Chapter Forty-Two: The Resentful Spirit

Within the dazzling white pupils, the graceful figure of Tang Ruyan was reflected; her white dress was pleasing to the eye, and her black hair floated elegantly. Yet, after a brief moment, a flash of white light flickered in Guan Qian's eyes, and the charming silhouette instantly transformed into something terrifying.

She still wore the flowing white dress, her long black hair light and graceful, exuding an air of purity and elegance. Her tall figure and slender, delicate arms made Tang Ruyan appear ethereal, transcending the mundane. But upon her pale, lifeless face, her eyes, crimson as pools of blood, were opened wide, and from her demon-red lips, wisps of black mist slowly seeped forth, chilling the onlookers to the bone.

The white pupils flashed again; under the blinding white light, a figure draped in white appeared, with something black, as light as mist, suddenly emerging within the gaze. Guan Qian inhaled sharply; the person before him was beyond imagination—how could this possibly be the Tang Ruyan he once knew? Yet every sign confirmed that this was indeed Tang Ruyan.

"Guan... Guan Qian! She—" Mo Han's face flushed, struggling to utter a few words, but failing to finish his sentence. Tang Ruyan's powerful grip was choking him, making it almost impossible to breathe.

With a clatter, Fang He scrambled toward Guan Qian, tumbling over and scattering all the gold pieces he carried onto the cold ground with a series of metallic clinks.

"Damn it!" Fang He cursed, anxiously staring at the gold scattered across the floor. Greed and terror painted a vivid, discordant expression on his face. Just as he reached to retrieve a few pieces, he suddenly noticed the eerie Tang Ruyan staring at him, sending a chill through his soul. With a jolt, he darted to Guan Qian's side, his heart nearly leaping into his throat.

"My... my god, why is she staring at me?" Fang He hid behind Guan Qian, his shifty eyes fixed on the distance, his back ice cold, his teeth chattering uncontrollably.

At that moment, those crimson eyes watched him like a predator eyeing its prey, exuding a sinister aura that made his blood run cold.

Poor Fang He had never felt such terror; the overwhelming fear nearly made it impossible for him to stand.

"Tsk tsk."

Tang Ruyan let out a strange laugh, then suddenly flung Mo Han aside.

With a heavy thud, Mo Han crashed to the ground, his bones feeling as if they were about to shatter, the pain nearly causing him to faint. The phosphorescent bone in his hand had snapped into several pieces, scattered throughout the corridor. The erratic glow from the fragments lent an unusual atmosphere to the passage.

"Demoness!" Fang He stammered, dropping to the ground, with Guan Qian now his only lifeline.

Tap.

Tap, tap.

Tang Ruyan approached Guan Qian and Fang He unhurriedly, a chilling aura sweeping over them.

White pupils.

Pierce through essence, master causality.

Guan Qian's white eyes gleamed, erupting with unparalleled brilliance. Everywhere his gaze touched seemed to unravel, strands of white weaving into intricate structures. This was the ultimate power of the Prophet's third stage: the white pupils.

They penetrated the source of all things, tracing to the root, seeing through the essence. The densely packed white strands, each crystal clear and gleaming, formed the foundational frameworks of every object. Like a net, they were interconnected, as if born from the same root.

On each strand, a unique mark existed—causal particles, traces of life's path. Observing these, one could discern fragments of images on each, countless shards representing the causes of a thing's existence. The combination of all these fragments charted the trend of their development, ultimately forming the trajectory of their outcome.

At that moment, Guan Qian had discerned Tang Ruyan's condition.

Possession!

An event from legends of gods and ghosts was now confirmed before Guan Qian's eyes. The sudden confirmation made him frown; such an unimaginable occurrence was real, and appeared so starkly before him.

Rather than a resentful spirit, it was a conglomeration of countless souls that had perished, merged into one. On those dense white strands, thousands of shocking images assaulted Guan Qian's mind—bloody scenes of piled corpses. A once-flourishing ancient civilization had been utterly destroyed by an invading race.

These were the scenes of countless Maya fighting desperately against "demons." Corpses littered the land, limbs torn and scattered. Despair and cries filled the world. Their helplessness, their bravery, all turned to dust.

Their homeland ruined, loved ones slain; in death, their unwillingness became a force of malice. Through years of accumulation, this malice transformed into the resentful spirit before them.

In this sunless tomb beneath the earth, the spirit wandered alone, like a loyal old servant guarding its once-beloved home.

Centuries, millennia.

Time passed swiftly; the spirit became the only presence here. No one knew its past, nor did anyone visit—until the arrival of Guan Qian and his companions shattered the silence.

The furious spirit mistook them for the "demons" of old, and memories from its previous life compelled it to kill those before it, defending its home.

Finally, it used its intangible energy form to possess the unconscious Tang Ruyan. Her unguarded consciousness was forced into darkness by the spirit, soon to become its food.

With this, the body was completely dominated by the spirit; Tang Ruyan's life was in grave danger, her existence teetering on the brink of oblivion.

Guan Qian was alarmed—this was an extremely dangerous entity. He heightened his vigilance to the utmost. Yet, facing the advancing Tang Ruyan, he sighed deeply.

In fierce combat, Tang Ruyan's body would inevitably be harmed. He had to dodge the spirit's powerful attacks, searching for an opening to drive it out of Tang Ruyan's body.

But the spirit's formidable will was terrifying. Guan Qian's repeated attempts to restrain Tang Ruyan's body and expel the spirit's energy were completely ineffective.

Bang!

Guan Qian fought cautiously, while the spirit fought with fury. The pure energy form, once possessed, wielded strength and speed equal to Guan Qian's third-stage genetic lock.

Indeed, Guan Qian's constant retreat finally gave the spirit an opportunity—he was struck and thrown to the ground.

The slender arm possessed remarkable strength; a single punch forced Guan Qian to the floor, pain radiating from his chest, demanding his utmost care.

With power comparable to the third stage of the genetic lock, Guan Qian suffered significant losses from the outset.

This was a battle of immense challenge; Guan Qian unleashed his full strength, the combat so rapid it blurred the eye. In the dark corridor, their indistinct shadows flickered everywhere.

Yet Guan Qian knew that, always on the defensive, he needed to seize an opportunity soon to defeat the spirit; otherwise, Tang Ruyan would vanish forever from this world, the consequences unimaginable.