Chapter 81: The Transformation of the Illusory Demon

Wang Ling, his face concealed behind a mask of gold and crimson, observed as his six summoned fighters besieged Elliot, who could do nothing but cower behind his shield in desperate defense. Yet Wang Ling’s expression betrayed no satisfaction—if anything, his gaze grew more solemn.

Outside the arena, among the watching Dreamers, a wave of astonishment surged. To see Wang Ling’s summoned figures actually suppress a seasoned powerhouse like Elliot—even with a mighty presence like White Phoenix on the scene—was enough to cause an uproar. The strength of these summons far exceeded expectations, especially the three martial arts masters: Wang Long and his peers moved with fluid coordination, their techniques weaving the beauty of Eastern combat into every motion. It was clear that, even if a Dreamer who had survived seven or eight mainline missions boasted superior attributes, their combat prowess might still not match that of a mere kung fu master—for their experience belonged to an entirely different realm.

Among the six hundred Dreamers in the audience, there were veterans who had survived more than ten mainline missions. Yet most, imagining themselves in Elliot’s place, realized they would almost certainly have met their end under such an assault.

Elliot was a physical specialist, one of his team’s core souls; in terms of power, he stood far above ordinary veterans. Many Dreamers now shifted their focus to Wang Ling, this masked man who had only survived two mainline missions but commanded so many formidable summons. The air of mystery around him deepened.

“Who on earth is this guy?”

Of course, some suspected that Wang Ling must have received special attention from powerful figures, or else had strong connections within the space, gaining many advantages—that, they reasoned, was the only plausible explanation.

Among all the onlookers, a group of five white men stood together in silence, cold smiles on their faces. These five were all members of the Beastman Squad. Their leader stood at the front: a burly, middle-aged man with rugged Nordic features, brown hair braided into a dozen thin plaits, and a thick beard covering his chin. He wore leather armor in the Western game style, studded with brass, and carried a massive axe on his back. His crossed arms bulged with muscle, exuding a brutal, ursine aura—he stood like a beast incarnate.

This was Visak, the “Beast,” leader of the Beastman Squad, hailing from Sweden—rumored to be a descendant of Viking stock. Having acquired a fragment of Saruman’s notes from The Lord of the Rings, he had been noticed by the renowned “Beast King Squad” of the Intermediate Zone and recruited as a reserve member.

Amid the clamor of the Dreamers, Visak’s sneer was tinged with disdain. No one understood better than he the true extent of Elliot’s strength—or the power contained within Elliot’s spatial pouch. As long as he possessed that item, no matter what his enemies unleashed, the outcome of this battle would never be in doubt.

Within the arena, Elliot, still bracing behind his shield, suddenly erupted in a surge of black mist. Within that darkness, his flesh and skin shriveled, his complexion turning from pale to a ghastly green, until he resembled a ghoul wrapped in green hide—a skeletal monstrosity.

This was Elliot’s bloodline ability: Demonization.

In the GBA strategy world of Onimusha, he had pledged allegiance to the Demon King Oda Nobunaga and, after a sequence of secret missions, had gained the Demon bloodline. When activating “Demonization,” his attributes transformed dramatically:

Strength +27, Agility +13, Constitution -19, and a special trait—each time he slew a human, he could drain nutrients from the corpse, restoring a portion of his health.

His previously unremarkable strength and agility soared, while the reduction in constitution, given his monstrous base stamina, caused little harm. With Demonization and the earlier Fox’s Wisdom potion, Elliot now boasted Strength: 51, Agility: 31, Constitution: 72, Intelligence: 32—a well-rounded set of attributes, with no glaring weaknesses. Coupled with his enormous stamina, the defense boost from basic skills, and the life-steal on kills, he had become a nightmare for any foe.

Transformed, his face turned sickly green, gums laid bare, but most dreadful were his eyes—dull and lusterless, thick veins spidering across them, radiating a ravenous hunger for flesh and blood.

“Heh heh heh… If you’ve forced me to use my bloodline skill, you wretches should die without regret!”

Elliot’s voice, now hoarse and guttural, echoed with cruel laughter. Discarding his shield, he donned a pair of spiked iron knuckles, and with his strength now at fifty-one, his melee power became truly terrifying.

Wang Long’s staff swept in with a whistling gale, but Elliot parried with his knuckles and smashed a fist into the Brute’s jaw. The Brute, a powerhouse himself, was left bleeding from the mouth, his fist punctured and bloodied by the iron spikes. Another attacker, the obese Hippie, took a swipe to the belly, the iron spikes ripping open a three-centimeter-deep gash through his fat.

“Hu!”

Peach Fairy spat forth another burst of yogic flame, scorching Elliot. Despite his enhanced resistance, the drop in constitution had reduced his health, and his life bar shrank by a visible margin.

Enraged, Elliot’s speed and reflexes surged with his heightened agility. He parried the Dragon Staff and Meteor Chain, enduring blows from the Brute and stabs from the Dwarf’s spear, then lunged at Peach Fairy, twin iron-knuckled hands unleashing the E-rank “Rapid Cross Slash,” the jagged spikes poised to end this magic-wielding foe.

Twin waves of gray iron swept toward Peach Fairy’s upper body. But she melted away, as if mercurial, curling to the floor, hugging her knees, and rolled away in a series of nimble backflips, escaping his reach.

“Yoga Swaying Style!”

In close-quarters dodging, this yogi’s mastery was supreme; hitting her would not be easy—especially with so many others harrying him.

Having missed, Elliot wasted precious mental energy on the skill, his frustration mounting. When the Hippie again charged in, Elliot crouched low, his right fist flaring with crimson fire as he slid forward, flame-shrouded punch uppercutting the Hippie’s chin and sending both of them rocketing skyward.

The 200-kilogram Hippie’s jaw split under the blow, blood spattering and vaporizing in the flames. His bulk, lifted by Elliot’s might, soared over three meters before crashing down more than five meters away.

When he landed, the Hippie was still engulfed in red flames, his fat sizzling and releasing a stench of burning oil. This single strike had dealt a mortal wound.

That skill was a signature move from Ken, protagonist of the GBA Street Fighter world:

“Flaming Dragon Punch!”

Such a hero’s technique, even as a D-rank skill, was formidable. With Elliot’s demonized strength and iron knuckles, its power was devastating. The Hippie’s health bar was now a mere sliver. Had he not specialized in constitution, he would surely have died outright.

Though gravely wounded and still ablaze, the Hippie did not roll to extinguish the flames. Instead, he performed an act that sealed his fate—he launched a “Cannonball” charge straight at Elliot!

The ground trembled under his charge, his burning body a harbinger of ruin. Elliot, surprised by such ferocity, didn’t realize the Hippie was wholly under Wang Ling’s control—devoid of self-preservation and utterly fearless.

Summoned fighters who did not fear death could prove invaluable at critical moments.

Elliot did not evade. He first kicked the Brute, drawing blood, then exchanged blows with Wang Long and the others before turning his fists on the Hippie. The exhausted Hippie was run through the chest by iron knuckles, the demonized, skeletal arms plunging deep into his torso—a gruesome sight.

Grinning viciously, Elliot prepared to rip out the Hippie’s heart, only to realize with shock that, in his death throes, the Hippie’s arms locked tightly around Elliot’s own.

A desperate, final burst of strength—enough to halt even the empowered Elliot for a moment. In that instant, a red-hot bullet streaked in and struck his body.

“A bullet? Ridiculous—even a machine gun couldn’t pierce my defense now!”

So he thought, and indeed, the bullet barely penetrated a centimeter before stopping. But the next second, it detonated—scarlet flames blossoming from the wound like a lotus, erupting into a five-meter-wide inferno.