Chapter Forty-Eight: The Fusion of Man and Specter

He couldn't make out the full appearance of the white mask, but its voice, dripping with mockery, was enough to make Qi Chen's blood boil with rage.

"Trying to break free?" the white mask continued to provoke him. "Then why not fully embrace the power of the King? It seems... it's not resisting you as much as before. Why don't you try putting on its mask?"

Qi Chen panted heavily, his bloodshot eyes suddenly flashing with a strange light. The words of the white mask seemed to carry a peculiar enchantment, guiding him forward, and before he knew it, his mind had arrived at the room filled with masks.

The mask belonging to the King was trembling violently on the wall, as if it were suppressing an overwhelming fury.

Could he wear it now?

...

"Qi Chen!" The Warm Man, forced out into the corridor, suddenly sensed an oppressive aura emanating from the inner room. Forgetting to use Qi Chen's code name, he called out his real name in alarm.

His seasoned instincts told him at once: Could Qi Chen have been driven to that point by the influence of the bizarre powers outside?

To wholly accept the power of the uncanny was to unleash one's innermost self, but it also meant risking a loss of control—becoming something monstrous!

Damn it!

The Warm Man reined in his usual goodwill, and a red-orange phantom shrouded him, causing his own uncanny aura to surge explosively.

Bang! Bang!

He struck forward with both fists, but his blows landed only on air.

Yet the short, stout man several meters away staggered as if struck by a heavy blow, blood gushing from his nose.

The first punch had hardened the air within a set range; the second sent that hardened air flying forward!

When it came to wielding uncanny powers, the Warm Man was among the best.

But the throngs of audience members and staff pouring in from above and below the stairs limited his options. He couldn't bring himself to kill ordinary citizens of City No. 3, and his power, Warmth, was not one suited for large-scale control.

What he could do was exhaust every means to temporarily disable these innocent, controlled people.

"That pitiful mercy of yours will be your undoing!" the short, stout man sneered, wiping the blood from his streaming nose. Murder flashed in his eyes as he kicked off the ground, his rotund body unleashing a force utterly disproportionate to his size, closing the distance to the Warm Man in an instant.

His hands, sheathed in uncanny energy, slapped hard against the Warm Man's chest. The Warm Man, busy fending off the attacking citizens, couldn't dodge in time. He stomped hard on the floor, causing the softened boards to surge upward like a wave, then instantly harden into a shield.

The short man was, after all, an uncanny walker—far stronger than an ordinary person, especially with both hands infused with uncanny power. With a thunderous crash, he shattered the hastily formed shield.

The brief delay, however, gave the Warm Man just enough time to pull back a step, and the blow meant for his chest landed only as a glancing touch.

Yet even that fleeting contact sent a searing pain lancing through him. Several sharp iron spikes drove deep into his flesh, and he instantly felt weak, as if struck by a sudden anemia.

His head swam. He shook his head violently, but his vision remained blurred.

The short man would not waste the opportunity. His palm darted toward the Warm Man's chest again!

Boom!

A deafening crash sent dust billowing through the corridor!

An entire wall had been blown open, leaving a gaping hole. From within the swirling smoke, a figure emerged, head bowed, exuding a bone-chilling cold.

"Qi Chen?!"

The Warm Man almost didn't recognize his own partner. Even his physique had changed dramatically.

Normally, Qi Chen's build was that of an average man—perhaps a touch athletic, but nothing more. Now, though, the man standing in the ruined wall was monstrously broad and powerful.

Beneath the shredded remains of his shirt were thick, muscular arms, veins bulging beneath the gray-white skin—no longer the color of any normal human.

Most striking of all, his face now bore a mask—the mask of the King. That was how the Warm Man recognized him.

Damn... The oppressive, violent aura brought to mind the terrifying scenes from Qi Chen's ability tests at the Department of Uncanny Affairs.

What would he unleash now, with that terrible strength?

When an uncanny walker fully merged with their uncanny, this was the result—Qi Chen as he was now, able to draw out the uncanny's power almost perfectly, but also bearing its total influence on his mind.

Swish!

Qi Chen vanished in an instant, leaving only a thunderous boom in the air.

The short man's body was flung high into the air, but before he could hit the ground, a gray-white shadow materialized before him, unleashing an earth-shattering roar!

Crack!

Both of the short man's wrists were twisted to unnatural angles. From now on, using his abilities would be impossible.

Just as the Warm Man thought Qi Chen, driven by fury, was about to kill, he did not. Instead, he turned to look at his partner.

A beast-like growl rumbled from Qi Chen's throat—more terrifying than any tiger's, yet somewhere inside, a sliver of consciousness remained.

But only by the thinnest thread—a bare ability to distinguish friend from foe.

Suddenly, Qi Chen spun around and drove his fist into the ground where the short man lay, not forgetting the innocent victims in this residential building.

His duty was not to forgive these people, but to send them where they belonged.

"Are you all right?" The Warm Man kept his eyes on Qi Chen, wary. The power of Warmth, though not the true fusion of man and uncanny, was his strongest in a conscious state.

But Qi Chen gave no sign of understanding. His mind, ablaze with the King's fury, could hold only a handful of simple thoughts—there was still one person left to capture.

Boom!

He slammed both forearms together into the floor, opening a gaping hole, and dropped through it.

The Warm Man was about to leap in after him, but then reconsidered, skirted the hole, and dashed into the adjoining room—only to find the grand piano smashed to pieces.

No wonder the attacks from the audience and staff had suddenly lost their intensity.

Peering out again, he saw the hallway strewn with unconscious people who had rushed in and collapsed.

"This kid... does he really prefer a physical approach?" The Warm Man smirked, then suddenly looked up at the corner ahead. A familiar presence was rapidly approaching.

The last one—a handsome blond man with his hands in his pockets—appeared before him.

"Looking a bit rough, aren't you, Warm Man?"

...