The sudden two-front crisis slammed Mo Fan into a desperate, no-win situation.
Bzzt—
His mind felt like it had been split down the middle with a rusted, blunt axe. Even the image on his retinas tore and doubled.
Half his awareness was anchored in the village—at the ruins of the ancestral hall.
That "Venerable Miasma Dust"—erratic and unstable but still radiating Peak Foundation Establishment pressure—was locking lethal spell after lethal spell onto 003's skeletal frame with destructive killing intent.
The other half was nailed to the dim room where his main body sat.
Outside the narrow courtyard, that deliberately suppressed but unmistakably heavy breathing was close—close enough to scrape directly against Mo Fan's heart.
[ Forced Override ] was inherently a skill that burned through spiritual force at a brutal rate.
And now he was running it against an opponent who, however weakened, could still detonate Foundation Establishment-tier lethality at any moment!
Handling this massive volume of life-or-death information simultaneously sent storm-like shockwaves crashing through his mind.
A violent, wrenching sensation—like his soul was being torn in half, like his organs wanted to come up through his throat—made the veins on his forehead bulge like earthworms. Warm blood seeped from his nose again.
Pull out. Cut the link right now. Reason frantically sounded the highest-level red alert in his mind.
The moment you retract 003, your real body moves. You and Mo Yan take out whoever's outside that door in an instant! Keep dragging this out, and once both fronts collapse simultaneously, it's not just death—it's total annihilation!
But— Mo Fan bit down, tasting the metallic tang of blood, and kept his bloodshot eyes locked on the door.
Creak... creak...
The footsteps outside had slowed considerably.
Whoever it was had likely just entered the courtyard from the gate—still some distance from his door. This afforded Mo Fan an extremely precious window to breathe.
There's still a chance...
A paranoia known only to gamblers roared up from somewhere deep in his chest, drowning out his absolute rationality for an instant.
003 was his masterpiece. Built piece by piece, bone by bone, with everything he had. It had been with him this whole time—close enough to call a partner.
Throwing it away this easily... Mo Fan found he couldn't do it.
What if I can stall him? What if I can kite him to death?!
"Screw it."
A low, cornered-animal sound escaped Mo Fan's throat. He didn't cut the link.
Instead, he poured a full two-thirds of his mental focus directly into 003's body at the village entrance!
If he was going to gamble, he was going to use the absolute strongest micro-management to dance on the edge of the blade!
At the ruins near the village entrance.
The moment Mo Fan's massive mental power fully synchronized, the two ghostly blue soul-flames in 003's eye sockets surged violently...
Spilling past the bone rims, trailing two long, eerie blue flame trails in the air.
At this moment, Mo Fan had completely transformed into the beast.
He could clearly feel the tremor in every single bone. The air-tearing sharpness of the demon tiger claws.
He could even feel the nauseating, blood-soaked killing aura rolling off the black-robed Daoist across from him.
"Wretched creature—DIE!"
Venerable Miasma Dust roared in anger. With a casual wave of his hand, spiritual energy in the air converged madly.
BOOM!
A pillar of spiritual light—thick as a water vat, laced with dark red toxic fire—came screaming at 003 with the force of something that could level a hillside.
The strike had dropped from Peak Foundation Establishment intensity to roughly Early Foundation Establishment, thanks to the chaotic aura within the old man's body.
But even at that reduced level, it was a terrifying spell capable of instakilling a Peak Qi Condensation cultivator!
Dodge!
Mo Fan didn't even consider tanking it. He drove 003's powerful hind legs into the ground.
Crack.
The stone beneath its feet shattered instantly. 003's sleek bone frame became an illusory white blur, skimming low across the ground, sliding several meters to the left.
RUMBLE——!!!
The toxic fire pillar hit exactly where 003 had been standing.
The hard ground cratered—two meters deep, straight down. The berserk shockwave tore outward in every direction like a tsunami, carrying shrapnel and toxic fire.
Bang!
Even though Mo Fan dodged fast enough, 003's massive body was still harshly grazed by the explosion's edge.
Just the edge. Just a graze. Three thick beast ribs along 003's left ribcage snapped with a sound like grinding teeth, bone splinters punching through empty air.
Hiss—
Back in the room, Mo Fan's whole body convulsed. He nearly bit his own tongue off, cold sweat pouring down like rain.
He didn't have time to feel it.
For the next several dozen seconds, Mo Fan ran 003 through the ruins—around the collapsed ancestral hall, through the half-standing buildings—in an extreme, tightrope-walking deathmatch against the erratic "Venerable Miasma Dust."
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
003 moved like white lightning through the broken walls and rubble. Up onto a rooftop. Behind a massive stone pillar. Squeezing every last advantage out of the terrain.
Trailing behind, Venerable Miasma Dust acted like a maddened bulldozer.
"ROLL OUT HERE! You cowardly pile of bones!"
BOOM. Another blood-colored palm print obliterated a half-broken dirt wall 003 had just ducked behind, reducing it to powder.
But Mo Fan keenly caught something. An extremely crucial detail.
The old monster was furious, and his spells were devastating. But his attacks kept carrying a faint—hesitation.
He was deliberately reining in the blast radius. Especially when getting close to certain ancient trees or specific areas in the village center.
In those spots, he would rather watch 003 flee than unleash a full-power spell to bombard the area.
Without that restraint, 003 would have been turned into bone dust long ago.
He's hesitant to pelt the rat for fear of smashing the vase. The thought crystallized in Mo Fan's mind.
This whole village really is one massive, intricate array! He's scared that if he hits too hard, he'll blow the array along with me!
In the middle of a desperate retreat, that single realization was a sliver of light.
Mo Fan immediately started steering 003 with purpose—making a beeline for the most well-maintained buildings, the spots where spiritual energy ran thickest.
You won't bomb these areas? Then I'll just live in them!
"YOU—ABSOLUTE—BASTARD!"
Venerable Miasma Dust was infuriated to the point of smoke coming out of his seven orifices by 003's extremely shameless, highly "intelligent" kiting tactics.
He was actually being walked like a dog by a bag of bones!
As he chased, he hurled a barrage of curses, an endless stream of foul and filthy language, trying to goad the "demon beast" into doing something stupid.
Inside 003's skull, Mo Fan listened to the old monster's incessant insults and felt his own anger shooting rapidly toward the ceiling.
When have I ever suffered such useless frustration where I could only be cursed at without being able to curse back?!
He wanted nothing more than to have 003 jump out, point one bone claw directly at the old bastard's nose, and unleash the most exquisite profanities of modern Earth right into his face.
But—
Clack. Clack.
003 opened its massive white bone lower jaw. The upper and lower bones knocked together with a crisp, hollow rattle.
That was all. Not a single syllable came out.
Skeletons don't have vocal cords.
...Fuck.