Chapter 149 — Lethal Poison

As though some demon laughed in the darkness, or as though to make offering to the Poison God, that demon sect master who in life had killed men like hemp—inside and outside the mourning hall where the Poison God's coffin lay, blood now ran in rivers, and the corpses of Ten Thousand Poisons Sect disciples lay everywhere.

The heavy stench of human blood hung in the air.

By now the three factions of the Poison God's three great disciples—Fan Xiong, Cheng Wuya, and Duan Rushan—had fought for several days. Apart from a few leaders of high cultivation, most of the ordinary Ten Thousand Poisons Sect disciples lay dead or wounded, and the days of strife had long since reddened the eyes of these three who fought for power; they had well-nigh fallen into madness.

In the mourning hall, upon the offering table, the box holding the Sect Master's seal still lay quietly, watching it all in cold silence.

As though weary of killing, the fighting inside and outside the hall gradually subsided, yet the tension of swords drawn and bows bent was greater than before.

The third, Duan Rushan, surrounded by four old men of grotesque appearance, light flashing fiercely in his eyes, looked at Fan Xiong and Cheng Wuya standing apart before him and sneered, "Tell me, my two shixiong, will you still not give over? Now, besides the few old fellows at your sides, whom have you left to bring out?"

Fan Xiong and Cheng Wuya exchanged a glance, each seeing in the other's bloodshot eyes a trace of despair. Since the night of the Poison God's seventh-day rites, when strange sounds had suddenly issued from the mourning hall, the three factions—already wary of one another—had at once stormed into the hall in force, each fearful of being a step too slow to stop the Sect Master's seal from being stolen.

In that chaos, as countless men rushed into the hall, naturally each took the other for having long schemed to break the pact and seize the seal, and within a few words they had fallen upon one another in battle.

And by now the outcome of the three-faction melee had gradually grown clear: the third, Duan Rushan, ever the weakest in cultivation, had by his abundant strength gradually overcome Fan Xiong and Cheng Wuya.

At this moment, apart from the fewer than ten still standing behind the two—Baodu Zi, the Old Blood-Sucking Demon, the Old Ancestor Duanmu, and the rest—they had no more pieces to play.

Duan Rushan, by contrast, had not only the Four Elders of the Poison Sect as his guard, but at least a hundred men in the open and in secret, among them many masters. Fully sixty percent of the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect's long-standing strength was in Duan Rushan's hands—more than before the fighting began, truly beyond all expectation.

Seeing defeat fixed before them, Fan Xiong and Cheng Wuya's eyes were full of unwillingness, yet in the end they could say no more. At the sight of his two shixiong, Duan Rushan could not help but laugh aloud. All these years he had had two overbearing shixiong above him, and below, his master the Poison God had doted all the more on that Qin Wujiu. Only he had always been overlooked. He had endured for so many years, and now at last he could hold his head high—how could he not be wild with joy?

Duan Rushan strode forward with his nose in the air, the Four Elders of the Poison Sect guarding him on every side, while Fan Xiong and Cheng Wuya watched helplessly as he walked to the offering table and stood before the box—one clenching his fist, the other grinding his teeth with a crack, plainly hating him to the marrow.

Yet in Duan Rushan's eyes, their fury at this moment was unmistakably the look a victor loved best to see; he even felt that only by attaining such a moment, towering above them all, had his life not been spent in vain.

Duan Rushan laughed heartily, his manner arrogant and exultant, and reached out to take the green box in his hand.

Fan Xiong and Cheng Wuya let out low growls at the same time and took a step forward, but the Four Elders of the Poison Sect at once turned to look at them, and Duan Rushan's men surged over with a rush, surrounding the two. Their eyes seemed ready to spit fire as they glared from afar at the box in Duan Rushan's hand.

Duan Rushan's laughter grew more triumphant still; swelling with pride, he twisted the clasp and opened the box. Within, a lining of golden silk, and in the midst of the silk lay a small dark-brown seal, atop which was carved a small snake, lifelike and vivid. Though he had not yet turned it over, everyone present, Duan Rushan included, knew that beneath the seal were carved four characters:

The Ten-Thousand Venoms Divine Seal.

Duan Rushan looked about him with arrogance, his gaze lingering a moment longer on the faces of Fan Xiong and Cheng Wuya; having fully savored the joy of the victor, he smiled—though the smile, because of the blood splashed across his face, seemed somewhat eerie and savage. He picked up the Ten-Thousand Venoms Divine Seal and turned it over. He meant to look at it well and closely, this symbol of the highest authority in the Ten-Thousand Venoms Sect.

At that moment, in the mourning hall, save for the furious panting of Fan Xiong and Cheng Wuya, there was no sound at all. Before their eyes, a new sect master of the Ten-Thousand Venoms Sect was about to be born.

Suddenly, at the very moment when everyone held their breath, Duan Rushan let out a heart-rending roar, and the box in his hand and that all-important Ten-Thousand Venoms Divine Seal fell to the ground. Everyone was shocked and turned to look at him; a moment later, they were all struck with horror.

That Duan Rushan who had been so overbearing a moment before was now trembling in every limb, his face utterly drained of color—and his two hands, especially, had in an instant turned a most eerie deep black.

A moment later, a low whirring of wings came from between his fingers, and a strange flying insect rose up from the gaps between them.

Everyone present was a veteran of the Ten-Thousand Venoms Sect, and though the monstrous insect flew exceedingly fast, nearly all of them had seen it clearly. Baidu Zi was the first to cry out in alarm: "Seven-tailed Centipede—that's the Seven-tailed Centipede!"

The cry was like a soul-shaking roar that stunned them all. As one, they looked toward Duan Rushan and saw him shaking more and more violently. An old man beside him reached out to pull him back, but his hand had barely touched the man's clothing when he gave a sudden shudder, let out a great cry, and flew backward; within moments, his right hand was black.

The Old Vampire, standing some distance away, shrank his pupils and said hoarsely, "'Corpse-Rotting Moss'..."

The poisoned elder cried out in alarm. Without a moment's thought, another elder beside him bellowed, seized the broken leg of some chair that lay fallen nearby, and brought it down on the other's right hand. Such was his profound cultivation that the chair leg, like a blade's edge, cut through all before it, and he hewed the poisoned elder's right arm clean off. At once the elder flung the chair leg away, as if afraid that holding it a moment longer would bring his own hand to the same fate.

The chair leg flew through the air, and everyone scrambled to dodge.

By now Duan Rushan's face was covered in black qi. All could clearly see that on his two hands, now utterly black, the skin split open with a "pop," and what flowed out was already black blood.

In the space of moments, that hair-raising sound—"pop, pop, pop"—rang out without cease. Duan Rushan, his body afflicted by the two most venomous poisons under heaven, burst apart at the flesh, black blood splattering in all directions; he collapsed to the ground, struggled a moment, and then moved no more.