Chapter 134: Zhang Yang's Fury

"Damn it!" Trembling from a mix of rage and extreme physical exhaustion, Zhang Yang’s body was pushed to its absolute limit. Yet, a stubborn, unyielding defiance sustained him, keeping him from collapsing before his opponent.

"Still, I think you’d look much more pleasing if you were just lying flat on the ground." As if toying with a specimen on an operating table, Sikong Ming extended the flesh-spikes from his left hand once more, pinning Zhang Yang to the floor. This time, he didn't aim for the heart; he pinned Zhang Yang’s hands, feet, and torso to the ground. Seemingly aware that his prey was reaching his limit, this deeply twisted individual began to savor the cruel joy of torture. Countless victims like Zhang Yang had been mercilessly dissected by this pervert.

"Ughhh!"

"Down on the ground, starting the count... one..."

"Don't bother harboring any foolish hopes of escaping through this count. I’m just going to chop your head off, hehe!"

"I will... kill you!" Raising his head, Zhang Yang’s eyes burned with resolve.

"...four..."

"What a joke. What could you possibly do in this state?" Sikong Ming’s right hand morphed into a giant scalpel, pointing it at the prone Zhang Yang. "Right now, you’re just like a frog pinned to a dissection board, chirping incessantly. It's so noisy. But you’ll be quiet soon enough, hehe, because that thing you use to talk is about to..."

*Come to me, my sword! Extend!* Pressing his hand against the floor, Zhang Yang focused on the Spirit-Gathering Sword that Sikong Ming had discarded behind him. His spiritual energy had maintained a subtle connection with the blade. Channeling his energy through the ground, he struggled to command the sword to fly toward his tormentor.

Just as Sikong Ming raised his scalpel to decapitate Zhang Yang, a sense of danger made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. A whistling sound tore through the air from behind him, but it was too late to turn around. The Spirit-Gathering Sword extended, slashing toward Sikong Ming. Controlling the flying blade with his remaining spiritual energy, Zhang Yang sliced Sikong Ming’s body into several pieces. The five flesh-spikes that had pinned him were severed, falling to the ground like wriggling, fleshy noodles.

"...eight! What a massive reversal! Who would have thought that Zhang Yang, pinned to the ground, could still control his discarded spirit sword! He has sliced contestant Sikong Ming into pieces, and while Zhang Yang has managed to stand up again, Sikong Ming has collapsed!"

"I let my guard down a little, but you still didn't hit anything vital, hehe." Watching Zhang Yang approach, the dismembered Sikong Ming sneered from the floor. Countless flesh-spikes erupted from the severed parts of his body, reaching out to reconnect the pieces. "I told you, no matter how many times you cut me, I can always recover, hehehe... !?"

"Is that so?" Staring at Sikong Ming, who was busy reassembling his body, Zhang Yang wore a cruel smile. "What a convenient tool. This form is perfect for my current mood." Seeing the massive racket in his hand—the Spirit-Gathering Sword, having absorbed his energy and shifted based on his intent into a giant oval-shaped paddle—Zhang Yang gripped it tightly. "If I don't know where your vital point is, I'll just smash everything to bits!" With both hands, he swung the paddle with every ounce of his remaining strength, slamming it into Sikong Ming’s body.

*WHACK!* A bone-chilling sound echoed through the arena. Under the force of this lethal blow, the arena floor cracked, leaving a massive crater. Within it, Sikong Ming lay motionless, his fate unknown.

After a long silence, Miss Xing Meng ran to the edge of the crater and addressed the audience. "Let me confirm... ugh!" Upon seeing the gruesome state of Sikong Ming amidst the rocks, her expression turned pale, and cold sweat broke out. *What is this pile of meat? It's so disgusting... is it still moving?* Choking back the bile rising in her throat, she forced herself to announce the result. "Contestant Zhang Yang wins!"

"No way! Is Sikong Ming dead!?"

"That means the Sikong team has lost two matches in a row!"

"This is bad!"

"How did this happen?"

"How could Sikong Ming lose?"

"This is so unexpected!"

