Full health is the kill threshold, no matter if you're a god or a demon!

Battlefields of the heavens, wastelands of ashes.

The name of this land is quite fitting—as far as the eye can see, everything is charred black, as if it had been burned by a great fire.

Thick ash covered the cracked ground, making a soft, creaking sound underfoot and kicking up clouds of gray dust with every step. The air was thick with the pungent smell of wood ash, and in the distance, a few massive stone pillars occasionally rose from the ash, pointing crookedly towards the sky like broken bones.

A group of deer-man players were fleeing in disarray, kicking up clouds of dust.

There were seven of them in total. The leader, Cyril, had a heavy shield hanging on his chest, and his plate armor was riddled with holes.

Evans and Benedict, following behind him, were in no better shape, their equipment covered in claw marks and bloodstains. The last three female deer-men—Clarissa, Tracy, and another brown-spotted female deer-man—staggered along, clearly exhausted.

Behind them, a dozen enormous figures were chasing after them.

Those figures, also on all fours, were the size of calves, covered in dark gray manes, their blood-red eyes gleaming with cruel, bloodthirsty light. Their mouths stretched to their ears, revealing two rows of gleaming white fangs, saliva dripping from the corners of their mouths, leaving a trail of foul-smelling marks on the ashes.

"Cyril, we have to think of something, or we won't escape!" Trish, a female deer-man with white spots on her body, said as she ran, her voice trembling with tears. She was the team's healer, and the previous surprise attack had used up most of her mana.

Cyril, at the front of the group, glanced back and his heart sank to the bottom.

The dozen or so enormous dire wolves gave chase relentlessly, their speed nearly equal to theirs, despite also being four-legged. Even more terrifying was the fact that their opponents were over fifty levels higher – he had clearly scouted them beforehand; the dire wolves all had levels above 320, while the highest among them was only 270.

Once caught, death is certain.

"Evans, Benedict!" Cyril roared. "You two, get ready to intercept them and buy Clarissa and Tracy time to escape!"

"Alright!" Evans replied through gritted teeth. He was a warrior, and the two-handed sword in his hand was already chipped and its durability was low.

"We'll hand over all the equipment and stuff to them later!" Benedict added.

"I know... I can't run anymore anyway, let's fight them!" A resolute fire ignited in Evans' eyes.

"Hang in there a little longer, we'll reach the canyon ahead!" Cyril pointed to a winding crevice in front of him, a dry river valley common in the Ash Wasteland, with towering rock walls on both sides. Once they crawled into that place, the terrain would negate the dire wolves' advantage in hunting in formation.

The wolf chasing behind was not an ordinary dire wolf.

Cyril only discovered this during the second wave of the battle—the creatures suddenly transformed from quadrupedal to bipedal during the fight, wielding claws and weapons, catching them completely off guard.

They are werewolves! They are players! Not monsters.

These cunning creatures initially blended in with the wolf packs common in the Ash Wasteland, disguising themselves as ordinary wild animals. While the wolves were locked in fierce combat, they would suddenly pounce when the wolves were not paying attention!

He killed more than a dozen of their companions in a single encounter!

The remaining men then realized they had been ambushed. Only with the desperate efforts of their companions covering their retreat did they manage to escape. But the enemy remained relentlessly pursuing them, like a group of sharks drawn by the scent of blood, impossible to shake off.

"I can't do it anymore!"

Benedict, at the back of the column, abruptly stopped, turned, and drew his bow in one fluid motion. His fingers flicked across the bowstring, and three arrows were nocked simultaneously, their arrowheads flashing with blinding light—

"Lightning Bolt! Triple!"

The three arrows transformed into three streaks of silver-white lightning, shooting in a fan shape towards the pack of dire wolves behind them!

"Roar~"

The leading wolves simultaneously opened their jaws, unleashing cyan wind blades from deep within their throats that precisely intercepted the lightning arrows. With a deafening roar, the lightning and wind blades collided in mid-air, exploding into a blinding ball of light, the shockwave sending ash flying everywhere.

But Benedict's attack only delayed the attack for less than two seconds.

The fastest dire wolf—a creature a size larger than its companions, with dark gray fur and a scar over its left eye—leaped suddenly, opened its blood-red maw, its fangs glistening with sticky saliva, and lunged at Benedict's neck!

Benedict dodged and fired again!

But the werewolf's figure suddenly flashed through the air, as if fast-forwarded, appearing beside him ahead of time. A claw gripped his arm with such force it felt like being caught in a vise, the bones creaking and groaning. Then, its fangs snapped at his neck!

That bite landed, it was practically an instant kill!

Benedict closed his eyes.

one second.

two seconds.

There was no pain.

The expected excruciating pain of fangs piercing the throat did not come.

He cautiously opened his eyes, only to find that the dire wolf was standing on his body, but instead of biting him, it was looking up at the sky.

His eyes were filled with agitation and restlessness.

Benedict followed its gaze and raised his head as well.

Then he saw—

The sky above my head cracked open.

The sky over the Ash Wasteland is mostly a hazy gray, like a dirty rag spread across the heavens. But now, something has torn a hole in that rag from the middle.

A flash of silver light appeared at the crack.

A dazzling, pure, and sacred silver-white light poured down from the crack, like a light sword descending from the sky, cleaving through the gloom of the entire wasteland.

A figure emerged from the crack.

Six pairs of pure white wings slowly unfolded behind her, with an elegant and composed grace. Each feather seemed to be formed from light, with golden halos around its edges and tiny specks of light falling from its tips, like a golden snowfall.

Her long, silvery-white hair fluttered in the wind, with golden specks of light slowly falling from the ends, leaving fleeting streaks of light in the air.

A halo of light, formed from condensed light, floated above their heads...

Her face was so exquisite it seemed unreal—her features were like those of a knife-cut chisel, the lines were cold and beautiful, without a single flaw, and her silver-white eyes looked down at them with cold indifference.

The entire room fell silent.

The werewolves and the deer both stopped in their tracks.

Several dire wolves nearly fell due to inertia, their four paws carving deep furrows in the ground, sending ashes flying everywhere, before they managed to regain their balance.

The dire wolf that was stepping on Benedict raised its head, bared its teeth at the angel in mid-air, and let out a low, threatening growl, as if it was ready to pounce on the angel as soon as it landed!

"Moenta! No!"