Chapter Sixty-Nine: Massacre

With a heavy thud, the grievously wounded Blackwater Crocodile Serpent finally crashed to the ground, where several warriors from the Blackwater Black Serpent tribe hurried to support him. An elderly shaman produced a black stone medicine jar, scooping out a thick, faintly fragrant ointment and spreading it generously over the wounds.

Paying no heed to his own injuries, Blackwater Crocodile Serpent pointed at Ji Hao and began to laugh with near-maniacal glee. “Ji Hao, you little bastard, you're done for! Ha! That girl was killed by your people, and her father is Jiang Zhu, an elder of the Bifang tribe! You’re just an ordinary clansman from a vassal tribe under Bifang, and you killed his daughter—now you’re in real trouble!”

Taking a deep breath, Blackwater Crocodile Serpent grinned viciously. “Not just you—all your kin, your father, your mother, everyone connected to you—they’ll all die! Heh, word has it your mother is a renowned beauty of the Qingyi tribe. It would be such a waste if she died outright… How much do you think I’d need to buy her as a slave?”

Looking at his twisted features, Ji Hao placed his right hand on his left arm, and suddenly, flames surged from his right palm.

“Blackwater Crocodile Serpent, it was you who killed Jiang Xue, not me. What does this have to do with me?” Ji Hao’s tone was cold and ruthless, his killing intent sharp as a blade. “I am of the Fire Crow tribe. I would never lay a hand on the Bifang elder’s daughter. The only ones who could have killed Jiang Xue are you!”

His body shattered and convulsing on the ground, Redhorn shrieked, “Boy, there are so many of us here. We can all bear witness—it was you who killed Jiang Xue!”

“You’ll testify?” Ji Hao shouted, his voice harsh. “You’re all dead already. Who will be left to testify?”

Laughter rang out as golden-red flames, blinding to behold, burst from between Ji Hao’s fingers, a terrifying heatwave engulfing the forests for a hundred miles around. Within several hundred yards of Ji Hao, the mountain stones were suddenly scorched red-hot, and the nearest boulders quickly melted into flowing magma.

“What… what is this?” Blackwater Crocodile Serpent and his companions cried out in shock.

“Take this!” a shrill voice rang out from above. A massive black eagle, its wingspan stretching over half a mile, glided silently through the sky. From its back, a black-furred giant ape leapt down, wielding a colossal iron staff. Black energy whirled about him like rampaging dragons as, with a roar that split the heavens, he brought the club down in a world-shattering blow.

Every hair on the ape’s body bristled, his eyes blazing blood red. The iron staff fell like thunder. Blackwater Crocodile Serpent and the others had barely looked up when the staff smashed down upon Blackwater Crocodile Serpent’s skull.

With a deafening boom, the elderly shaman at his side hastily raised a snake-headed skull, palm-sized and jet-black, which spewed forth inky streams of energy, barely managing to block the giant ape’s crushing blow.

In the wake of the impact, both Blackwater Crocodile Serpent and the old shaman trembled violently, blood gushing from their seven orifices. The blast of black wind swept outward, flinging the four great shamans and several thousand elite warriors of the Blackwater Black Serpent tribe like leaves in a storm.

The four great shamans managed to hold their ground, battered but alive, and even struck back at the black-furred giant ape with a few desperate blows. But the ordinary warriors had no such luck—they died screaming, their bodies torn to shreds by the wind. The lesser shamans howled as their bodies were ripped apart, blood and flesh raining down like a crimson storm.

With a single devastating strike, all the warriors present—save for the five great shamans led by Blackwater Crocodile Serpent and the elderly shaman—were blasted to pieces by the giant ape.

In the southern wilderness, every tribal warrior remembered a life-saving rule: when great shamans battle, anyone not of their rank must flee as far as possible—at least twenty miles away—if they hope to survive. Yet the Blackwater Black Serpent warriors had clearly forgotten this wisdom, and so thousands perished in a single blow.

The black eagle skimmed overhead as seven or eight powerful, man-sized beasts leapt from its back, howling as they charged into the coalition ranks. Among them were two highland golden gorillas—a male and a female—three blood-faced baboons, and four shadow-wind monkeys, swift and deadly, their movements ghostly, their cries piercing the air.

The golden gorillas, each several yards tall, fought barehanded, their fists as large as water jars. A single swing sent the earth shaking for dozens of yards, and hundreds of tribal warriors were pulverized in an instant.

The three blood-faced baboons stood in a triangle, their ghastly red faces twitching as they opened wide their mouths, inhaling and exhaling toward their foes. Each breath drew the blood from the bodies of over a thousand warriors at a time, their life essence sucked out and devoured.

The four shadow-wind monkeys were even more terrifying. As they ran, their afterimages stretched for a hundred yards, making them impossible to see clearly. Each slash of their claws tore the hearts from their victims, which they flung aside with casual disdain.

Blood sprayed, flesh flew. The nine fiendish apes summoned by the black-furred giant ape were merciless, each a master of the shamanic arts, and the coalition’s lines were thrown into chaos. In the space of a breath, over ten thousand warriors were slaughtered.

“Out of the way, you useless rabble!” a bellowing giant roared, swinging a massive axe toward one of the golden gorillas.

Only great shamans could contend with great shamans. When such battles broke out, everyone else had best flee as far as possible. Among the coalition of dozens of tribes, there were over a hundred great shamans, and if they all fought at full strength, every warrior within dozens of miles would be destroyed.

So the great shamans of each tribe cursed furiously, shouting for their clansmen to retreat.

But how could so many warriors withdraw so easily? The nine fiendish apes rampaged through their ranks, rivers of blood flowing, while the great shamans could only barely hold their ground, unwilling to unleash their full power for fear of slaughtering their own people.

The coalition’s formation fell into chaos. No one even knew in which direction to retreat, and in such confusion, escape was impossible.

As the carnage mounted and the warriors’ corpses piled high, Blackwater Crocodile Serpent, struggling under the weight of the giant ape’s iron staff, screamed, “Ji Hao, how dare you? Even Ji Xia would not dare to slaughter so many tribal warriors at once! Do you wish to make the Fire Crow tribe the enemy of all the southern forest tribes?”

Ji Hao regarded him as if looking at a fool. “You’ve already brought your war to my door, and you talk of enemies? If they’re enemies, then we’ll simply kill them all.”

Having gathered his strength, Ji Hao at last swept out his right hand. Blinding golden-red light erupted, and in his grip appeared a spear eight feet long, wreathed in roaring flames.

Within the flames danced a three-legged golden crow, no larger than a palm, its flight joyous as it let out clear and melodious cries.