Chapter 175: The Hunter's Counter
Sam Lee stood transformed, a being of polished platinum and condensed power. The arena, which had just moments before been roaring with Thomas's assumed victory, fell into a stunned, disbelieving silence. This was immediately broken by a wave of murmurs and shouts from the billions watching.
"Isn't this cheating?!" a cry rang out, echoed by thousands more. How could one person harbor the power of sixteen different Saint-level entities? It seemed to violate .....
But the official tournament systems made no such declaration. A calm, automated voice echoed through the stadium, addressing the outrage. "Rule 7, Section 3: The integration of external power sources into one's biological or technological framework is permitted, provided it is a permanent, stable fusion. This includes cybernetic assimilation, symbiotic bonds, and genetic grafting."
The ruling was clear. If Sam was a cheater, then so were every mecha-pilot and cyborg in the tournament. This was not an external tool; this was Sam Lee now.
Back in the arena, Thomas's void-like form, once a symbol of untouchable darkness, now seemed like a target. In a flash of blinding platinum, Sam became a silver comet, circling Thomas at speeds that defied tracking. Thomas reacted with the signature ability of his bloodline: he began to dematerialize.
His form flickered, becoming translucent, then nearly transparent, like a ghost or a heat haze. His plan was flawless in theory: if he turned into intangible darkness at the exact moment of Sam's attack, even a force that could shatter mountains would pass harmlessly through him. He would be nothing more than a hologram, a wisp of smoke. The weakness was the strain; he could only hold that state for an instant before his body was forced to rematerialize. The timing had to be perfect.
He saw Sam's platinum blur lunging from behind. With practiced precision, Thomas triggered his dematerialization. His form dissolved into shadowy particles. It was a success. Sam's devastating punch should have passed straight through his ethereal chest.
But it didn't.
Instead, a platinum hand, solid and real, clamped like a vice around Thomas's throat.
Thomas's body was violently forced back into its material form, the rematerialization process hijacked. His glowing white eyes, now wide with utter shock and confusion, stared into Sam's triumphant face. How? It was supposed to be impossible!
Sam let out a low, victorious laugh, his grip tightening. "I know," he said, his voice resonating with a chilling, multi-layered timbre. "I know your bloodline's greatest power is your intangibility. It's what makes a Grey nearly invincible. So I asked myself: how does a hunter catch a shadow?"
He leaned in closer, his platinum headtail swishing confidently behind him. "It was a long hunt. I had to find a specific Saint-level beast, a predator that evolved to feed on creatures of pure energy and darkness. It took me to the edge of shifting expanse known to existence. The battle... I nearly died a dozen times over afterall i am just at king level . But see," he snarled, his eyes blazing, "this is what I gained from its genes!"
He revealed the secret. The specific Saint beast he had absorbed possessed the unique ability to solidify the intangible. Its very touch could force ethereal beings into a physical, vulnerable state.
With a final, contemptuous grunt, Sam used his overwhelming strength to lift Thomas high into the air and then slam him down into the arena floor with earth-shattering force. The impact cratered the reinforced material, sending cracks racing outwards in a spiderweb of destruction. Thomas lay in the center, his void-form flickering and unstable, the invincible Grey heir finally and decisively grounded.
There are only two ways to catch a dematerialized Grey: be impossibly fast and grab them before they fade, or possess a power so esoteric that you can grasp darkness itself. Sam Lee had come prepared with the latter.
After revealing his devastating secret, Sam unleashed his fury. He lifted the stunned Thomas and, with a roar of effort, used him as a living wrecking ball, dragging him across the entire length of the arena. The sound was a brutal, grinding screech of armor and flesh against shattered stone. Thomas's bloodline transformation flickered violently like a dying lightbulb, the constant physical trauma disrupting his concentration and energy flow.
Yet, the will of a Grey was not so easily broken. With a final surge of power, Thomas erupted, releasing a shockwave of pure darkness that violently threw Sam off him.
Enraged and pushed to his absolute limit, Thomas decided to end it. He drew upon the deepest reserves of his power. The shadows in the arena converged behind him, not forming a thousand simple hands, but a thousand Black Buddha Hands—each one a colossal, divine-looking appendage radiating immense spiritual pressure. A single one of these hands was equal to ten thousand of his previous constructs. This was the pinnacle of his bloodline's offensive might.
He merged them all into a single, overwhelming tidal wave of darkness and launched it at Sam. The attack was cataclysmic, each blow landing with the force of a heavenly strike. The platinum armor on Sam's body began to crack under the onslaught. Silver blood, glowing with latent energy, trickled from the corner of his mouth. But Sam, a monument to sheer defiance, did not yield. He stood his ground, taking the furious barrage, his feet carving trenches in the arena floor as he was pushed back.
Then, with another universe-shaking roar, Sam gathered every ounce of his synthesized strength and launched a counter-offensive. He met the central Black Buddha Hand with a single, focused punch. The collision was a silent, blinding flash of light, followed by a soundless explosion that vaporized the colossal hand. The recoil was devastating; Sam's own right arm, from the fingers to the shoulder, shattered into a million glittering platinum shards.
But Sam didn't even flinch. He had sacrificed his arm as a calculated distraction. While Thomas was momentarily focused on the destruction of his ultimate technique, Sam's prehensile tail, swift as a viper, lashed out from behind. It wrapped around Thomas's torso and neck, constricting him in an unbreakable grip.
Thomas struggled, trying to dematerialize, but the tail's unique energy field neutralized his ability. He was trapped. Realization and shock dawned in his glowing white eyes a second too late.
Seeing his rival completely vulnerable, Sam unleashed his final, brutal assault. With his remaining left hand, he delivered a relentless barrage of punches into Thomas's abdomen. Each impact was a dull, sickening thud, driving the air from Thomas's lungs and breaking his focus completely. The last flickers of his void-form sputtered and died, leaving him in his base, human form, helpless in the tail's grasp.
Only when Thomas went limp did Sam realize it was over. He had won. The adrenaline that had been sustaining him vanished, and the consequences of the battle crashed down upon him all at once. The genetic fusion receded, his platinum form dissolving. He collapsed on top of the unconscious Thomas, his own body a horrifying spectacle of raw, red burns, deep gashes, and a completely mangled right arm. He was victorious, but he was broken.
While this epic clash of beasts held the multiverse spellbound, in other arenas, the tournament continued in starkly different styles.
In one, Parasite moved with an air of utter boredom. His opponents, often powerful warriors in their own right, were dispatched with a casual, almost dismissive flick of his wrist. There were no grand battles, no struggles. It was a procession of one-shots, a being so far above the competition that he barely seemed to be participating.
In another arena, Rivan played a very different game. To any observer, he was the ultimate underdog. Every match was a nail-biter. He would seemingly win by the skin of his teeth—a lucky dodge here, a last-second counter there, always appearing on the verge of collapse. He bled, he struggled, he gasped for breath. It was a masterful performance, carefully designed to project an image of someone winning through sheer, desperate luck, hiding the terrifying, calculated power that lay coiled within him.
To be continued…