6kv Chapter 249 The altar spirits, are they really going to crush them all into the mat?
Chapter 249 The altar spirits, are they really going to crush them all into the mat?
Chapter 249 The altar is dedicated to the spirits; they are truly going to crush them all into the mat (4400).
It has no real eyes in its eye sockets, yet it is more terrifying than if it had eyes.
With each step it took closer, the surrounding lights dimmed by half, and it felt as if a part of a person's breath was being sucked away.
"You're good at cutting off the way."
The altar spirit stared at Lu Yuan, his voice extremely low.
"You can cut off my path, but you can't take away my position."
"You think you can overturn the jar just because you see one flaw in me?"
You're wrong.
"If the jar is overturned, the toilet will crush you."
"If your position changes, your life will be in your hands."
As it spoke, it suddenly reached out and touched Lu Yuan's forehead.
It was so fast that it left almost no trace.
Lu Yuan felt an extremely cold and sinister aura approaching, and the hairs on his back stood on end.
In the nick of time, he suddenly raised his magic sword and held it horizontally in front of his brow, uttering a very short but extremely powerful incantation: "Open!"
The sword touched the finger.
This time, there was no metallic sound, only a muffled "plop".
Like a red-hot iron nail being driven into wet paper.
Lu Yuan was so shocked that he took seven steps back, and when his back foot touched the edge of the salt formation, a section of it immediately collapsed.
He forced himself to stay upright, but his right hand, which was gripping the sword, was trembling uncontrollably, and blood was trickling down the hilt of the sword from his palm.
The altar offerings did not bring any advantage.
The finger bone that was pointing at Lu Yuan's brow was actually sliced open by the sword energy of the magic sword, revealing a thin layer of black skin.
As the black skin cracked, a very faint "drawing" sound was heard from the altar spirit for the first time, as if a breath had been released.
But it was precisely because of this leak that the ferocity on its face completely exploded.
"it is good."
"Very good."
It chuckled softly, but the laughter was like the wind blowing from the bottom of a grave.
"Then let me show you what it means for an altar to rise and never return."
""
It suddenly spread its arms wide.
The next moment, all the paper banners on both sides of the stone path suddenly burst into flames.
It wasn't fire, but a grayish-white, gloomy flame.
As the shadowy flames rose, the shadowy figures, paper faces, old registers, bone slips, and red ropes all tumbled and rolled in mid-air.
Like countless mourning cloths brought to life, the entire stone path instantly transformed into a long, dark corridor.
The most terrifying thing is that those shadowy figures that should have been mere illusions have begun to materialize into reality.
Lu Yuan watched as a paper hand slowly emerged from the lamplight, its five fingers long and slender, the tips like folded paper corners, and slowly reached for his throat.
"It's going to turn the whole road into a feast!"
Song Qinghe's voice trembled.
Zhou Heng gritted his teeth and stood up, his longsword barely supporting him on the ground. He hissed, "We can't let it spread out successfully! No one can touch the ground!"
Lin Zhaoxuan disregarded the pain in his shoulders and back and picked up the Thunder Token to strike again, but as soon as he gathered his energy, the altar spirit glanced at him from afar.
With that one glance, Lin Zhaoxuan felt as if he had been struck by an invisible giant hammer; his chest tightened, and he almost knelt down.
"It's pressing down on our sacred gate!"
He was panting, veins bulging on his forehead: "I can't give the order!"
Lu Yuan also felt his vision blurring.
The magic sword is still there, but the sword intent seems to have been mostly bitten away by the altar spirit. The golden patterns on the sword spine are flickering and are no longer as bright as before.
If they continue to resist, before the altar can destroy them, their magic sword will likely be reduced to scrap metal.
But just then, the spirit of the altar suddenly raised his hand and grabbed the blood-red crack in front of his altar.
It's like it's "sewing" itself.
This crack is not for repair, but for replacement.
Lu Yuan instantly understood: although his sword strike had injured it, it had only forced out its true ferocity.
What the spirit of the altar needs to do now is not to retreat, but to use its rage to regain its position as a recipient of offerings.
As long as it repairs the ventilation opening, the current damage will be suppressed by the power of the altar.
Don't let it sit still.
Lu Yuan felt a sudden chill in his eyes and looked up at the overturned lamp at the end of the stone path.
The lamplight had turned completely grayish-white, and the tiny human hand inside the wick was slowly unfolding, seemingly trying to beckon to everyone one by one.
