A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6045

"Stop yelling. They’re all asleep," Jared Chance said in a mild tone.

He began to walk forward, each stride slow, measured, inevitable.

King Redstinger’s pupils pinched to needlepoints.

His awareness brushed the perimeter and found every sentry’s aura sunk into a bottomless slumber, not slain, simply unreachable.

Cold realization crawled beneath his carapace.

When exactly had this stranger acted?

And how had he, a High Immortal Seven, felt nothing at all?

"Y-you… who are you?" His voice no longer sounded like a sovereign, only a frightened beast.

Red energy roared over his skin as he lunged; the scarlet tail whipped forward like a poisoned spear at Jared Chance.

The strike moved faster than lightning, the stinger loaded with venom fierce enough to kill a Level Six High Immortal outright.

Jared Chance raised his right hand; two fingers slid together like closing chopsticks.

Crack! The sound popped sharp and clean.

The deadly barb stopped between those fingers, absolutely still, unable to drive even a hair’s breadth farther.

"What?!" Shock ripped from the scorpion king’s throat.

He yanked, but the tail refused to budge, gripped as if by celestial pliers.

Jared Chance pressed ever so slightly.

Snap! The armored point splintered under that tiny squeeze.

The once-indestructible stinger lay in shards, crushed between two placid fingers.

"Ah!" The shriek tore through the tentcloth.

The tail was a life-bound artifact; its shattering lashed pain straight into his spirit sea.

Agony flared white behind his eyes, nearly buckling his knees.

Battle instincts overrode the agony; his free hand slapped toward the crimson gourd at his belt.

That vessel housed Redstinger Venom Sand—once loosed, the toxic grains blanketed everything, rotting flesh beneath Level Seven in a breath.

Jared Chance moved first, speed eclipsing thought.

The instant the palm met the gourd, Chance materialized before him; the left hand speared forward, two fingers driving for the king’s brow.

Redstinger tried to twist away, but the surrounding space clamped down like cooling glass—his limbs refused every command.

"No!" Despair flooded his voice.

A muted hiss marked finger meeting flesh.

Chaos Shatterfinger burrowed through the glabella, gray light vanishing into the brain.

The scorpion king stiffened; color drained from his eyes, aura collapsing like a gutted furnace.

Then his body sagged and toppled, lifeless.

Jared Chance didn’t spare the corpse a glance; one casual gesture drew the crimson gourd and the man’s storage ring into his palm.

He turned to the two trembling vixen youths, voice gentle.

"Do not fear. I’m here to free you. Dress yourselves and come with me."

The two fox girls blinked as though waking from a heavy fog.

A startled breath left both of them, and their hands flew to smooth torn sleeves and tug loose collars back into place.

When they straightened, wide amber eyes found Jared Chance, and relief flooded their faces in a shy, grateful glow.

Jared turned toward the flap and lifted it.

He tilted his head, signaling them forward, then stepped ahead so the lantern light framed a clear path.

The sisters followed close, bare feet whispering across the rugs, until they slipped into the colder night air behind him.

Beyond the canvas, dozens of Redstinger Royal Guards sprawled across the packed earth, limbs tangled, helmets askew.

Thunderous snores rattled from every throat, a rolling, comic storm that broke against the canyon walls.

Not one guard stirred; Jared’s earlier Chaos Hypnotic Art held them in a dream deeper than wine or wounds.

Jared paused to survey the heap of armor and muscle.

Fingers flexed once, then relaxed; a single flick could have ended every breathing chest before him.

He let the thought pass. Dead men screamed louder than sleepers, and tonight he wanted silence, not charity.

A muted swirl of gray mist rose beneath Jared’s boots, swallowed the three figures, and stretched into a slender arc of light.

The arc skimmed over tents, watchtowers, and canyon rim without stirring so much as a banner tassel, then vanished into the moonlit sky toward Skyfiend Gorge.

From the moment he entered Redstinger’s camp to the instant the gorge walls welcomed him back, less than an incense-stick’s burn had passed.

Somewhere behind that silent flight, King Redstinger’s name had already joined the dead.

His throne sat empty, his scorpion tail broken on a tent floor that would never feel his stride again.

Yet the celestials massed beyond the gorge marched through their nightly drills, oblivious, banners still bright with his sigil.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify