From Human to Skeleton: Revived with Infinite System Crystals

"I admire your enthusiasm," he said, his calm voice laced with menace. "But I expected more from you."

Heriean stepped forward, blood pooling at his fingertips as they morphed into jagged, weapon-like shapes. With a guttural shout, he slashed at the King’s aura, each strike leaving faint ripples in the golden light. The King remained unmoved, deflecting the attacks with barely a flicker of effort. A wave of energy from his aura sent Heriean stumbling back, his crimson blades shattering into droplets.

"Stop this madness," the King said, his voice sharp. "It’s embarrassing."

Cade’s heart sank as the timer on the bomb ticked closer to zero. "Osalf, what do we do?!" he shouted, panic creeping into his voice.

Osalf didn’t answer immediately. His sharp eyes remained locked on the King as he adjusted his stance, his fists clenched. "We buy time," he said grimly. "Keep him occupied."

The King’s gaze finally shifted to Cade, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. "Ah, the one with the toy. Do you think that will save you?"

Before Cade could respond, Xuán Wěi’s wraiths reappeared, surging forward to shield the team. The spectral figures spiraled around the King, screeching as they clawed at his aura. This time, their movements were more erratic, their strikes synchronized as if they had learned from their earlier failure.

The King raised a hand, his golden aura intensifying. The wraiths burst apart like mist on contact, their forms unraveling in an instant. "Admirable," the King said, dusting his hands. "But ultimately meaningless."

Tressa gasped. "Portal’s almost ready!" The black liquid swirled faster, forming a faint shimmer of light at its center. "Just a little more time—"

Her words were cut off as the King reached into his robes, drawing a single golden coin. The air in the chamber shifted, heavy and oppressive, as if the coin itself radiated authority. "You’ve delayed me long enough," he said simply.

He tossed the coin into the air. It spun slowly, its surface glowing brighter with each rotation. As it reached its apex, a pulse of golden energy rippled outward, swallowing the chamber in an instant.

The bomb’s detonation never came. Instead, the energy collapsed inward, folding into the coin before exploding outward with unimaginable force. The chamber stretched, distorted, and then reformed into something far grander—a massive arena that seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions. Hundreds of drones hovered above, their cameras capturing every angle of the battlefield, broadcasting the spectacle to the entire world.

The King appeared at the center, his golden aura shining like a beacon. Surrounding him were four figures, each stepping forward with purpose. Gui-Jun’s expressionless mask caught the light as he took his place beside the King, his movements precise and deliberate. Rusuf, blind but unerringly aware, tilted his head slightly, his face calm but pensive. Lord Herald’s golden sand coiled lazily at his feet, his grin sharp and confident. Heissman smirked, his arrogance practically radiating off him as he surveyed the Black Bulls. Find your next read on NovelBin.Côm

The King spread his arms, his voice echoing across the arena. "Welcome to the Arena of Life. Tonight, the world will see justice."

The drones above buzzed softly, their cameras zooming in on every detail, broadcasting the event to a world glued to their screens. The lights from their lenses flickered, casting an eerie glow over the vast battlefield. The King tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over the scattered members of the Black Bulls, as if weighing their worth.

"This," he continued, his voice smooth yet commanding, "is the final stage for pretenders like you. But before judgment is rendered, let me introduce the ones who will deliver it."

He turned to his right, gesturing with one hand. Gui-Jun stepped forward, his masked face and rigid posture giving him the aura of a deadly statue come to life.

"Gui-Jun," the King said, his voice carrying a reverence that contrasted with his earlier tone. "The sword of the crown. He does not speak unless necessary, and he does not act without precision. He is order made flesh."

Gui-Jun didn’t move, his silence a weapon in itself. The Black Bulls exchanged wary glances, feeling the weight of his presence despite his lack of words.

The King’s hand moved to his left, toward Rusuf. The blind figure inclined his head slightly, his posture relaxed but attentive.

"Rusuf," the King continued, his tone softer now. "A prodigy, even among the gifted. Though blind, he sees far more than most. Truth bends to his will, and deception is meaningless in his presence."