He suddenly remembered something.
The spirits of the altar can devour offerings, seize power, and suppress shadows, but they are most afraid of an "empty seat."
If this place is made unstable, even for just a moment, it will become chaotic.
"Zhou Heng!"
Lu Yuan suddenly spoke up: "Go cut down that lamp, not the body, but the base!"
"Lin Zhaoxuan, let me use your last bit of thunder to strike under the lamp!"
"Song Qinghe, press the center of the plate northward, do not allow the lamplight to touch the ground!"
"The rest of you, follow me and use the Ancestral Fire Step to force it to leave its seat!"
Everyone was horrified, but they all knew this was a last-ditch effort, so they forced themselves to do as instructed.
Zhou Heng gritted his teeth and used the most dangerous ground-hugging sword technique, heading straight for the foot of the overturned lantern.
Lin Zhaoxuan pressed the Thunder Token firmly onto the stone ground, and with his right index and middle fingers joined together, he forcibly drew out the last thin, bluish-white lightning bolt.
Song Qinghe's arms trembled, but he still pressed the sealing disc back to the north position.
Lu Yuan suddenly bit his tongue, his blood rushing to his head. He stomped his feet in rapid steps, his magic sword held horizontally to his chest, and his voice was as sharp as tearing paper: "With the Ancestral Fire before you, retreat three feet!"
"The gates of heaven will not close, nor will the gates of earth open!"
"I will use the vital energy from three steps beneath the feet of a living person to force you to your seat on the altar!"
"rise!"
He stomped his foot hard on the ground, his whole body like a nail, firmly driving the yang energy into the black soil.
The stone path trembled.
The altar spirit's eyes flashed with cold light, and it finally broke its composure, its entire body suddenly standing up half an inch.
It's this half inch.
Everyone heard a very, very soft sound.
That extremely soft "click" sound was like an old bone stick being broken out from the deepest part of the earth.
Immediately afterwards, the entire stone path changed.
What was originally a cold, oppressive, and suffocating atmosphere suddenly seemed to have been ignited with ferocity by the spirit of the altar.
The black mist no longer floated, but swirled.
It swirled like the eerie wind sweeping across the mountains on a winter night, like old ashes turned up from the bottom of a coffin, like an entire mass grave opening its eyes at once.
The spirit of the altar stood in the center of the mat, the blood-red crack on its forehead widening, containing neither blood nor flesh.
Instead, it was a bottomless blackness.
In that darkness, there seemed to be countless offerings, old plaques, broken mats, broken lamps, and half-burnt incense sticks, densely packed together like a well that could never be satiated.
It was furious.
He was so angry that he no longer cared about sitting or having a proper place to sit, nor did he care about his table manners.
Suddenly, it spread its arms out, and the cloth under its sleeves, like two huge black wings, spread out in all directions with a bang.
It wasn't a simple unfolding; rather, it was as if the entire stone path had been pulled into its own mat.
The black soil beneath their feet instantly turned white, and smoke hissed from the edges of the salt formation, as if it were being eroded by an invisible layer of corpse fluid.
"broken!"
As soon as Zhou Heng uttered two words, a whole bunch of paper banners above his head suddenly rolled upside down.
The white paper heads that were originally half-peeking out now all "stood" down from the banner.
They have no feet, and sway in mid-air only by their slender paper waists.
Like a group of grieving children hanging by their necks, their black teeth opened and closed, making a very faint, creaking sound.
The altar spirit stared coldly at the crowd, his voice devoid of any warmth.
"Since you refuse to take your seats..."
"Then I'll personally press you up there."
Before it could finish speaking, it suddenly raised its hand and grabbed forward.
This crackdown wasn't about arresting people; it was about seizing their "Achilles' heel."
Lu Yuan felt as if something invisible had yanked his chest, causing him to stumble forward two steps.
The small patch of yang energy beneath their feet was instantly drained.
Before the sword was even raised, his wrist went numb, and the golden patterns on the sword trembled violently, as if his tendons and bones were about to be snapped by the opponent.
"Lu Yuan!"
Song Qinghe shouted anxiously, and the sealing disc trembled wildly in her palm. Cold light flashed wildly along the edge of the disc, as if dozens of needles were piercing the disc at the same time.
She tried to suppress the aura of the altar, but the spirit of the altar merely glanced at her, and a piece of black paper suddenly flew out from his sleeve.
