A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5922

Back in Malevolent Path Hall, three months—a full season for mortals—had passed like a cough in the lifespan of an immortal.

Malcolm sat cross-legged before the Door of Reincarnation, gray tides of aura surging around him.

For three whole months, he had not moved from this spot. While cultivating the path of reincarnation, he listened to the faint heartbeats that pulsed beyond the door. Every ripple meant another shard of Soul Devourer's divine soul was refined, another step toward completing the puppet.

With each pulse, Malcolm felt his grasp of the Laws of Reincarnation deepen at a terrifying pace.

Wisps of law nascence leaking through the seams of the door drifted to him—nutrient richer than any elixir—feeding the reincarnation techniques he had studied for ten millennia.

His cultivation had climbed from High Immortal Realm Level Three early phase to the middle phase, fingers already brushing the next threshold.

More crucially, his control over the door itself was growing stronger.

Barely three months earlier, Malcolm had been able to crack the Door of Reincarnation only a sliver wide. Through that fragile opening, he siphoned stray power, shaping low-grade puppets of reincarnation or bargaining captured souls for meager scraps of cosmic law.

Today, everything felt different.

It was as if that once-delicate thread linking his soul to the colossal bone door had been tempered by countless exchanges, thickening into a sturdy cable capable of ferrying entire rivers of information.

Malcolm's ashen eyes burned with a fierce, feverish light.

"I'm close—so close," he whispered, tapping his skeletal fingers upon the bone floor. "Once that Reincarnation Puppet General is mine, I will use its frame as a conduit. The Reincarnation Realm will open wider, and perhaps, I will finally catch a glimpse of the Lord of Reincarnation's true visage."

If that happened, he would finally unearth the door's origin—and the true intentions of the three horrors that brooded behind it.

Suddenly, the chamber shuddered.

A booming hum—so deep it rattled bone—erupted from the Door of Reincarnation.

Every skull socket set into the door flared, unleashing geysers of gray-white fire that flooded the hall with blinding day.

Runes crawled across the bone surface, twisting and re-knitting themselves while shrieking like metal dragged across glass—the agonized wail of laws being warped and torn.

Malcolm sprang upright, ashen eyes locked on the center seam.

Before his stare, a hair-thin fissure surfaced, spreading with frightening ease—an inch, a yard—until an ordinary man could have walked straight through.

Yet beyond the gap waited no familiar palace, only a swirling abyss of gray and white that twisted the surrounding space and tugged at the soul like a hungry cyclone.

Its silent suction made his heart pound.

From that maelstrom strode a man eight feet tall.

He was long-limbed and erect, clad in form-fitting scales the color of dried blood; ghost-pale sigils flowed across each plate like moonlight on water.

Six broad flesh wings arched from his back, their edges licking with tangible crimson flame within which faint gray runes flickered.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify