Clash of Titans
Wu Siduo's words hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in frost. Yao Xuan met her cold gaze, and for the first time since the competition began, he felt not just a tactical threat, but the stirring of genuine competitive fire. Here was an opponent who didn't just have power; she had a killer's instinct, refined and honed.
"Confidence is necessary," Yao Xuan replied, his voice a low rumble that vibrated with gathering power. "But you're right. You met me."
He didn't posture. He acted.
Deep within his chest, the soul power vortex—a miniature galaxy of compressed energy forged by the Creation Soul Forging Technique—kicked into a higher spin. It wasn't just drawing in energy; it was commanding it. The ambient soul power of the simulated forest tore from the trees and the very air, screaming into the gravitational well at his core. This torrent merged with his own vast reserves, creating a pressure that made the scales on his arms hum.
"Ancestral Dragon Sky-Splitting Strike."
The first purple ring on his back ignited, not with a flash, but with a deep, resonant thrum that shook the ground beneath his feet. The Ancestral Dragon spirit apparition above him didn't just roar; it cried out, a sound of ancient, splitting heavens. The gathered power didn't merely coat his arms—it inundated them, molten gold surging through his draconic veins. His claws lengthened another fraction, their edges shimmering with heat distortion, becoming less like tools and more like extensions of a fundamental law: penetration.
He moved. The Ancestral Dragon Sky-Shattering Step wasn't used for distance; it was used for ignition. His body launched forward not like an arrow, but like a beam of solid light, tearing a furrow in the earth. The air around his claws rippled and split with a continuous, sharp crack-crack-crack as he closed the distance, a golden comet aimed at Wu Siduo's heart.
Across the clearing, Wu Siduo's predatory calm shattered into visceral alarm. The pressure hit her like a physical wall—a dense, oppressive aura that screamed of a higher food chain. Her nerves shrieked. Every instinct born of her feline martial soul told her to flee, to evade. But her tiger's pride locked her in place. 'He'll kill me if I hold back,' the thought was crystalline, desperate.
She didn't chant. She unleashed.
"Netherworld White Tiger!"
Her body became a battleground for two opposing powers. From her left, inky, cold Netherworld energy—the essence of shadows and silent death—erupted. From her right, blazing, predatory light of the Evil-Eyed White Tiger roared forth. They didn't mix; they consumed each other in a violent, beautiful symphony of fusion. A dark-gold radiance, strange and profound, exploded from her. Her hair turned crystalline, each strand capturing and refracting the chaotic light. Then, in a flash that stabbed the eyes, her human form was gone.
In her place stood the Netherworld White Tiger. It was five meters of terrifying, translucent muscle and sinew, wings of shadow and light fused to its ribs. Its eyes were pools of swirling gold and black. It radiated a pressure of its own—a savage, dual-natured might that warred with Yao Xuan's draconic authority. The air between them grew thick and hot, reality straining under two concentrated apex forces.
The tiger's maw opened in a silent roar. "Netherworld White Tiger Slash!"
It didn't run. It uncoiled. Its powerful hind legs shattered the rock beneath it. Its wings beat once, a thunderclap that propelled it forward not as a pounce, but as a guided meteor. Beneath its raised forelimb, darkness and light swirled into a vortex of annihilating power around claws that could shred soul metal. It met Yao Xuan's golden charge head-on.
The collision was not an explosion.
It was an implosion.
BOOOOOM-WHUMP!
Sound vanished, sucked into the point of impact before erupting outward as a concussive dome of visible force. Trees for thirty meters in every direction splintered at their bases, shredded into matchwood. The ground sank, forming a shallow crater.
At the epicenter, claw met claw.
Yao Xuan felt the impact travel up his arm—a jolt of phenomenal, dual-natured force. The Netherworld power tried to seep through, to freeze and decay. The Tiger's light sought to burn and purify. For a fraction of a second, they held against his Ancestral Dragon might.
Then, the hierarchy asserted itself.
His Ancestral Dragon power was not just strong; it was primordial. It was the canvas upon which concepts like 'Netherworld' and 'White Tiger' were painted. With a grinding, screeching sensation that echoed in the soul, his golden energy consumed the conflicting forces. The dark-light vortex around Wu Siduo's claws disintegrated.
The physical force, however, remained. Yao Xuan's claws, sheared through the dissipating energy and met the Tiger's own claws with a sound like mountains breaking.
CRACK-SNAP!
The brittle, sickening sound of shattering bone (simulated, but perfectly rendered) echoed. The Netherworld White Tiger's forelimbs deformed, claws shearing off, bones fracturing under the overwhelming, focused density of Yao Xuan's strike.
A shockwave of pure kinetic energy, undissipated, slammed into the Tiger's chest. The magnificent beast was lifted off its feet and hurled backward like a child's toy. It crashed through the splintered trunks of two great trees, tearing them down, before skidding across the rocky ground, carving a deep trench, and finally coming to a rest in a cloud of dust and debris.
The form flickered, translucent body solidifying into a bruised and broken Wu Siduo, curled in the crater. The Netherworld White Tiger was gone, forcibly dismissed. Blood—simulated, but convincing—trickled from her mouth and the grotesque angles of her arms. Her breath came in wet, ragged gasps. Internal damage warnings flashed across her fading consciousness. She was not dead, but she was utterly broken, every system in agony.
She tried to lift her head, her blue eyes wide, not with pain, but with pure, uncomprehending shock. The fusion that made her a legend among her peers, that could battle Soul Emperors… had been dismantled in one exchange. Not outmaneuvered. Not worn down. Overwhelmed.
"Cough… cough!" She spat red, her body shuddering. "How…?" The word was a whisper, lost in the ringing silence. She had felt the moment his power simply… erased hers. It wasn't a contest of magnitude. It was a matter of nature. She had brought a brilliant sword to a fight against the sun.
Yao Xuan stood at the edge of the devastation, the golden light around him slowly dimming. His arms ached from the recoil—a testament to her formidable strength. He looked at the defeated girl, not with triumph, but with a sober respect. He had felt her power. It had been real, potent, and cleverly fused. It just hadn't been enough.
He walked forward, his steps crunching on shattered stone. He stopped a few meters from her. She managed to focus her blurry gaze on him.
"A Self-Fusion Skill of that quality," Yao Xuan said, his voice now quiet, the battle-roar gone. "It's exceptional. You forced me to use a real strike." It was the highest praise he could give.
He raised his hand, not to strike, but to signal the simulation. A gentle white light enveloped Wu Siduo's broken form, whisking her consciousness away to recovery. Her final sight was the dragon-scaled victor, not gloating, but already turning, his gaze looking past the wreckage, toward the final challenge he knew must be coming.
The clearing was a wasteland. The fight had been short, brutal, and decisively instructional. The message to any remaining competitors was now carved into the very terrain: the path to victory went through Yao Xuan, and he was a force of nature.