Mummy Evolution

A crushing weight sank over the battlefield—like the sky had been chained in rusted iron.

Sett's gut twisted.

A pit opened beneath his ribs.

Instinct screamed.

Faceless was dangerous. There was no chance for a negotiation.

"Shit."

Sett's face was buried in the shadow of a passing cloud.

The desert became dark.

Sett held nearly 20 metric tons of force in every cell. His Tomb Slaves were beasts—many of them stronger than him. But Faceless?

He was not at that level.

Faceless didn't move. Didn't need to.

Faceless existed.

And that alone bent the surrounding air. Over a thousand tons of pressure, condensed into one figure. A Tier 4 physical body.

Stronger than all of Sett's Tomb Slaves combined.

Faceless breathed in.

Unnatural. Demonic.

That was it.

A nightmare wrapped in skin.

The true terror of this A-tier Tomb.

The slap on the face for weak Tomb Raiders arrogant enough to enter these traitorous place.

Sett tried to move. Tried to call the dead to his aid—

But it was too late.

"The sour face of a dying man…" Faceless' voice cut through the air. "…tastes like water on a dry desert."

A shadow passed by Sett.

Faster than he could see.

Faster than sound.

"This monkey is the most troublesome.

"Die."

A hand—black as void, jagged like fractured dimensions—

pierced the monkey's chest.

Veins lit crimson.

A heart beat once in Faceless's grip.

Then it pulsed.

Then it stopped.

Time slowed.

Sett saw it.

Felt every hair on his body stand.

Felt his skin crawl.

Faceless turned. Still holding the heart.

Still smiling.

Egrith's face turned grotesque—a pure, utter manifestation of malice.

Crush.

The heart imploded.

Blood misted in the air like perfume.

"Now, now—NEXT!"

Cold, inhuman eyes locked onto Sett and he felt death grip him.

Sett moved before Faceless did.

Lord Burrhen burst into reality in his titanic form, a punch going straight for Faceless.

"Measly tricks!"

Faceless raised a single palm.

One palm to stop the giant fist.

Crush.

Burrhen's entire arm bloomed with a crisscross of blood,

flesh shredding like paper—

then his arm was gone.

A rain of red.

A droplet landed on Zarah's brows, sliding into her eyes.

One trickled down Zainah's cheek.

Burrhen was thrown aside—its own chest gaining a large hole in the center

Just as the Monkey was thrown aside.

A veritable army of Tomb Slaves surrounded Sett and the sisters.

Yet, they did not feel one bit safe from the single enemy in front of them.

Faceless spread its arms wide, then wiped the blood all over its hand into its own face. "No gods, no demons, nothing—can save you from me."

It blurred.

Sett's golden irises dilated.

Shockingly fast? What is its ability?

Ability to change its flesh's shape according to its own wish?

Its hands had become sharper just before it attacked.

He could not see it move again.

All he saw was his own Tomb Slaves losing life one by one. Heads crushed, necks torn, hearts destroyed.

A face appeared beside Sett's shoulder. A hand wiped some blood on his face.

Sett felt a distinct sensation he hadn't truly felt in years.

It whispered in his ears: "Your turn comes last. Don't think this wall of an army is stopping me."

It blurred away.

At once—half of Sett's soldiers had their heads twist.

Sett's hand twitched.

The sensation became stronger.

The Shining stood their last stands with undeniable recklessness.

They were decapitated in swift moves.

Ana hissed as she jumped towards Faceless.

She was sliced from the very center.

All of his Tomb Slaves. All.

None remained.

"Next." Faceless stopped midair, bloody finger pointing at Zarah. "The little girl."

Zarah felt her own bloody eyelashes tremble.

A black nail closed in on her vision.

Ah…

I am dead.

I… really wanted to see Zainah having a happy life with Sett.

I… really wanted to see a niece or nephew…

Then—silence.

The distinct feeling became clear to Sett.

When things were out of control, when there was no way out without sacrificing something—he always had this sensation.

The loss of control.

He hated it.

Even though he had learned thousands upon thousands of methods to avoid being out of control, it always happened again and again.

Things always went haywire.

Control was always lost.

No matter whether it was with Musson, Egrith, or now Faceless. He had always experienced this sensation—though, unlike the other two times, now, this sensation was overwhelming.

He had no control over what would happen.

There was no way out of this situation without sacrificing something important.

The silence hissed away as a tremendous impact sound echoed across the desert.

Sand flew everywhere.

Where Zarah stood, now stood something else.

Something.

Where Sett stood—there stood no one.

Faceless froze, it tilted its head.

Something had blocked its killing blow.

It looked at the creature in front of it with a frown.

The creature was… weird.

It had void blue skin—and its face had no eyes. Nor nose.

Only lips.

And the creature stopped Faceless's hand, black as coal, with a single void-blue palm.

And on its other hand was Zarah, kept just an inch away from impact. She breathed in heavily, feeling the fear of the impact thud through her chest.

Faceless hissed.

The void blue creature—Sett—raised his hand to where his eyes should be.

Fingers open. Palm facing Faceless.

Two golden eyes blinked open in his palm—one on the index finger. One at the palm's center.

"Sett Ramses… what have you become?"

"Your death."

Sett threw Zarah at Zainah and the power of his throw made both of the women fly through the air, their bodies—powerful in their own right—getting bruised due to the sheer power of the simple throw.

Faceless stood unmoving, assessing the new enemy in front of him.

Sett pointed his free hand at the monkey.

"Wake up."

The monkey stood abruptly, its chest filling up with flesh as a new heart grew within itself.

Lord Burrhen followed right after.

All of Sett's other Tomb Slaves—ones who lost their heads, hearts, chests—stood up one by one.

A collective roar shook the skies.

Faceless stood surrounded by all of his army's glory, all over again. Stunned.

What kind of healing was this?!

Sett's Axiom of Reincarnation buzzed with power throughout him. Though, at the same time—his mental space began cracking apart from deep within.

It was not ready to bear the power of his Axiom. Not yet. But Sett had forced the use.

For now—he did not care.

Axiom of Reincarnation—

True Form—

DEATHLESS.

The two golden pupils on his palm blinked.

They turned completely, utterly black.