Chapter Ninety-Three: The Terrifying Flying Head Curse

Taking advantage of the moment when the little demon had been sent flying, Fu Yang took a demon-quelling talisman from his pocket and quietly clenched it in his hand.

In a moment, he thought, I’ll hold off the enemy with one hand and a wooden staff, and with the other I’ll slap this talisman onto that thing. I don’t believe I can’t beat it to death.

He gripped the wooden staff tightly and took the initiative, charging straight at the little demon.

At the mouth of the alley, Tu Kacha watched the struggle between Fu Yang and the little demon with a cold gaze, as if he were still hesitating whether to intervene himself.

Why was he acting like this?

Because, in general, the sorcery of curse masters was cast through indirect means. It was sly, hard to detect, and took time to take effect.

If one were to judge by ordinary human standards, curse masters were more like poisoners who killed with venom. Their own combat ability was usually nothing special.

In a fair duel, even an ordinary adult man could easily beat a curse master into a pulp and leave him utterly finished.

So, to make up for their weakness in direct combat, some curse masters devised all kinds of bizarre and repulsive evil arts.

Among them, the Flying Head Curse was the most famous, and the most grotesque!

The Flying Head Curse was an evil technique in which a curse master cast sorcery upon himself so that his head could leave his body and fly out to attack enemies, greatly enhancing his power.

The Flying Head Curse had seven stages in all, each stage known as a cycle, and each had to be maintained for forty-nine days. Altogether, that made three hundred and forty-three days.

Only after all those stages were successfully completed could one be considered fully trained, a true practitioner of the Flying Head Curse.

During those three hundred-odd days, the curse had not yet reached perfection, so it was not merely the head that flew out to drink blood.

Instead, the head flew out together with the digestive organs, the stomach and intestines.

That meant a human head with a string of disgusting, slack entrails dangling beneath it, flitting about in the air.

This flying head fed on cat blood when it encountered a cat, dog blood when it encountered a dog, and when it met a human being, it would suck the victim dry.

Only when its stomach and intestines were stuffed full of blood, and dawn was about to break, would it fly back to the curse master, swollen and bloated, and reattach itself to the neck.

The stages of cultivation were, in fact, a process of making the organs beneath the head hard and resilient.

So at the beginning, the Flying Head Curse was very fragile. As it fed on the blood of people and animals and grew stronger, a hard shell would gradually form over the organs hanging beneath the head to protect them from damage.

When they finally became as hard as steel, that marked the seventh stage.

Only after surviving that stage could one be said to have truly mastered it.

If the Flying Head Curse were used again after that, the messy stomach and intestines would no longer fly out along with the head. Only a single skull would be left, light and swift, far less likely to be noticed, and its power would increase many times over.

Once the Flying Head Curse had been mastered, the curse master no longer needed to drink the blood of people or animals to stay alive.

But every forty-nine days, he had to consume the unborn child in a pregnant woman’s womb.

At that stage, the Flying Head Curse had become an outright nightmare.

Fortunately, because the Flying Head Curse itself was an extremely dangerous art, unless a curse master had absolute confidence in himself or carried an ocean of blood feud and intended to use it for revenge, most would never dare cultivate it casually.

So, in the publicly known records of the mystical world, there were basically no curse masters who could fly with nothing but a single head.

And Tu Kacha was one of those who had cultivated this vile art known as the Flying Head Curse.

"All right then. I’ll risk it. By unleashing the Flying Head Curse and draining this brat dry of blood and marrow, my power will surely rise by a great deal."

In the end, he decided to join the battle himself, muttering a strange Southeast Asian incantation under his breath.

With a wet, tearing sound, flesh burst open in a dull slap.

Tu Kacha’s head separated from his neck and shot up into the air, dragging a long train of internal organs behind it, writhing in the sky like an octopus.

Disgusting beyond words.

Fu Yang was in the thick of battle with the little demon, his right hand clutching the demon-quelling talisman and waiting for the right moment to slap it on. Just then, he happened to glance back and see an ugly human head, with organs dangling beneath it like an octopus, flying toward him.

He was so shocked he nearly got bitten on the arm by the little demon.

He drew in a sharp breath.

"Well, damn. What kind of trick is this? Magic act or circus performance?"

"I’m going to kill you! I’ll suck every last drop of blood from you!"

Tu Kacha’s head was still able to speak normally while flying through the air, his voice venomous and vicious.

At that moment, Fu Yang had to face both the little demon and the Flying Head Curse at once, and the pressure on him multiplied.

Fortunately, perhaps because it saw its "master" joining the fray personally, the little demon seemed delighted. It actually abandoned Fu Yang and flew back, affectionately eager to play with its master.

"Damn it! Don’t come back here, go attack that Chinese brat!"

Tu Kacha had probably not anticipated this. His plan to catch Fu Yang off guard failed, and he could not help cursing at the little demon.

Fu Yang forced back a smile and thought, My chance has come.

"Seal it!"

He hurled the demon-quelling talisman in his hand. His target was not the little demon flying back, but the Flying Head Curse, whose line of sight had just been blocked.

With a flash, the talisman paper flew through the air and landed squarely on Tu Kacha’s forehead.

"Got you!"

Fu Yang was overjoyed, but it lasted less than a second. With a bang, the talisman burned to ashes.

Tu Kacha’s sinister voice rang out. "Brat, you think a mere demon-quelling talisman can deal with my fifth-stage Flying Head Curse?"

"I’m going to beat you into a stupid, worthless waste!"

Fu Yang had no choice left. Neither taoist arts nor physical combat could beat this thing, so he could only resort to ghost path techniques.

Vicky had only told him to try not to reveal them. But now, damn it, if he did not use them, he was going to die, and there would be nothing left to play for afterward.

Besides, this curse master was not even Chinese. A foreign barbarian from beyond the borders, he probably would not know a thing.

"Die, brat!"

The Flying Head Curse and the little demon came sweeping in together, radiating a terrifying, evil aura.

Even if Ah Huang were here with him, facing this scene would probably still mean dire peril.

"Ghost Path..."

Fu Yang let out a low murmur that only he could hear, carrying an inexplicable trace of ancient weariness.

Slowly, he extended his right hand toward the front. In the palm, the snarling beast mouth suddenly yawned wide open, and a great mass of black mist, carrying a domineering, violent aura, surged outward.

Tu Kacha, still flying in, froze.

He could not understand why this young Chinese priest before him had suddenly been engulfed in black qi, looking, on the surface, like a sorcerer of the same kind as himself.

The Flying Head Curse sneered repeatedly. "Whatever tricks you have, today you must die!"

At that critical instant, a deep roar erupted. An adult-sized arm, thick as a thigh, thrust out from within the black mist.

Its surface was covered in dense black scales. Though formed of spiritual power, it looked vividly alive, as if real. At the end of it was a palm as large as a millstone, sharp as blades, reaching straight for Tu Kacha.