My mom is waiting for treatment, and you're summoning me to be a hero?

As the battle dragged on, Lin Mo felt his power reach unprecedented heights.

It's not the precise growth brought about by attribute point allocation, but a more fundamental sense of power that surges from the depths of every muscle fiber.

His bones were strengthening themselves, his tendons were thickening themselves, and his reflexes were accelerating themselves.

The Pope's imagination was like an invisible river, continuously pouring power into his body.

He could even feel his killing domain expanding on its own, the color of the blood-red light curtain changing from dark red to deep red, and then from deep red to almost ink-black blood red.

The Pope in front of him was still able to keep up.

Each clash between the Pope's lightsaber and the black sword caused the boundary of the Death Arena to tremble violently.

Their domains were no longer tearing each other apart, but were completely intertwined.

The crimson hues were indistinguishable from each other, and every inch of space within their domains was repeatedly contested and marked by the laws of the two, the aftershocks of which plowed out crisscrossing trenches in the ground.

The Pope's speed, strength, and reflexes were stronger with each encounter than the last.

His imagination was constantly in motion, observing, revising, replicating, and surpassing, then observing again, revising again, replicating again, and surpassing again.

Lin Mo was one level stronger, so he imagined himself being one level stronger.

Lin Mo became even stronger, so he imagined himself becoming even stronger.

This cycle has continued for countless rounds.

Each time, the Pope was knocked away, the distance he was thrown further and further.

In the final instance, the Pope was sent flying hundreds of feet away by Lin Mo.

He knelt on the ground, one hand supporting himself on the ground, the other hand holding the lightsaber.

He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving violently.

Then he coughed up a mouthful of blood.

The blood fell onto the dark ground, appearing particularly glaring against the crimson backdrop.

"No...no, that won't happen."

The Pope raised his head, and for the first time, a look of bewilderment appeared in his eyes, which were like ancient wells.

"How can you be so strong..."

He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and straightened up again.

"But even if you're strong..."

The Pope gritted his teeth, his voice squeezed out from between them, each word carrying a resolute determination to gamble everything.

"I can become just like you!"

As soon as he finished speaking, an unprecedentedly powerful force surged into Lin Mo's body.

It was no longer the gentle, continuous flow of water, but a torrent of water gushing forth like a flash flood.

Power poured into Lin Mo's limbs and bones, filling every muscle fiber, and then overflowing from the muscle fibers, flowing into the bones, the meridians, and the spaces between every cell.

Lin Mo's expression changed.

He could feel his muscles swelling.

The muscle fibers were stretched to their limit, and the fascia between the fibers made a slight creaking sound.

His bones were strengthening themselves, and the strengthening was so fast that even he felt a slight pain.

"What kind of person does this guy think I am?"

Lin Mo gritted his teeth and thought.

He glanced down at his arms; the muscles in his forearms beneath the sleeves of his black robe were visibly bulging, the skin on the surface of the muscles stretched until it shone slightly.

He clenched his fist, his knuckles cracking, and a visible shockwave emanated from his fist.

His physical strength is almost reaching its limit.

Lin Mo's physical body has been accumulated through countless kills, making its basic strength far exceed that of any being of the same level.

With the added boost of ten times the physical strength from dying in the arena, his maximum capacity is already an extremely terrifying number.

But now, the Pope's imagination is pushing him all the way to that limit.

However, Lin Mo's situation was bad, and the situation was even worse for the Pope.

The Pope's body is also swelling.

His bones were stretching and his muscles were getting thicker, but he didn't have the same foundation as Lin Mo.

Lin Mo's body was built up through countless kills amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood; it was forged and refined through the absorption of the Black Sword's soul; and it was enhanced tenfold by dying in the arena.

The Pope's physical body was merely a temporary construct built from his imagination.

His imagination could replicate Lin Mo's data, but it couldn't replicate Lin Mo's foundation.

It's like building a house with the same blueprints, but Lin Mo's foundation is rock, while the Pope's foundation is sand.

Now, the house built on sand is collapsing under its excessive weight.

boom!

