Slaying God: I, the insane and witty god

As soon as Wu Hen finished speaking, Lin Qiye's heart suddenly sank.

A cold murderous intent far exceeding that of all previous enemies, like an invisible spike, instantly locked onto Fang Mo, who had just escaped danger behind them.

"careful!"

Lin Qiye didn't even have time to turn around before he pushed Fang Mo towards Wu Hen.

In a flash, a thin line blacker than ink tore through the air and silently headed straight for Fang Mo's eyebrows.

It wasn't a hidden weapon, but just an ordinary 2B pencil, but the tip of the pencil flashed with a cold light that was enough to penetrate steel.

There was a crisp sound and sparks flew everywhere.

Lin Qiye had turned around at some point, and a sword appeared in his hand out of thin air, accurately blocking the fatal blow.

The pencil flew away and stuck upside down on the far wall, the pen still humming.

Fang Mo's face was pale, and he collapsed in Wu Hen's arms, gasping for breath.

At that moment, she felt she was only one centimeter away from death.

"Damn, this thing is too strong." Lin Qiye cursed softly, and his hand holding the sword felt slightly numb.

He could feel that the opponent didn't use his full strength at all, but just a casual attack, forcing him to use his weapon.

"You can't stop it," Wu Hen's voice was terrifyingly calm.

"Its target was us from the beginning. It eliminated the others just to clear the area."

Lin Qiye's eyes suddenly tensed up as he stared at the pencil stuck in the wall.

It is like an ominous omen, emitting a strange and heart-pounding aura.

This melee was far more dangerous than he had imagined, and the alarm bells in his heart had already been ringing, but he absolutely could not reveal his true strength now.

The plan has just begun, and any mistake may lead to total collapse.

He took a deep breath and suppressed the surging blood.

"Take her away first and find a place to hide." Lin Qiye said without turning his head.

"Are you alone?" Wu Hen frowned.

"I have my own way."

As he spoke, Lin Qiye's body made a crackling sound.

His figure and face changed rapidly in just one second, and in the blink of an eye he looked like "Chen Han".

He shook his neck, swung the Ame no Murakumo sword in his hand into a sword flower, and whistled at the pencil in a very gangster-like manner.

"Hey, you dare to act like a ghost here with just a broken pen? Who gave you the courage?"

He deliberately used Chen Han's cynical tone, and his breath was perfectly suppressed at the level that Chen Han should have.

On the surface he appeared calm and composed, but in reality every nerve was stretched as thin as a thread about to break.

He didn't dare to be careless at all, for fear that even the slightest trace of "Lin Qiye's" aura would leak out and ruin the entire plan.

The pencil seemed to understand his provocation and pulled itself out from the wall, hovering in mid-air, with the tip pointed at him.

The tension was like a cold, poisonous snake, wrapping around his throat.

At the same time, in a hospital thousands of miles away.

"boom!"

With a loud bang, two figures broke through the wall of the intensive care unit and rolled down the corridor.

The golden armor and the gold chain mail rubbed against each other, producing dazzling sparks.

"You idiot cultivator! Is this all you can do?" Gilgamesh kicked away Sun Wukong, who was pressing on him, with a look of disdain on his face.

"Hey, you little golden man are quite durable!"

Sun Wukong jumped up and swung his golden cudgel, wanting to smash it down, but it stopped abruptly in mid-air.

He scratched his furry cheek, looking unhappy: "It's boring, there's no atmosphere at all when we fight."

"This king approves."

Gilgamesh also put away his sword, crossed his arms over his chest, and raised his chin proudly.

"Without epic accompaniment, how can I demonstrate my might? This battle lacks soul."

The two looked at each other and strangely reached a consensus.

Sun Wukong swept his flaming eyes around and locked his gaze on a ward at the end of the corridor that was not affected.

He grinned, revealing his white teeth.

The next second, he and Gilgamesh disappeared from the spot at the same time.

Inside the ward, Bragi, the Nordic god of poetry, was sleeping soundly wrapped in a quilt, with a suspicious smile hanging on the corner of his mouth.

Suddenly, he felt himself being lifted up from the left and right by two irresistible forces.

"Who is it? Can't you let me sleep in the middle of the night?" Braki opened his eyes drowsily, but saw two faces close to him.

One has a hairy face and a chubby mouth, and the other has a handsome face with the words "I am the best in the world" written all over it.

"You guys..." Braki's sleepiness disappeared in an instant.

"Don't talk nonsense," Sun Wukong carried him and walked out.

"I'm fighting with this Jin Shanshan, and we need someone to sing. You're the one!"

"That's right, Zaxiu," Gilgamesh said, holding Bragi's other leg, his tone unquestionable.

"It will be your honor to offer your hymn of praise for my battle with the monkey!"

Thus, the god of poetry, Bragi, with a face full of humiliation and sleepy eyes,

He was dragged to the center of the battlefield by two unreasonable battle maniacs.

Tossed to the ground like a rag doll, used as a living accompaniment.

Braki was in tears.

At this moment, the black pencil that was confronting Lin Qiye in the distance suddenly stopped all movements.

It tilted its "head" strangely in the air, as if listening to something, or sniffing something.

Then, an almost inaudible whisper came faintly from the pen.

"That cat... smells better..."