The moment their forces met—
Something went wrong.
Not just for the cultivator.
Especially for Shango.
The impact snapped through his arm.
Not pain.
Disorder.
Like something inside him rejected the clash itself.
The lightning surged—
Then scattered.
Wild.
Unfocused.
Unstable.
The cultivator stepped back cleanly.
Controlled.
Slightly fazed by the lightning.
"…So that's what it is," he said quietly.
Shango staggered.
Just one step.
But it was enough.
Enough to show the difference.
His arm trembled.
Not from fear.
From strain.
Whatever that power was—
It wasn't listening to him.
The man watched him closely.
Not rushing.
Not careless.
Studying.
"You don't know how to use it," he said.
Not a guess.
A conclusion.
Shango didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
His breathing had already changed.
Uneven.
Wrong.
Barely noticeable.
Not to a cultivator.
The cultivator took another step.
Slow.
Measured.
"You should have stayed where you were," he continued."Whatever you are… you're not ready to be out here."
Another step.
Closer now.
"People like you don't last long."
Shango's jaw tightened.
"I'm not trying to last," he said.
The words came out steady.
Rough.
"I'm trying to move forward."
The man smiled again.
Small.
Amused.
"Then move."
He disappeared.
Not completely.
But fast enough.
Shango reacted a tad too late.
A sharp strike hit his side.
The air left his lungs instantly.
His body lifted—
Then crashed into the ground.
Hard.
The pavement cracked beneath him.
Pain came this time.
Real.
Heavy.
His vision blurred for a second.
Then snapped back.
Footsteps.
Approaching.
Calm.
Unhurried.
"You can't even track me properly," the cultivator said."And you want to walk out into the world like this?"
He stopped a few steps away.
Looking down at him.
"You don't even understand what you are."
Shango forced himself up.
Slow.
Unsteady.
But standing.
"I don't need to understand," he said.
A pause.
"I just need to survive."
The cultivator tilted his head slightly.
"…Wrong answer."
He moved again.
Faster this time.
Shango pushed himself back.
Dodged—
Barely.
Another strike.
Blocked—
Badly.
The force traveled through his arm.
Straight into his chest.
He stumbled again.
Coughed.
His breath hitched.
Too slow.
Too rough.
Too exposed.
The cultivator didn't stop.
Didn't hesitate.
Another attack.
Clean.
Direct.
Shango tried to respond.
Tried to force the lightning out.
But it didn't come clean.
It burst.
Uncontrolled.
It hit the ground instead.
Exploded outward.
Cracking the street again.
The cultivator paused this time.
Not out of fear.
Out of interest.
"…Dangerous," he murmured.
Then looked back at Shango.
"But not to me."
He closed the distance again.
This time—
Shango couldn't keep up.
A strike landed.
Clean.
Precise.
Shango dropped to one knee.
His body refused to respond properly.
His muscles felt heavy.
Rage rose.
Lightning surged from his skin.
Wild.
Violent.
It struck the cultivator
and for the first time, drove him back.
This wasn't just a fight.
It was exposure.
Every weakness.
Every flaw.
Every gap.
The cultivator was thrown back by the attack.
Stunned.
Recovering.
"You have power," he said. "But no foundation."
A pause.
"No structure."
Another.
"No control."
Shango clenched his fist.
The lightning flickered again.
Weak this time.
Unstable.
"…Then teach me,"
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Silence.
The cultivator stared at him.
Then—
He laughed.
Not loud.
Not mocking.
Just—
Real.
"You're serious."
A pause.
"…You don't even understand the position you're in."
Shango didn't respond.
Didn't look away.
For a brief moment—
Something shifted in the man's expression.
Not respect.
Not yet.
But something close to it.
Then—
It disappeared.
"No," the cultivator said simply.
He raised his hand.
Energy gathered again.
Sharper.
More focused.
"This is where people like you disappear."
The air tightened.
The pressure built—
Then—
"Enough."
The voice cut through everything.
Calm.
Old.
Unshaken.
The cultivator froze.
Not in fear.
In recognition.
Another presence entered the street.
Slow.
Unhurried.
But heavy.
Not crushing—
But undeniable.
Footsteps echoed softly against the broken ground.
"Picking fights with children now?" the voice continued.
Mild.
Almost amused.
Shango lifted his head slightly.
Vision still blurred.
But he saw him.
An old man.
Simple clothes.
Nothing special.
Nothing threatening.
And yet—
Everything felt different.
The cultivator lowered his hand slowly.
His expression changed.
Not relaxed.
Careful.
"…You," he said quietly.
The old man stopped a few steps away.
Hands behind his back.
Calm.
"You've grown impatient," he said.
A pause.
Then—
"You should leave."
Silence stretched.
Tight.
Uncertain.
The cultivator looked between them.
Measured the situation.
Then—
He clicked his tongue softly.
"…Not worth it."
The pressure faded.
Just like that.
He stepped back.
Then turned.
And walked away.
No rush.
No fear.
But no longer interested.
The street fell silent again.
Shango's body gave in.
He dropped fully to the ground.
Breathing hard.
The old man stepped closer.
Stopped beside him.
Looked down.
Long.
Quiet.
"…Messy," he said.
A pause.
Then—
"But not hopeless."
Shango tried to speak.
Couldn't.
The old man crouched slightly.
Studied him more closely.
"…You're an interesting one," he added.
Another pause.
Then—
"Get up."