Chapter 50: Two difrent worlds
The clones tore free from Liam's flesh in a grotesque spray of shadow and crimson, two nightmarish figures ripping themselves loose from his shoulders and back before vanishing like smoke toward the twin silhouettes in the distance.
The air reeked of blood and ozone.
Liam exhaled slowly, rolling his neck and shoulders in a deliberate warm-up. His face remained eerily calm, almost serene, as if preparing for a casual spar rather than a life-or-death battle. He raised his blade, the edge catching faint torchlight. "Ha… no opening," he muttered under his breath.
Then he burst forward.
His movement was pure agility, blade dragging against the stone floor with a piercing screech of sparks before slashing upward in a vicious, rising arc aimed to split the Envoy from groin to sternum. The platinum-ranked demon Envoy's eyes followed the trajectory with mild, almost paternal interest, like a scholar observing a gifted but reckless child.
With a short dagger that seemed to materialize from nowhere, he blocked the strike effortlessly. The clash rang out like a temple bell.
Liam didn't hesitate. He retracted his blade in a heartbeat, spinning into a full 360-degree rotation while unleashing a storm of continuous slashes. Steel sang against steel in a frenzied rhythm. The Envoy parried every blow, his expression shifting from faint amusement to focused seriousness.
"What the hell… this child," the Envoy whispered, genuine shock threading through his voice. In his eyes, Liam was nothing but an ant, a mere Silver rank daring to challenge a Platinum powerhouse.
Yet the boy's blade carried unnatural firmness and weight, his footwork possessed eerie precision, and every step radiated a bizarre, instinctual mastery that defied logic.
"He reminds me of the Demon God during his younger days. That same reckless hunger, that same unrefined brilliance."
The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Liam pulled back a step, but the Envoy closed the distance in a blur of motion. Liam's lips curled into a smile. He unleashed invisible waves from the depths of his mind. "Abyssal Mind."
The Envoy's eyes widened dramatically. He clutched his head for a split second, not from pain, but from raw astonishment. A mental attack? From this whelp? "Demon baby, you truly surprise me," he said aloud, voice laced with dark delight.
"No wait… why hasn't this one been reported to the Demon God? A talent like this, mental intrusion combined with such physical ferocity, should have sent ripples across the entire hierarchy. The scouts have grown sloppy, or perhaps this boy slipped through the cracks on purpose. If the God learns of him now…"
Liam leaped twice in rapid succession, melting into patches of shadow before reappearing several paces back. "Tch. Tanked it like nothing," he growled to himself. He channeled energy from his two aura points, black flame-like aura roaring to life around both palms, crackling with destructive promise. "Echo Palm Art – Third Form: Pulsing Heaven."
He struck one palm violently into the ground, turning the impact point into a living channeling conduit. Continuous bursts of echoing force rippled outward like concentric shockwaves, distorting the air. Liam launched himself back into combat, a whirlwind of flawless battle readiness and raw demonic destruction.
The Envoy met him eagerly. For every palm strike Liam delivered, each one carrying explosive pulses of black-flamed energy, the figure evaded with lazy, mocking grace. He danced just beyond reach, clearly toying with the boy while openly adoring the sheer talent on display. Dangerous. Far too dangerous for a Silver.
"This is dangerous", Liam thought, eyes narrowed, "but I can feel my opening coming." He fractured his aura into countless tiny threads, connecting himself to every shadow in the vast chamber like a spider weaving a web of darkness.
The Envoy suddenly grabbed Liam's arm in an iron grip and yanked him forward, right fist cocked to pulverize his face. Liam used the momentum to flip his body upward, evading the punch by inches, but the grip never released.
Crack.
Liam's shoulder shattered with a sickening sound. The Envoy's voice was calm, almost conversational. "I see you don't feel it."
Time seemed to slow for Liam as the Envoy's blade angled to cut him cleanly in two. In that suspended moment, Liam's mind raced without a trace of panic.