A dull thud erupted from the Pope's left shoulder.

The muscle fibers snapped, and a spray of blood mist gushed out from the rupture.

The Pope grunted, released his lightsaber with his left hand, and let his left arm hang limply at his sides.

But his imagination didn't stop.

He imagined himself as strong as Lin Mo, no, stronger than Lin Mo.

His divine consciousness faithfully carried out this command, continuing to pour power into his body, which was already overflowing.

boom!

A second explosion came from his right leg.

The muscles on the inside of his thigh were completely torn apart, and blood gushed from the wound, flowing down his leg to the ground.

boom!

boom!

boom!

A series of explosive sounds erupted from all over the Pope's body.

Shoulders, back, sides, thighs...

His white robe was riddled with holes from the explosion, and he was covered in blood.

The final explosion erupted from the center of his chest.

In that instant, the blood inside his body exploded.

Even Lin Mo, who was a hundred feet away from him, had a few drops of blood splattered on his face.

Lin Mo raised his hand and wiped his face, removing the blood from around his eyes.

Then he cautiously approached the spot where the Pope had been, and he could sense that the power emanating from the Pope had not yet dissipated.

The Pope was lying in the center of a pit of blood.

His limbs were twisted at an unnatural angle.

The left arm was broken at the elbow joint, with white bone fragments piercing through the skin and protruding.

The right leg was completely severed below the knee, and the fracture site was a bloody mess.

The only relatively intact part of his right arm is that all the fingers are twisted and deformed.

He was on his last breath.

With each breath, blood foam oozed from the cracks in his mouth and chest, making a gurgling, wet sound.

His chest was blasted open by the explosion of his own muscles, leaving a fist-sized hole.

But he is still alive, or rather, not quite dead yet.

His eyes were half-open, but they were so dim that they were almost invisible.

Lin Mo looked at the mangled flesh in the blood pit, no longer recognizable as human, and his lips twitched.

"Did he let his imagination run wild?"

Lin Mo's tone carried an inexplicable sense of absurdity.

After fighting for so long, he had imagined countless ways to defeat the Pope.

We'll wear him down with a war of attrition, blast through his defenses with a soul-corroding attack, and deliver a fatal blow to his vital points.

But he never imagined that the Pope would ultimately be driven to his wits' end by his own imagination.

At this moment, the Pope's eyes slowly moved, focusing his gaze on Lin Mo's face.

He moved his lips a few times, making a hoarse sound in his throat, and finally managed to squeeze out a broken sentence.

"Just how strong are you...?"

Lin Mo frowned.

He looked down at the continent's most recognized demigod, at the pope who had imagined himself exploding to death, and then shook his head.

Actually, you're better than me.

Lin Mo's voice was calm and normal, as if he were stating an objective fact.

"But you have a bad attitude and you think too highly of me."

The Pope was stunned.

A very faint look of astonishment flashed in those eyes.

"Lord Kami..."

His voice was barely audible, almost drowned out by the blood and foam in his throat.

"I'm useless..."

Lin Mo slowly raised the black sword.

The tip of the black sword was aimed at the Pope's throat, its eerie blue light gleaming coldly in the reflection of the blood-soaked pit.

He looked at the pope who was still praying to God on his deathbed and suddenly asked a question.

"You're clearly a hero, so why do you have such faith in gods?"

Lin Mo asked this question without any other meaning; it was simply out of curiosity.

He has seen countless heroes who have been summoned.

Most of those brave warriors were after gold, status, women, and freedom; almost none of them truly believed in the gods from the bottom of their hearts.

The pope, a hero, became the most loyal representative of the gods, even praying on his deathbed... This doesn't seem right.

Upon hearing this, the Pope subconsciously recalled the words.

His consciousness was already blurred, and his life force was rapidly draining away from the cracks all over his body.

But Lin Mo's question struck a chord with something deep within his memory.

And his last shred of imagination, in the final moment before his consciousness faded, automatically reflected the images that had surfaced in his mind.

A curtain of light slowly unfolded above his mangled body.