bookrebus Chapter 505 Hehe, a bunch of idiots
Chapter 505 Hehe, a bunch of idiots
Marcus's situation is even worse.
When Catherine was carried off the plane, her right arm was gone—no, upon closer inspection, it was still there, just dislocated, but dislocated so badly that the bone was protruding from her shoulder, which frightened the people around her into thinking it was broken.
She gritted her teeth, her face deathly pale, and asked Jack to help her reset. As soon as Jack exerted force, she screamed and then fainted.
Jack lay there unconscious, his bones broken in countless places, looking like a rag doll.
Vincent suffered internal injuries and kept coughing up blood; with each cough, he spat out a mouthful of bloody foam.
Isabella and Roderick fared slightly better, but not by much; both of them were out of mana and could only rely on potions to keep going.
William stepped out from the crowd.
His crystal ball had completely dimmed, looking like an ordinary glass ball.
His face was frighteningly pale, his lips were blue, his eyes were sunken, and he looked completely drained.
But he can still walk and talk.
He glanced at the crowd sprawled on the ground, then at the players still frantically attacking in the distance.
The players, like ants, swarmed around Kisla's feet, then turned into white light one by one.
"Let them consume it."
His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping, but still clear, carrying an undeniable calmness.
"Let's hurry and recover. The boss definitely has a powerful attack up its sleeve. That was just a normal attack; the real killing move is yet to come."
No one speaks.
But everyone is desperately trying to recover.
Potions were poured into his mouth like they were free—high-level, mid-level, low-level, as long as they could restore health and mana, he would stuff them all into his mouth.
Some people drank too quickly and choked, coughing, but no one stopped.
One prop after another was slapped onto his body—
Use as many items as you can to restore life, restore mana, repair equipment, and increase resistance, without worrying about the cost.
Damaged equipment was forcibly repaired.
Zhang Tianya picked up a fragment of the shield from the ground and used [Reforge Solid Rock] to strike it. The broken shield was barely pieced back together, and although it was covered in cracks, it could at least block one blow.
Chen Shan was also repairing his shield, wiping it with soft rock essence, and the cracks healed somewhat.
Because they all know—
The battle is not over yet.
......
Before he could finish speaking...
The battlefield suddenly fell silent.
It's not that the players have stopped playing.
Everyone felt a terrifying pressure.
The pressure emanating from Kisla was like an invisible mountain pressing down on everyone's hearts.
The players who were rushing forward slowed down, the players who were attacking stopped, and the players who were shouting became hoarse.
Everyone froze.
Kisla stopped his attack.
It stood there, its eighteen-meter-tall body like a mountain, casting a shadow that covered an area of hundreds of meters.
Six blood-red eyes lit up simultaneously.
It's not the dim kind of brightness.
It was a blinding, scorching light, the kind that was impossible to look directly at. The light burst forth from the depths of its eyes, like six small suns, illuminating the entire battlefield as if it were daytime.
Then, it opened its mouth.
There was no roaring.
There was no spitting.
There was only one ray of light.
A beam of light emanating from it and spreading outwards in all directions.
The light of chaos.
The light was grayish-black, yet it was dazzlingly bright, a contradiction that defied comprehension.
It spread outwards at a speed imperceptible to the naked eye, distorting, evaporating, and disappearing wherever it passed.
The moment the light swept across—
There were no screams.
There was no struggle.
They did not run away.
Only white light.
Thousands of white lights.
They light up at the same time.
It was extinguished at the same time.
They disappeared at the same time.
Those who were alive and well just a second ago, those who were shouting "The final blow is mine!"—are all gone.
There was no equipment left behind, not even ashes; only bursts of white light exploded in the night before dissipating.
The light lasted for three seconds.
Three seconds later, the battlefield, centered on Kisla, was completely deserted within a radius of two hundred meters.
Only Kisla stood there.
Those players who were just frantically attacking, those who were charging forward just a second ago—all gone.
All that remained were fragments of equipment—the remnants of those who had been vaporized, and lingering white light, drifting slowly in the night wind.
The surviving players were all standing two hundred meters away.
Their legs were shaking.
My hands are shaking.
My whole body was shaking.
"Holy crap... Holy shit..."
A mage slumped to the ground, his lips pale, his teeth chattering, and his staff slipped from his hand without him even noticing.
"How many people died just now?"
No one answered.
But everyone saw it—that white light, that blank space.
The once densely packed crowd now has a large empty space, as if a giant beast has taken a bite out of it.
Kisla's health bar has less than 10% left.
It stood there, panting heavily, its chest and abdomen heaving violently, each breath sending out gray mist from the gaps in its bony plates.
The cracks on the bone plates had deepened, and some pieces had even broken off, revealing the scarlet muscle underneath.
The wound was still bleeding, and black blood flowed down the bone plate, forming small puddles on the ground.
But it is still standing.
It is still alive.
"The boss's health is down to less than 10%!"
Suddenly someone shouted, the voice sharp and piercing.
"It's used its ultimate attack! The next one definitely won't be coming soon! Everyone, hurry up and attack!"
"Yes! Hurry up!"
"Strike while the iron is hot!"
"Charge!!!"
It's that voice again.
Those same words again.
Again, it's those who rush towards death.
......
Nobody noticed—
The person who shouted just now didn't rush in.
He stood there, a slight smile on his lips.
Pagoda tree.
An assassin.
Level 28, talent grade A, neither strong nor weak.
He was dressed in a drab gray leather armor and stood inconspicuously at the edge of the crowd.
He watched the players rushing forward, a smile playing on his lips.
"Idiots," he muttered, his voice only audible to himself, "Heh heh!!! A bunch of idiots."
His eyes were fixed on Kisla's health bar.
20% ...
18% ...
17% ...
With each drop, his heart beat a little faster.
He could feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest, as if it were about to burst out.
"Wait until it's a little more damaged."
He was calculating in his mind, his palms sweaty, leaving damp marks on the hilt of the dagger.
"I'll go in when it's down to its last sliver of health. I'll use Shadow Step to sneak up behind it, then deliver a fatal blow to its vitals, just once, just once."
His right hand rested on the dagger, his knuckles turning white.
"My talent is [Critical Strike], which doubles critical strike damage. If I get even one touch, the final blow is mine."
His breathing became rapid, and his chest heaved violently.