The black paper, as thin as a burnt ghost letter, unfolded in mid-air with a snap and slammed directly onto the sealing plate.
"Bang!"
Song Qinghe was so shocked that she staggered back three steps, her hand slipped half an inch from her chest, a sharp pain shot through her chest, and a trickle of blood spilled from the corner of her mouth.
"Junior Sister!"
Lin Zhaoxuan's expression changed drastically, and he forced himself to step forward with the Thunder Token.
But he had only taken half a step when the crack on the altar spirit's forehead suddenly lit up.
It's not red, it's blackish-red.
A terrifyingly heavy, oppressive pressure pressed down silently.
Lin Zhaoxuan felt as if a cold iron hand was gripping his neck, his breath caught in his throat, and he stumbled, almost falling off the Thunder Token.
"Your little bit of 'thunder'."
The altar spirit spoke softly.
"I could still hear a sound a moment ago."
"Now, you're only fit to light my way."
Having said that, it flicked its fingertip.
A tiny spark of black fire flicked from its fingertip and landed lightly at Lin Zhaoxuan's feet.
The fire was small, only the size of a bean, but as soon as it hit the ground, it burrowed into the soil as if it were alive.
Immediately afterwards, a wisp of black smoke shot out from the crack in the stone beneath Lin Zhaoxuan's feet, wrapped around his calf, and was suddenly pulled away.
Lin Zhaoxuan immediately knelt on one knee, and the Thunder Order slammed onto the stone with a clang, instantly numbing his palm.
"Lightning Bolt!"
He gritted his teeth and shouted, his fingertips bleeding, as he forced the finger to press on the surface of the talisman again.
"As long as the Ancestral Thunder continues, the Earthly Fiends will retreat on their own!"
"Return to the starting position!"
"rise!"
But this time, as soon as the lightning pattern lit up, the altar spirit raised his palm and pressed down.
The blue-white lightning intent was forcibly pressed back into the token, and a fine crack appeared on the surface of the entire lightning token with a "crack".
Lin Zhaoxuan felt a burning sensation in his throat and spat out a mouthful of blood mist. He fell backward, his back hitting the stone wall, and even his breath smelled of blood.
"It can even suppress lightning—"
His voice was weak, and he could hardly believe it.
Zhou Heng is not having an easy time either.
He had just severed half of the paper banner's base with a single sword strike, thinking he could cut off the shadow clinging to it.
Unexpectedly, after the altar spirit went berserk, the fallen banners did not disperse; instead, they sprang to life like dead snakes with broken strings, lunging at Zhou Heng's sword.
Although Zhou Heng's sword strikes were fierce, they were no match for Xi Ying's persistent entanglement.
Strands of black shadows climbed up the sword's edge, as if they were wrapping the iron weapon in mourning.
By the time he realized something was wrong, the spine of the sword was already being constricted by layers of yin energy, and his wrist felt as if it were weighed down by a coffin stone, so heavy that he couldn't lift it.
The altar spirit didn't even look at him, but simply clasped his hands together.
"bite""
Zhou Heng's longsword was actually knocked away from Xi Ying's hand and spun into a crack at the edge of the stone path.
The sword continued to hum, but it was no longer easy to draw.
The next instant, Zhou Heng felt a tightness in his chest, as if he had been struck on the chest by a dark mat, and he slid backward several feet.
A long white trail was left on the ground, and his mouth and nose were filled with the smell of blood.
Xu Erxiao turned pale with fright.
But just as he was about to help, a cloud of ashes fell on his head.
The ashes didn't float down; they "fell" down, as if someone had suddenly shaken them apart from a great height.
As soon as Xu Erxiao looked up, he saw a white paper face hanging less than half a foot in front of him, with two red lights flashing in its dark eye sockets.
"ah"
Xu Erxiao screamed and swung his short blade wildly, but only managed to cut off half a corner of the paper.
The paper face didn't dissipate; instead, it nestled into his arms like a cold, slippery dead skin, rubbing against his chest.
He was so terrified that he retreated frantically, crashing hard into the stone wall. His limbs went weak, and he almost fell into the dark chamber.
Wang Chengan tried to pull him up, but was tripped by a section of black soil that suddenly rose up from the ground.
The soil wasn't ordinary black soil; it was like it was mixed with corpse fluid and ash incense, damp and sticky to an alarming degree. As soon as it touched the sole of my shoe, it started to climb up, wrapping around my trouser leg and up to my knee.
