Meanwhile, Ararat and Crimson Ghost clashed with such speed and ferocity that their movements blurred into streaks of light and shadow. Each collision of their power sent violent shockwaves rippling through the battlefield, distorting the very air around them.
Cultivators watching from a distance wore grim expressions, sensing the sheer devastation brewing. It felt as if the Land of Finale itself teetered on the brink of collapse.
“Ararat, let me assist you!” Kishor stepped forward.
“Your opponent is me.” From the dense dark mist surrounding Stefan, an elder clad in a black robe emerged. His face was an unsettling shade of red, almost purple—reminiscent of a monkey’s backside.
“D*mn, not another one!” Jared muttered, his brows furrowing in frustration.
Kishor glanced at the ruddy-faced figure, frowning. “You monkey-faced fool, you think you can challenge me?”
Ruddy Ghost blinked in surprise, his eyes widening as he processed Kishor’s words. “Do you... know me?”
“No!” Kishor shook his head.
Ruddy Ghost scratched his head in confusion. “How could you know my name if you don’t know me?”
Kishor raised an eyebrow. “What’s your name? Let me guess—Macaque?”
Ruddy Ghost nodded solemnly. “Indeed, my name is Macaque.”
“F*ck. I knew it. Enough with the chatter, you’re about to be nothing but meat for my fists. Let’s finish this, I still have Ararat to help!” With that, Kishor launched a powerful punch straight at Ruddy Ghost, his patience running thin.
The Land of Finale grew increasingly unstable, with battles erupting in every corner.
Stefan's gaze settled on Jared, his expression dripping with disdain, a faint smirk curling at the corners of his lips.
“The Four Ghosts of Hell Mountain... It seems there’s one missing.” Corrado slowly approached Jared, his eyes flickering with a certain seriousness as he spoke, casting a glance at Stefan.
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