Chapter Fifty-Three: The Fury of Apopo

The forceful wind stirred up by the punch buffeted Cheng Fu, who, moving in a drunken stagger, seemed like a small boat tossed by the waves and wind in the vast sea, swaying unsteadily and barely managing to keep his footing. He swiveled his body, allowing the ferocious fist to brush past his ear, lifted his right foot and balanced on his left, his left arm drawn in before his chest like holding a kettle, while his right hand, shaped as if grasping a wine cup, shot upward in a sudden strike. He chuckled and said, “Come, have a drink!”

His posture was exactly like one raising a wine jug to pour and offer a toast—a move from the Drunken Fist style called “Raise the Cup High,” where the hand holding the cup strikes at the opponent’s jaw. But since his opponent, A**, was tall and Cheng Fu was short, this upward strike did not land on the jaw, but targeted another vulnerable spot: the throat.

When Cheng Fu’s cup-holding fist was still an inch away from the throat, his whole body suddenly tensed, every hair standing on end. The muscles of his striking arm pulsed, thick veins bulged beneath the skin, and his entire energy surged toward his fist. In that instant, his curled forefinger pressed directly against the prominent Adam’s apple.

As his fist struck home, Cheng Fu clenched his teeth, his face alight with the thrill of combat. His chest swelled with each breath, his clothes billowed with the exhaled force, and his heart thudded violently. Instantly, a large patch of his purple tunic at the back was soaked with sweat.

This was the result of explosive internal force driven by his heart’s intent—his energy boiling within, causing sweat to seep out from every pore in an instant!

A**’s mutated muscles rendered the flesh of his throat as hard as iron; during his training as a Shadow Fighter, a crew-cut instructor had struck his throat with full force using a steel pipe, yet he’d been unharmed. But now, with Cheng Fu’s “Raise the Cup High” pressed against his throat, the flesh there gave a crisp crack like a walnut shattering.

It was the dark force penetrating the flesh, shattering the cartilage beneath, that caused this sound!

A**’s eyes bulged wide, the sudden pain making his eyes nearly burst from their sockets, the whites flooding with blood. On the sidelines, Wang Ling could see that the health bar above A**’s head dropped by a full sixth!

The throat is among the human body’s greatest weaknesses. Had an ordinary person taken Cheng Fu’s dark force punch here, the flesh, cartilage, and bone of the neck would have been pulverized, resulting in instant death! But A** was, after all, a final boss-level figure—not someone to be killed in a single blow. His flesh and bones were immensely tough; only the cartilage of his Adam’s apple was broken, and the surrounding trachea and blood vessels were twisted and cracked.

After his strike, Cheng Fu set his right foot back on the ground, braced himself, and, riding the momentum, his left fist flashed like lightning into the wounded throat!

Once again, the force of his heart exploded in a confined space, unleashing dark energy! A**’s towering body was lifted off the ground by the upward force of this “Offer Another Cup” move. Cheng Fu spun, arching backward like a drawn bow, retreating with sliding steps, both hands—thumb and forefinger curled as if holding cups—striking alternately with ferocious speed. Each blow looked similar, but the subtle movements of his fingers and the rebound of his muscles shifted imperceptibly with each strike.

“Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud...”

Six strikes in succession, and with each, you could see sweat mist burst from around Cheng Fu’s body! On the final blow, his left foot pivoted as he spun, his body flipping to face downward, and his right hand, flattened like a blade, stabbed forward. The sweat and energy from this strike almost coalesced into a faint ball of vapor.

He had unleashed a continuous chain of dark-force finishing moves:

“Raging Drunken Tiger Assault.”

Cheng Fu had displayed this move once before in a restaurant, but then it was merely a flourish performed for fun. This time, his heart, strength, and intent were unified—his spirit driving the force of his entire body, delivering a blow meant to kill!

After the six strikes, A**’s massive form was sent flying more than ten meters, crashing to the ground. Cheng Fu, trembling all over, collapsed to the floor, his purple clothing soaked through with sweat, clinging to his body as if freshly washed. This string of dark-force finishing moves had utterly drained his energy and will, leaving him almost unable to move.

“Is he dead?”

Cheng Fu knew how terrifying this ultimate move was, but despair washed over him as he saw A** rise again, dark blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

A** gasped for breath, viciously wiped the blood from his lips with his arm, and looked down at his own chest. His jet-black, steel-like muscles bore six purplish-red fist marks, each swollen and angry, a gruesome sight!