Wang Chengan looked down and was so shocked he almost collapsed on the spot.
"Soil—there are hands in the soil!"
He shouted hoarsely.
Only then did everyone realize that the altar spirit's "rising" just now was not just about spreading out paper banners and shadows.
It even stirred up the old evil spirits that had been buried underground.
Occasionally, half a paper hand, half a skeleton, a few strands of red rope, and a broken incense stick would emerge from the black soil.
It's like an ancient altar that has been buried for countless years, slowly awakening from the ground.
And the spirit of the altar itself stands at the center of all of this.
It didn't rush to kill.
It is enjoying itself.
Enjoy the feeling of each other being crushed, dragged down, and forced into one's own table.
Lu Yuan supported himself with one hand on the magic sword, half-kneeling on the ground, veins bulging on his forehead, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, his right arm so numb that he had almost lost all feeling.
The moment Tan Siling grabbed his vital point, it was as if he had directly seized the slight connection between him and the magic sword, causing his true energy to surge backward and his chest and abdomen to churn.
But the most terrifying thing is not the injury.
It was the magic sword that was trembling.
The gold patterns on the sword had faded from their initial brightness to a duller color, like a frozen line of fire.
Each time the Yin energy of the altar surged, the magic sword would tremble, as if its spine had been gripped by the opponent from afar.
"We can't let it eat any more—"
Lu Yuan stared intently at the altar, his voice so low it sounded like it was being squeezed out between his teeth.
Song Qinghe clutched her chest, her eyes bloodshot.
"But we can barely stand up now —"
Before she could finish speaking, the altar spirit suddenly stepped forward.
This step was extremely slow, yet it felt like stepping directly into everyone's hearts.
Everyone felt a sudden darkness overhead, as if the surrounding air had been sucked away.
Immediately afterwards, a darker patch of black appeared from the bottom of the altar spirit's sleeve, revealing swirling white edges within the black.
It was as if someone had opened a hole under the table, intending to gradually suck in the shadows of all the living people present.
Lu Yuan's heart skipped a beat.
That was no ordinary evil spirit.
That's "closing the table".
Once the ritual is completed, everyone will be forced into the yin position and become a new offering on its altar.
By then, let alone escape, they might not even be able to leave their soul intact.
"We can't let it end like this!" Lu Yuan shouted.
He tried to get up, but as soon as he gathered his strength, the spirit of the altar pointed at him from afar.
The finger didn't land on him, but it felt like it had directly pierced the tendons in his right shoulder.
Lu Yuan felt a soft "crack" on his shoulder, and his right arm suddenly slumped down, the magic sword slipped out of his hand by half an inch, almost falling to the ground.
Lin Zhaoxuan struggled to lift his head, his eyes filled with horror: "It severed your magical path!"
The altar spirit's eyes curved slightly, and the smile was so sinister it sent chills down one's spine.
"Weren't you guys quite good at cutting off circuits just now?"
"Why can't I break it when it's my turn?"
As it spoke, it suddenly clasped its hands together.
Suddenly, all the paper scrolls on both sides of the stone path burst open, revealing white paper faces, black teeth, old name pages, shadows of mats, lamplight, and a large expanse of gray and white.
They all swirled towards the center, instantly forming a massive vortex of darkness.
The center of the vortex is the land where Lu Yuan and his group are located.
In an instant, the salt array was shattered, the sealing plate was tilted, and the thunder token was firmly stuck to the yin energy.
Zhou Heng's sword couldn't be drawn, Lin Zhaoxuan's thunder couldn't be raised, Song Qinghe's disc spun wildly, and Xu Erxiao and Wang Chengan couldn't even stand steadily.
The altar spirit stood atop the vortex, looking down at them as if they were several live animals trapped on a chopping board.
"Enter the table."
It uttered two words softly.
The vortex suddenly tightened in the next instant.
Black mist, paper shadows, mats, bone sticks, and lamplight all pressed down on the crowd.
Lu Yuan gritted his teeth and raised his sword, forcefully resisting the oppressive force of the Yin mat.
His shoulders and back were being pressed down so hard that they made a faint cracking sound, as if his bones were breaking little by little.
He knew that they had been completely suppressed.
It wasn't just one or two moves, or two mistakes.
From the moment the altar spirit went berserk, they had no chance of turning the tide.
The altar is used to worship the spirits; they are truly to be crushed into the mat.
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