Rusuf’s expression didn’t change, but his head turned slightly toward the Black Bulls, his sightless eyes somehow piercing. "This feels unnecessary," he said quietly, his voice carrying a tinge of doubt.

The King ignored the comment, gesturing next to Lord Herald, who grinned wider as he stepped forward. His golden sand coiled upward, forming intricate shapes that danced lazily around him.

"Lord Herald," the King announced, his voice returning to its commanding edge. "The master of domination. His sand shapes the battlefield as he wills, and no enemy escapes his grasp."

Herald gave a mock bow, his grin never wavering. "I do try to keep things interesting," he said, his tone dripping with amusement.

Finally, the King turned to Heissman, who rolled his shoulders as his golden chains rattled faintly. His sneer deepened as he surveyed the Black Bulls, his disdain palpable.

"And 2nd Lieutenant Heissman," the King said, his tone dropping into something colder, harsher. "A man born into power and privilege, unrelenting in his pursuit of strength. His chains will bind you, and his ambition will bury you."

Heissman chuckled darkly, stepping forward slightly. "You’ve got no chance," he said, his voice a venomous hiss.

The King turned back to the Black Bulls, his golden eyes locking onto Osalf. "These are the ones who will decide your fate," he said. "And yet…"

He paused, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the group again. "Where is Yun-Jin?"

The name hung in the air like a knife, the tension in the arena growing heavier. Osalf’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak. The others exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to respond.

"She never misses an opportunity to interfere," the King murmured, his tone quieter now, more contemplative. "And yet, she is absent."

Rusuf’s head tilted slightly, his brow furrowing. "Ty is missing as well," he said softly, his voice cutting through the silence.

The King’s gaze remained fixed on Osalf. "Curious," he said, almost to himself. Then, he straightened, his golden aura flaring briefly. "No matter. Their absence changes nothing."

He turned to his elites, his expression hardening. "Take care of this," he commanded. "None of them leave this place."

The King’s body dissolved into golden light, his energy scattering into the air like dust. The arena felt darker in his absence, though the weight of his command remained heavy on the battlefield.

Lord Herald broke the silence first, his grin widening as his golden sand began to rise and twist around him. "Well, then," he said, his tone playful but menacing. "Let’s not keep our audience waiting."

Gui-Jun stepped forward next, his movements smooth and deliberate. "There’s no need for theatrics," he said coldly. "This ends quickly."

Heissman rolled his shoulders, his chains rattling as they coiled around his arms like serpents. "I’ve been looking forward to this," he sneered, his eyes locking onto Osalf. "Let’s see if you’re as strong as you pretend to be."

Rusuf remained still, his blind eyes seeming to scan the battlefield. His voice, when it came, was calm but firm. "This doesn’t have to end in bloodshed," he said. "But I doubt you’ll see it that way."

Osalf stepped forward, his expression calm but resolute. "Stay together," he said quietly, his gaze flicking between his teammates. "We fight as one."

Heriean moved to his side, his blood-forged weapons forming in his hands. "They’re not going to make this easy," he said, his tone low.

Tressa’s black liquid swirled at her feet, her stance tense. "We don’t need easy," she muttered. "We just need to survive."

The arena buzzed with energy, the hum of drones overhead blending with the tension that pressed down like a coiled spring ready to snap. The stage was set, with the world watching, waiting for the clash to begin.

Lord Herald took the first step, his golden sand rising like a predator unfurling from slumber, forming a massive claw that hovered above him, radiating menace. "Shall we begin?" he said, his grin sharp, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Heriean didn’t respond with words. Instead, his blood rippled at his feet, pooling into jagged edges as he pulled it upward, forming two long, serrated blades in his hands. His breathing was heavy, but his glare was unwavering. He didn’t need to speak; his resolve was clear.

The golden claw lunged forward with terrifying speed, slamming toward Heriean. He pivoted, rolling to the side as the claw crashed into the ground, splintering the polished floor beneath them. The audience, watching through drones and screens, gasped as Herald’s sand shifted again, reforming into a massive spike that shot toward Heriean’s chest.