The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5170

“Make sure you keep that promise,” Jared said coldly.

The words had barely fallen when a wave of danger washed over him.

He jerked his head up. To the northwest, the horizon was swallowed by pitch-black gloom; churning clouds carried tens of thousands of soul fires, like the pupils of some vast creature staring at him from dozens of kilometers away.

Over the ruins of the Seventh Hall, nether energy boiled like ink.

Granny Deadclaw hovered in mid-air, the soul orbs between her talons blazing crimson and staining the sky a ghastly blood-red.

Her knife-like gaze slashed across the crowd and pinned itself to Jared.

“Hand over the token, and we’ll let you die in one piece.”

Her voice rasped like rusty iron scraping stone, each word steeped in chilly lethal intent.

Jared stood on the scorched earth, a faint, invisible aura coiling around him.

“Who are you people?” he asked.

“We’re the Nether Duo. You killed Ghostmask and stole his token. Give it here, and we’ll make your death a little easier,” Lord Drowned Souls hissed, baring a mouthful of yellow teeth.

“What organization do you serve? And what in blazes is the Skyfall Grotto?” Jared demanded.

At the words “Skyfall Grotto,” the Nether Duo visibly flinched.

“You little whelp, this isn’t a question you get to ask. Hand over the token right now, or don’t blame us for being rough!”

Granny Deadclaw’s voice slithered across the ruined ground, icy and unmistakably lethal, as she threatened Jared.

Jared raised the Dragonslayer Sword and let a thin, wintry smile curl across his lips. “The token’s on me. If you’ve got the nerve, come take it.”

He had barely finished when Lord Drowned Souls’ chain scythe screamed through the air toward him.

Netherfire coiled along the scythe’s edge, carving a charred arc through the sky; even the air itself rippled in their wake.

Before the weapon’s shriek had died, Jared shot sideways like an arrow loosed from the bowstring.

At the same time, pitch-black talons solidified at Granny Deadclaw’s fingertips, raking toward the center of his back with space-rending force.

Two fists could not block four hands—especially hands that had fought in perfect harmony for decades.

Jared dodged again and again, footwork flowing, the Dragonslayer Sword spinning an impenetrable web. Even so, a lick of netherfire grazed his shoulder; his robe blackened in an instant, and icy negative energy burrowed through the wound into his meridians, making his movement stutter.

“Now!”

Cold light flashed in Granny Deadclaw’s eyes. Ten soul orbs fused into one, morphing into a blood-red spear that stabbed for Jared’s heart with earth-shattering momentum.

“Break!”

Jared roared, pouring every drop of spiritual energy into his sword. The blade erupted in a blinding azure blaze and clashed head-on with the spear.

Boom!

The explosion of power kicked up a storm of dust. Jared shot backward like a cut kite, slammed into a broken wall, and spat a mouthful of blood.