidden black shadow vanished from the hall. It blended into the street's darkness as though becoming one with it.
Half an hour later, at a vast suburban farm in Anta City, inside a barn storing feed.
The dusky lights glowed pale yellow in the barn.
"Heheh, White Tower thinks it can truly control and unify all neo-human powers? Daydreamers! If they could, what would that make us White Skull?" growled a tall man in a black combat suit.
A grim skull dial adorned his wrist, and the arms of his suit bore the same white clock emblem. Everyone else in the barn wore similar garb. The farm was clearly a gathering point of the White Skull.
"No need to get angry, Number Seven. Isn't White Tower's arrogance better for us? Foolish and arrogant foes are far easier to defeat than cautious, rational ones!" A black-haired woman said slowly.
"By the way, that new president of the Psychokinesis Association must have attended the conference. I'd love to butcher that bastard. He's been opposing us constantly of late and it's infuriating..." snarled another White Skull captain.
"No rush, Number Eight. Black Rain Manor will revive soon. This time we'll cooperate with Blood Sand to fight the scattered alliance White Tower is forming. When the two most powerful and vicious neo-human forces join hands, those so-called righteous groups will surely quake in fear! Once we crush that feeble alliance, the Psychokinesis Association will be ours to carve up. To dare oppose the White Skull—the guts on that new president..." Captain Number Three spoke, the silver dial on his wrist gleaming faintly.
Suddenly, a creak sounded as the barn door swung open. A formidable figure in a black-cloaked combat suit strode in from outside. He carried with him an oppressive aura.
All present spoke in unison. The newcomer was none other than Number One, the founder and leader of the White Skull. He was one of the very strongest neo-humans. His hands had been soaked in blood for decades, giving him a fearsome notoriety.
His power vaguely exceeded A-rank, earning him the dreadful title of "Demon Man".
"I just spoke with Blood Sand's leader, Shark Tooth. Many matters are clear now, and cooperation will proceed smoothly," Number One said slowly.
Shark Tooth was also a ruthless neo-human, wanted for thirty years and ranked second on the wanted list. The top of that list, of course, was taken by Demon Man himself.
Number One cast a profound gaze over them. "Gentlemen, starting tomorrow, the complete Demon Blood Ritual can be set up in the Anta Mountains. We must prepare in advance for the manor's imminent revival. In the future, Black Rain Manor and neo-humans will belong to us. We White Skull shall be kings of the new era..."
"Exactly! Next, we'll make rivers of blood in the Anta Mountains! Forge our stairway to the throne with countless gallons of blood..." The five captains raised their arms and roared, unable to contain their excitement.
The Golem Sect and the Gate Organization were both on the move. The Totem Temple, the Blood Race, and Eclipse Society were all also shifting troops. Even the least threatening, weakest neo-human factions split into righteous and evil camps, unrealistically fantasizing about the day they would control Black Rain Manor.
Amid such anticipation, desire, and eagerness, September 19 finally dawned. There was now only one day to the revival. The great sun leaned west in the Anta Mountains, and evening rays spilled through the clouds across the sky. They formed rays of golden orange in the forest.
A squad in black combat suits moved nimbly through a clearing in the forest. They accelerated all the way toward their designated site. The strongest among them carried a heavy large sack. Clangs of colliding metal rang out from within.
A small yet agile figure emerged from the woods and said, "Captain, still no word from Blood Sand. They haven't sent anyone to the agreed spot and we don't know why."
"What are they doing, playing hide-and-seek with us?" Number Seven was plainly enraged. His aura grew dangerous. "I told Number One long ago that Blood Sand couldn't be trusted. Now they're dropping the ball at the critical moment..."
He stood like an iron tower.
"Forget them, we'll focus on our task. As for the rest, we'll talk when the higher-ups meet tonight. I'll have to severely question Blood Sand then—do they have any sense of responsibility or sincerity in this alliance? If they don't want to cooperate, then disband and go their own way quickly... Hmph," Number Seven snorted.
"Move! Pick up the pace."
The squad, which had slowed, quickened again. They headed toward a sunken valley within the Anta Mountains.