A ripple of unrest stirred through the spectators. Many of the demons in the stands whispered in groups. It was unbelievable; the highly favored Sikong team had lost three matches in a row—though the first had been a pyrrhic victory for them, costing them a life.

Even the powerful Martial God had fallen to the small, flying Yan, who had burned half the audience in the process. Now, with Sikong Ming’s older brother beaten into an unrecognizable pulp by a mere human, it seemed Qin Xiaochuan might actually pull off a championship reversal. If that happened, many demons who had bet their entire fortunes against Qin Xiaochuan’s team would be ruined. They would likely jump off the island's cliffs to feed the fish, having lost everything down to their very clothes.

Ignoring the commotion, Zhang Yang walked off the arena with a grim expression.

"Great job, Zhang Yang! Are you okay?"

Seeing Qin Xiaochuan rush toward him with an excited face, Zhang Yang didn't say a word; he simply threw a punch, slamming it into Qin Xiaochuan’s face. "Why didn't you tell me about Grandma’s death!? Do you think I'm just an outsider?" Grabbing Qin Xiaochuan by the collar, Zhang Yang glared at him with fury. "Did you think I would run away if you told me she was killed!? Answer me!"

"Zhang Yang..."

"Shut up!"

Seeing the rage on Zhang Yang's face, Bai Ying stepped forward and waved a hand, explaining helplessly, "You’ve misunderstood Qin Xiaochuan. He didn't tell any of us; we deduced Grandma’s death from various clues ourselves. It isn't what you think. He didn't tell you because he didn't want you to be heartbroken. I imagine that was Xiaochuan’s reasoning too. Let him go and listen to what he has to say."

Seeming unable to look Zhang Yang in the eye, Qin Xiaochuan kept his head down, staring at Zhang Yang’s chest. After a long pause, he finally spoke. "Grandma died in my arms. I entrusted her to Little Yama and asked for his support, and I prepared myself to fight on our own. But even so, I couldn't believe it. It felt like a lie. Even now, I feel like she’s about to return... I felt that if I spoke the words, it would mean I had to admit she was truly gone forever!"

"..." Hearing this, Zhang Yang seemed to grasp the situation. He slowly released his grip on Qin Xiaochuan’s collar and began to walk past him. "Tch... you should have said so sooner."

"Xiaochuan!" Just as Qin Xiaochuan was walking toward the arena with his head bowed, Zhang Yang’s voice rang out from behind him. "Win!"

*SMACK!*

A crisp sound rang out as Qin Xiaochuan slammed his fist into his palm. Seeming to regain his confidence, he leaped onto the arena. Encouraged by his teammate, he felt a surge of endless energy. Giving a thumbs-up to Zhang Yang, he turned his head and said, "Leave it to me!"

With that, Qin Xiaochuan walked proudly toward the center of the arena. The true final battle was about to begin. Looking at Sikong Lang, who was walking toward him from the opposite side, Qin Xiaochuan whispered to himself: *I will fulfill Grandma’s last wish. Please, rest in peace, Grandma! And if I win, I will bring you back to life. That is my wish upon victory!*

"The arena has suddenly become so quiet. It’s like the calm before the storm," Miss Xing Meng remarked, sensing the unusual atmosphere. Seemingly infected by the aura of the two combatants, the audience remained silent, unwilling to break the tension of the long-awaited finale, watching the two men approach each other.

"Sikong Lang, I’ll go first."

Glancing back at Mr. Yu Jing, who had called out to him, Sikong Lang stopped. He watched Mr. Yu Jing walk past him but remained silent.

Walking to Sikong Lang’s side, Mr. Yu Jing seemed to have a plan. He nodded to Sikong Lang and headed toward the center of the arena, stopping beside Miss Xing Meng.

"It’s Yu Jing! Is he going to fight?"

"Really? He’s actually going on stage? That’s rare!"

"Can he beat Qin Xiaochuan? Is this a joke?"

"Maybe Yu Jing has something up his sleeve. Let’s watch!"

"Yeah, let’s watch!"

Ignoring the murmurs from the stands, Mr. Yu Jing stood beside Miss Xing Meng and signaled to her. "Referee, give me the microphone."