He has been reincarnated through countless worlds, adorned with billions of mythological terms!

Five dark purple beams shot out from the center of the metal disc, weaving a fine net in the air, silently enveloping the creature.

The net covers an area of ​​over fifty meters, and each mesh is only the size of a fist, making it impossible for a creature of such size to pass through.

The net fell slowly but steadily, carrying an irresistible, silent power.

Just as the net was about to touch the tadpole, it stopped eating.

Without turning around or making a sound, a crack suddenly appeared on its back.

It was a newborn mouth, split from the spine all the way to the waist, the edges of the split covered with dense, sharp teeth, each tooth wriggling slightly, as if chewing something unseen.

The moment its mouth opened, a surge of grayish-white yin energy erupted out, colliding with the falling dark purple light net.

The part of the light net touched by the yin energy instantly lost its color, like lines drawn on paper being erased by an eraser.

The expressions on the five people's faces froze.

The middle-aged man had only taken half a step back when the serpent turned around.

The dark red eyes were no longer fixed on the wreckage of the Holy Light Mech, but instead locked onto them.

The next instant, it disappeared, and when it reappeared, it was standing directly in front of the middle-aged man, its gray-black claws only a fist's distance from his chest.

The middle-aged man could even see the remnants of holy light energy still dripping from the claws, and the madness and hunger churning in those dark red eyes.

He wanted to back away, but his legs wouldn't obey him.

Then he heard a series of faint, tidal sounds—like countless feet pounding on the ground at the same time, so dense it made his scalp tingle.

He turned his neck with difficulty and looked around. The greed in his eyes had completely disappeared, leaving only endless fear.

On the battlefield, all the serpents stopped moving.

Whether they were tearing apart the holy war machine or had just been resurrected and tried to rush to the aid of the sky but fell halfway, all the demons raised their heads at the same time, turned around at the same time, and locked their dark red eyes onto the five of them.

A million swarms of swarms, a million pairs of dark red eyes, all looked toward them.

The middle-aged man's lips moved, but he couldn't utter a sound.

The next instant, he and his four companions were engulfed by countless gray-black shadows.

A moment later, five gray ghosts slowly rose from the spot where they had disappeared, merging into the gray-white ocean, and were then swallowed up by the overwhelming golden light.

On the east side of the battlefield, a desert merchant silently removed his observation equipment from the tripod and put it into a protective case.

His movements were swift and decisive, without the slightest hesitation, a stark contrast to his earlier excited, trembling demeanor.

The assistant was still staring blankly at the two figures colliding in the sky when he grabbed him by the back of his collar and dragged him over.

"Let's go." The wasteland merchant uttered only one word.

"Captain, this is a legendary battle of god-like proportions! If you miss it, you might never encounter it again in your lifetime—"

"Let's go." You interrupted him with the same word, "If you miss it, you miss it. Nothing is more important than life."

"While the fighting hasn't escalated, we still have a chance to survive."

"Once they reach this side, we won't have a single hope of survival."

"God battles are indeed rare and precious, but you have to be alive to witness them."

The assistant opened his mouth, but ultimately swallowed his words and bent down to pack up the remaining equipment.

Just as he bent down to roll up the communication cable, the wasteland merchant heard a voice.

The sound was extremely close, almost touching his ear—like someone gently stroking his earlobe with wet fingers, or like something slowly growing out of his back: the subtle tearing sound of skin being stretched open, the sticky squeezing sound of flesh writhing, the creaking sound of bones unable to bear the weight.

Hee hee hee.

The laughter was so close that he could feel a damp, cold breath spraying onto the hair on the back of his neck.

He didn't turn around immediately—someone who had lived in the wasteland for so long wouldn't make that mistake.

His hand moved first.

He drew an energy pistol from his waist holster with his right hand, his thumb brushing the safety; with his left hand, he drew the alloy dagger that had been with him for fifteen years from the scabbard on the outside of his thigh. The blade was coated with corrosive material collected from the Black Tide-spreading area, and a dark green liquid flowed slowly along the edge.

Then he turned around.

His men weren't warned, but years of working together had taught them that when he drew his gun, they reacted instinctively—retreating, scattering, finding cover, and simultaneously raising their weapons to aim at their boss.

But when they saw what the traveling merchant was carrying on his back, everyone froze.

That was a face.

A face exactly like that of a traveling merchant.

The same brow bone, the same cheekbone, the same curve of the corners of the mouth—but it's in the wrong place.

It grows on the back of the traveling merchant, protruding from the flat skin between the shoulder blades, like a deformed tumor, or a parasitic twin desperately squeezing out from the depths of flesh.

His face was covered with a layer of translucent mucus, and fine buds kept growing outward from the edges. The buds burrowed into the gaps in the fabric of his combat uniform and took root firmly in his flesh like plant roots.

The corners of that face were stretched open, revealing crooked and uneven teeth.

It's laughing.

Hehehe—hehehe—the sound was squeezed out of that mouth, not a normal pronunciation, but a sound like the vocal cords vibrating and being squeezed directly out of the flesh.

Looking at his subordinates' expressions, the Wasteland Merchant did something that no one expected.

He didn't touch its back, didn't try to tear off the face, and didn't even look back at it.

He simply turned the muzzle of the energy pistol towards his temple and spoke his last words to his subordinates in an extremely calm voice:

"Run! Run as far as you can! The Flesh-Eating Evil God is not someone you can touch!"

He pulled the trigger.

A beam of energy pierced through the skull, entering from the left temple and exiting from the right, leaving behind a cloud of dark red blood mist.

The body leaned forward, and before it even touched the ground, a scream came from the face on its back.

The screams were piercingly loud, filled with boundless anger and resentment, like a conman whose tricks had been exposed and who was furious with shame.

The screams still echoed in the air when the merchant's corpse exploded.

Countless deformed fleshy tentacles emerged from his body, each tentacle ending in a mouth that emitted a gurgling laugh.

The fleshy tentacles spread outwards at an extremely fast speed, like a flesh-colored bomb thrown into water.

Wherever the ripples passed, all living things—assistants, instruments, insects in the cracks of ruins, vultures flying overhead—were transformed into nourishment for flesh and blood.

The assistants wore extremely eerie smiles the moment they were touched by the fleshy tentacles.

His mouth stretched from ear to ear, his eyebrows curved into an eerie arc, his eyes narrowed to slits, and saliva mixed with beads of blood seeping from the corners of his eyes dripped down, making him extremely terrifying.

They laughed as they watched wriggling things grow under their skin, watched their chests split open to reveal pulsating flesh, and watched their fingers fall off one by one and be swept away by tentacles.

Then they exploded too, just like the captain, turning into flesh-colored bombs that spread even more fleshy tentacles to a greater distance.

The ripples of flesh and blood spread wildly from the wandering merchants, catching up with the fleeing people, swallowing the corpses of every Holy Cult soldier along the way, climbing over ruins and rubble, crossing dried-up riverbeds, and finally crashing into the walls of Youdu City.

There are still tens of thousands of people in the city.