These were bruises formed when internal force shattered flesh and caused internal bleeding, the blood pooling beneath the skin.

The cartilage in A**’s throat had been shattered, and even his trachea was twisted and cracked—he could not utter a sound. Staring at the wounds on his chest, he made a harsh, bellows-like gasp, his eyes gleaming with a bloodthirsty light.

This high-ranking Shadow Fighter had never suffered such a devastating setback! His facial muscles quivered, his fists clenched, and the bones of his whole body crackled loudly. The look he directed at Cheng Fu was one of utter hatred, as if wishing to devour him whole!

At that moment, Cheng Fu was still sitting on the ground, unable even to stand. He could only watch as A** strode toward him step by step. That chain of dark-force finishing moves had utterly exhausted all his strength and spirit, leaving him limp and powerless, as if a normal person had just run a grueling ten-thousand-meter race.

As for the others, Wang Long had been pinned to the ground by the Coiling Dragon Staff, leaving only Wang Ling—leg injured but still somewhat capable of fighting.

Wang Ling’s gaze was icy as he looked at the health bar above A**’s head. Cheng Fu’s “Raging Drunken Tiger Assault” had been powerful, knocking out a third of the boss’s life! But there was still more than half remaining; with his own strength, Wang Ling could not possibly finish A** off, even if he gave his life. This was no world of Saint Warriors, and he knew nothing of small cosmos.

Moreover, after firing the firebomb, his white iron musket was useless for another hour.

Seeing A** advancing on Cheng Fu, Wang Ling gritted his teeth, raised his steel battle-axe with both hands, and charged at the fearsome boss. Thanks to a healing potion, his health was back up to 87 points, and the wound on his lower leg had improved, though running still sent waves of acute pain through the injury.

By this point, A** had already hoisted Cheng Fu high, the mutant muscles of his arms swelling rapidly until each was as thick as a barrel, the bulging muscle masses twisting hideously. Next, the muscles of his upper body began to swell madly, transforming him into a terrifying behemoth.

“Not good—it’s the boss’s ultimate move: Muscle Explosion Slam!”

Wang Ling recognized this as A** channeling all his mutated muscle for a devastating throw—a move powerful enough to turn a steel man into a flattened pancake! Cheng Fu, utterly spent, would be killed instantly by this finisher.

This was a mutation-based muscle expansion, not an inner energy technique, so Wang Ling didn’t dare risk using the Troublesome Maker’s ability to try to interrupt it. Fortunately, he had a turtle shell in his pouch that would stun enemies on contact. He quickly produced a green shell and sent it skidding forward.

When using the Muscle Explosion Slam, there was a brief window as A**’s muscles expanded—during which he could not defend or move. The sliding shell did little actual damage, but its special effect was a guaranteed three-second stun, an effect that could not be resisted except by innate resistance. However high A**’s resistance, he would still be stunned for a moment, so just as he was about to smash Cheng Fu into the ground, his body jerked and the swollen muscles rapidly shrank back to normal.

To put it in gaming terms, A**’s skill had been interrupted by the sliding turtle shell.

With a wild roar, Wang Ling gripped the steel battle-axe with both hands and, seizing the moment of A**’s dizziness, brought the twenty-pound weapon down with all his might onto A**’s groin!

With a crisp crack, something seemed to burst. Struck on his greatest weakness, A** convulsed violently, dropping Cheng Fu from his grasp, his face twisting grotesquely. His mouth gaped as if to scream, but with his throat shattered, he could only emit a hoarse, chilling rasp.

Wang Ling saw that his blow had finally dropped A**’s life below half, with only two-fifths of the red bar remaining.

A desperate length!

Wang Ling raised the battle-axe again and struck at A**’s neck, but A**’s will was indomitable; he shook off the momentary daze and, with a powerful swing, knocked the axe from Wang Ling’s hands. The axe blade embedded in a distant wall, visibly warped and ruined by the blow—an angry punch that completely destroyed the weapon!

Then, with a face twisted into a demonic snarl, A** reached out his massive, blackened hand, grabbed Wang Ling by the hair, and lifted him off the ground—intending to do to him what he had done to that blonde saleswoman: press him to the ground and crush him into a pulpy mess!

But before A** could slam Wang Ling down, something shaped like a flashlight pressed against his head, and blue-white sparks crackled from the device.

A stun baton!

(Well, I had something to attend to this afternoon, so this chapter is a bit late. There will be another one tonight—won’t miss it. That’s all.)