Twenty minutes later, the team reached the valley mouth and descended into it. Number Seven strode at the front with huge strides. While checking the map, he started updating his men, "This Demon Blood Ritual's coverage is unprecedentedly vast, but vast doesn't mean imprecise. On the contrary, the larger it is, the more precise it must be. Every blood-sacrifice stake we brought must be placed at the exact map coordinates... They absolutely mustn't deviate. The tolerance is only half a meter, so be very careful.
For example, the first stake is right at this ravine's—" Number Seven pointed as he raised his head from the map. His words trailed off.
A group had already beaten them to it! They had cleared the vegetation, exposing a wide flat stretch of earth. They also had metal tools and glass vessels of an unknown liquid. They were also engaged in some tasks. Yet densely packed trenches on the clearing formed intricate black patterns. It seemed a mysterious rite akin to the Demon Blood Ritual. Latest content published on NoveIＦire.net
Number Seven instantly led his squad in a charge, shouting, "Damn! Who are you?!"
As they neared, the early arrivals ceased their work and slowly turned to look. Their high-quality black combat suits had a subtle matte sheen under the sun. Bulging hard muscles filled out the chest and arms while tough leather bracers, set with four or five bright silver studs, cinched their wrists.
They were all burly men, all Covert Martial Arts Practitioners, and all from the Golem Sect.
On their vests was a huge sinister word: Golem. It was straight to the point. They were members of the Golem Sect!
Number Seven halted and looked disdainfully at them. He did not fear their strength or size at all.
"A pack of ordinary humans? Interesting. Ordinary humans dare come into the Anta Mountains?!"
White Skull was an extremist faction among neo-humans. They deemed ordinary humans as inferior. As a captain, Number Seven naturally embraced that creed.
Number Seven grinned viciously, his aura growing brutal. "Though I don't know why you dared venture into the mountains' depths, this is perfect. You've delivered yourselves as blood-sacrifice offerings. That's the only use you ordinary humans have for us neo-humans..."
Opposite him, the tight-suited hulks seemed unfazed. They only showed a trace of puzzlement.
"Ordinary humans? Why would you think we are ordinary?!"
A series of sharp bone-cracking sounds echoed. Golem Sect disciples were already muscular hulks but as their bodies started to swell as they slowly twisted their necks. Their frame grew a full size in every dimension. Overflowing muscles bulged and throbbed powerfully beneath their clothes, almost tearing it apart.
In an instant, a group of hulks over two meters tall looked down on the White Skull. A dense oppressive aura of danger blanketed the ravine. The faces of Number Seven and his squad changed drastically as their hearts started to pound.
Behind the bulked-up men, a figure studying the ritual slowly lifted his head from a squat and spoke coldly. "Eliminate them."
"Yes!" The burly men answered in unison. The whole ravine shook as their voices overlapped and resonated.
Then one human-shaped tank after another charged, grinding the earth into flying dust. At the same time, in another part of the Anta Mountains, sporadic screams died out one by one until only one remained.
A bloody and mangled figure with severed limbs writhed and crawled like a caterpillar. He was Captain Number Three of the White Skull. Dripping blood had obscured his vision so the world around him was a blurry red. He could hear only his own heavy breathing and heartbeat.
Footsteps gradually approached from his left.
Captain Three frantically inched backward, overwhelming fear rising in him. "No, no, no! Spare me! Spare my life, I'll do anything!"
It seemed a demon was drawing near.
A voice suddenly sounded above his head. "Your hands are gone, your feet too. Tsk tsk, how pitiful... Let me release you..."
Then a massive shadow fell over him, blocking all light. The same thing happened in other parts of the Anta Mountains. The Golem Sect was not the only top force drawn by the manor's revival. They were pre-emptively clearing out some insect hindrance.
Thus the earnest White Skull and Blood Sand instead suffered a tragedy. They simply had terrible luck.
Later that evening in Anta City, White Skull' leader Demon Man and Blood Sand's leader Shark Tooth arrived early after being engaged in separate actions. The two chatted, envisioning the good times after success and dividing the spoils to come. Yet as they talked, they suddenly sensed something amiss.
The appointed time had passed, but no underlings from either side had come to the barn. Had something obstructed them?
Demon Man and Shark Tooth exchanged a puzzled glance. Even after they waited until the moon rose high, not a single subordinate arrived. It was truly strange!