The storm carried faint mocking laughter.

Ever since teaming up with Bologue, Bologue’s brilliance had completely overshadowed Palmer, but Palmer wasn’t envious; on the contrary, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Palmer was a devoted slacker, and since Bologue so loved to work and was keen on slaughtering enemies, he might as well leave these matters to him.

In fact, since partnering with Bologue, Palmer rarely put in full effort—there was no need—Bologue would decapitate all their foes.

Now, it was Palmer’s own moment for vengeance, a time to unleash his full force.

Morrison struggled to calm himself; his ether reserves were low, and he couldn’t afford to waste them. The dust storm obscured his vision, and without Palmer’s blood on the Chasing Sword, he couldn’t trace his movements.

This storm felt like a slow execution.

Execution?

Morrison suddenly realized Palmer’s intent: this wasn’t a desire for a fair fight of revenge; he wanted Morrison to die slowly in despair.

Indeed, what drives one crazier than being given a glimmer of hope only to see it snuffed out completely?

"Bastard!"

Morrison cursed, but all he got in response was a mocking snicker.

Another scream sounded, as a Wind Blade tore through an enemy’s chest, sucking his lungs out with the fierce wind. He became prey to the storm, his blood vessels erupting under intense pressure, splattering blood all over him, dyeing his clothes and arms red.

Another enemy had his neck sliced by a Wind Blade, unleashing a blood-filled moan that was drowned out by the wind; his body was whisked away into the gray gloom, disappearing from sight.

The storm raged like an enraged beast, endlessly devouring enemies, leaving behind a terrifying scene.

Morrison’s breathing became increasingly labored. He held the Chasing Sword in front of him, knowing that Palmer, being just a Prayer Believer, couldn’t command such a massive storm indefinitely with his ether reserves. If he could endure until the storm waned, victory was within reach.

"The Clarks, heir... Wind Source!"

Focused to a razor-sharp edge, the words from their conversation now surfaced in his mind, piecing themselves together.

Now finally realizing the kind of opponent he faced, Morrison belatedly reacted.

Voiceless phantoms emerged from the storm behind him. Sensing the anomaly, Morrison slashed backward with the Chasing Sword, Light Feather ready to react at any moment.

His blade sliced through nothingness, and then searing pain erupted from behind, two Flying Knives embedding themselves into his shoulder and waist. Morrison let out a low, pained groan, hearing the sound of his flesh tearing and bones fracturing.

"Face me directly!"

Morrison challenged, knowing that Etherealization was steadily draining his ether. Prolonging the fight meant certain death.

Palmer had succeeded; his compassion ignited Morrison’s will to live. He didn’t want to die there; he fought desperately to survive.

"Sure."

A spine-chilling voice sounded again from behind.

Morrison swiftly triggered the Light Feather, enveloping everything in blinding light. Anyone gazing at Morrison then faced the searing torment of a blazing sun.

A cold Blade broke through the brilliance, piercing Morrison’s abdomen, as blood and fluids mixed instantly, seeping slowly from the open wound, creating a raw, corrupt mass of mangled flesh.

The two were so close that even in blindness, Palmer was able to deliver a lethal strike.

Palmer had been fortunate enough today, but luck was not on his side this time. A barrage of Light Feathers embedded into his chest, but he managed to evade the swinging Chasing Sword in time, darting to Morrison’s side with the help of the gale.

With his vision painstakingly blurred, Palmer pulled back. Against the darkness of the sandstorm, Morrison’s glow shone so bright.

Like a target.

Palmer hurled a series of daggers; some missed, others were blocked by the Chasing Sword, some grazed Morrison, while others pierced into his body, lodging themselves within his bones.

Agonizing pain assaulted him from within, causing his muscles to spasm uncontrollably, his body to sway helplessly, his eyes filled with pain, laced now with despair and fear.

Palmer’s dagger throws were so powerful, each hit infused with Ethereal Amplification, slamming into Morrison’s body like a cannonball.

Blades of edge skewered nearly all his organs, mercilessly flogging Morrison’s will to live, ushering his body into an impending thorough collapse.

And yet, Morrison remained standing; his consciousness held on. He clung tenaciously to life, panting, struggling—a fierce survival instinct urging him to close in on Palmer. However, his body grew heavier, strength leaving him, unable even to move a wounded limb.

"Damn it."

Morrison nearly shed tears; Palmer spoke with disdain for Bologue’s brutal violence, but how was he any different from Bologue?

Bologue executed with ruthless ferocity, crushing enemy flesh and bone, while Palmer intricately toyed with minds, leading them into irrevocable despair.

The harrowing shriek from the daggers stabbed into Morrison’s body one strike after another, etching deep scars into him. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

In utter despair, Morrison seized his last chance. Unnoticed, a chain of ether forged extended from the Secret Sword, connecting with the fading silhouette in the storm.

This was the last assault of Light Feather.

Just as Morrison made his last desperate gamble, furious ether stormed in.

Palmer discarded the empty injection; the Mang Silver Soul processed swiftly within the Alchemy Matrix, exhausting every ounce of his ether to execute the final execution.

Secret Energy·Furious Wind Pardon.

A fierce whirlwind entrapped Morrison, his limbs and body savagely shredded by Wind Blades, flinging blood and shredded flesh across the ground.

Morrison’s roars stretched thin and sharp, like a dying wailing beast; muscles torn, bones broken, limbs torn apart and tossed unrestrained in the tempest. Morrison’s former heroic stature was now completely shattered; he became a trembling, rolling tumbleweed in the storm, a mass of meat sliced to pieces by Wind Blades.

This was no longer a storm but a colossal meat grinder filled with countless blades.

Echoes of misery faded sporadically.

Wind Blades sliced, leaving grotesque wounds, a faint figure continuously cast his limbs outward. Each part thrown was smashed and vanished in the air. Ultimately, Morrison’s body was reduced to a pile of blood and meaty fragments, leaving nothing but a pool of blood and shattered skeleton scattered on the ground.

The raging winds subsided; on the desolate, foul-smelling earth, Palmer inhaled deeply, the metallic scent swirling in his lungs. He felt a newfound satisfaction.

Palmer recalled an article he’d read in the papers once: If two people spend long enough together, they begin to resemble each other.

Looking at the mess of meat on the ground, recalling Bologue’s terrible sense of humor, Palmer found some truth in this.

Palmer paused, gagging uncontrollably; doing this with his own hands was still somewhat troubling, as physiological discomfort and ether depletion both affected his mind, intertwining with an unexpected joy.

He laughed, almost sickened.