"When Zaron held me captive in that hell, I mastered my regeneration talent. I uncovered its three true stages. He drew a deep, steady breath.
Decay, the art of deteriorating an opponent's state or one's state until flesh rots and bones wither from within.
Standard regeneration, self-healing through controlled flow of aura and mana. Most constitutions with healing factors stop there. They mend wounds efficiently, but nothing more. I do not sit on that level."
A devilish grin spread across Liam's face despite the agony radiating from his ruined shoulder.
"Then there is Over-regeneration. Through an endless, gluttonous draw of world energy, my cells and bones surge with violent, explosive growth. No other constitutione healing factor could match this reckless vitality. My healing is not gentle recovery, it was brutal, insatiable rebirth. Flesh tears and rebuilt in seconds, bones snaps and reforms stronger, all fueled by a constitution that treated pain as mere fuel."
Liam explains
"Blade Sense." Another forbidden skill learned through Zaron's brutal tutelage, an art that allowed him to guide blades through infinite trajectories with pure instinct and will.
Liam sent a mental command. His loyal flying blade, Anki, blade form hummed through the air straight toward his own pinned, shattered shoulder.
The Envoy's eyes bulged in disbelief. "What the hell is he doing?"
Squelch.
Liam's arm tore completely free in a fountain of arterial blood. He twisted away by a hair's breadth, tumbling across the blood-slick floor and rolling back to his feet. "Haha… that was close," he laughed, voice hoarse but exhilarated.
Black-flamed aura surged immediately. Flesh writhed and knitted at horrifying speed. The stump pulsed as new muscle, bone, and skin bloomed outward. Within moments, the arm was regenerating fully, tendons snapping back into place with wet, audible sounds.
"The art of sacrifice," the Envoy murmured, now openly impressed and slightly disturbed. "This child is insane." He watched, transfixed, as Anki orbited Liam's head in predatory circles, ready for the next command.
From the shadowed corners and elevated galleries of the grand hall, dozens of students watched in stunned, breathless silence. Whispers began to spread like wildfire.
"Wait… it can't be!" one voice broke out sharply. "It is him, the rumored one scouted by all four Great Academies. The same monster thrown into the deepest levels of the Punishment Hall for senseless slaughter… The Blind Devil!"
A top-ranked student stumbled backward and fell onto his rear, face pale. Number Ten leaned close to his friend Yogi, ranked seventh, and muttered urgently, "Yogi… that guy is a walking calamity. I can see it plain as day. Calamity is about to rain down on every single one of us rankers."
Yogi swallowed hard, knuckles white around his weapon. "He's smiling… through all of that. Who fights like that?"
Those who held official ranks said nothing aloud.
They simply gripped their weapons tighter, eyes filled with a mix of awe, fear, and reluctant respect. Some wondered when he would challenge the rankings. Others prayed he never would.
Emily pushed frantically through the growing crowd, her heart pounding in her throat. She finally reached the front, eyes wide open as she stared at the violent ballet unfolding before her.
"Liam… every single time I see you, I wonder if you even know what peace feels like." There was no fear radiating from him,only pure, unfiltered euphoria. His body moved like a weapon forged in hell itself, smiling through shattered bones and self-inflicted amputation.
He had ripped off his own arm without hesitation, laughing as the wound began to heal violently.
"Who would ever believe a Silver rank is fighting a Platinum Envoy this fiercely?" The gap in raw strength was obvious, crushing, like an invisible mountain pressing down on her chest. She could feel it in every exchange, the Envoy holding back, yet Liam still pushing him, forcing reactions, forcing surprise.
Her heart throbbed painfully. Worry twisted inside her, but something sharper rose beneath it.
Jealousy.
No matter how hard Emily trained, how much she sacrificed, she knew she could never burn with the same brutal, fearless joy that made Liam who he was. That complete lack of care for his own body, that willingness to decapitate his own limb for a momentary advantage, it was terrifying. It was beautiful. And it made her feel small.