The reddish-black atmosphere of the void began to churn, not from the Demonking's power, but from the sheer, suffocating weight of my own presence. I felt a cold, sharp clarity wash over me, a sensation of absolute superiority that trickled down from my mind into every fiber of my being. The pain in my back from his light-speed strike didn't just fade; it became irrelevant. I looked at Zaltraf, not as a threat, but as an obstacle that had overstayed its welcome.
After that, I suddenly got even more serious and I stood still.
I dropped my combat stance. My arms hung loosely at my sides, and the dark, absorbing aura I had been using to survive his onslaught dissipated into the mist. I didn't need to hide behind shadows anymore. I stood tall, my chin tilted upward, watching him with eyes that saw him for exactly what he was—a king of a dying world facing a god of a new one. My ego kept rising to the point that he doesn't hurt me anymore.
With every heartbeat, the internal sense of my own greatness expanded, hardening my skin into something far denser than divine metal. Zaltraf didn't hesitate; he saw the opening and took it. His fist, still moving with the terrifying velocity of his recent adaptation, slammed into my jaw. Then his left drove into my ribs. A spinning kick connected with my temple.
I kept tanking his attacks.
The sounds of the impacts were like hammers hitting an anvil of pure, unyielding diamond. My head didn't snap back. My ribs didn't buckle. I didn't even blink. Each blow that had previously made me fly across the dimension now landed with a dull, harmless thud. I was an immovable object, a pillar of absolute self-assurance that the Demonking could not topple. He was hitting me with the force of collapsing stars, and I felt nothing but the slight breeze of his movement.
I waited for a momentary lull in his frenzy. When it came, I didn't move fast; I moved with authority. I swung my one-blade war axe at him.
The golden blade carved a majestic, heavy arc through the crimson air. It met the translucent wall of his mana with a screech that tore through the silence of the void. And his barrier only received a single line of crack.
The fracture was tiny, a spiderweb of white light on the surface of his dark protection, but it was proof that my rising state was beginning to match his absolute defense. Zaltraf skidded back, his boots creating sparks on the invisible floor. He didn't look frustrated. Instead, he threw his head back and he laughed loudly.
The sound was booming, filling the infinite space of the Masked Man's realm. He said, "You're interesting, human."
I didn't smile. I didn't acknowledge the compliment. A god does not find interest in the words of a demon; he only finds results. I just looked at him and I threw my war axe.
As the heavy weapon left my hand, spinning like a golden saw blade through the air, I snapped my fingers. The mana in the air vibrated and it duplicated and now it's two. Two massive, one-sided war axes tore through the reddish-black mist, their edges glowing with a blinding, divine light. They struck his barrier simultaneously from opposite sides, the impact creating a shockwave that rippled the very fabric of the dimension.
The war axes only cracked his barrier.
The twin cracks joined the first, creating a jagged pattern on his defense, but the barrier held firm. With a flick of my wrist, the magnetic pull of my power took hold, and my axes flew back to me. I caught the primary hilt in my right hand while the duplicate hovered momentarily by my side.
Zaltraf stood his ground, his hands moving in a graceful, circular motion. He fixed his barrier. The cracks vanished instantly, the dark mana knitting back together until the surface was as smooth and impenetrable as a black mirror. I didn't wait for him to finish. I launched the twin axes again, pouring even more of my rising presence into the throw.
And when I threw my axes again, they did no damage.
The blades bounced off the reinforced barrier with a hollow metallic clang, falling harmlessly into the mist before returning to my hands. Zaltraf didn't move. I just looked at him and he's smirking. He was mocking me, showing me that his capacity to adapt and repair was as infinite as the void we stood in.
I smirked back.
If he wanted to see the true scale of what he was facing, I would show him. I reached into the spiritual core where my most powerful ally resided. And I summoned my spirit, my Phoenix lion hybrid spirit.
The creature erupted from my back in a pillar of celestial fire. Its lion-like mane was composed of golden flames, and its massive wings were feathered with shimmering white light that pushed back the darkness of the dimension for miles. It let out a roar that was part feline growl and part avian shriek, a sound of pure triumph. It glowed bright white, and that light infused my body, my axes, and the very air I breathed.
I dashed forward.
I was no longer a projectile; I was a comet. I swung my war axes, cracking his barrier again. The twin blades bit deep, the white-hot energy of the Phoenix Lion melting the dark mana of his defense. Zaltraf's eyes widened as the cracks spread like wildfire across his protection. He realized then that my power wasn't static—it was a rising tide that had no ceiling.
He countered with a desperation he hadn't shown before. He punched me. It was a straight, honest blow to my chest. I tanked it, feeling the pressure ripple through my muscles but staying rooted to the spot. But he adapted. Before I could swing again, he shifted his weight, his mana densifying into a singular point on his left knuckle. His second punch made me fly and my duplicated axe disappeared.
The force was so concentrated that even my hardened state couldn't fully dissipate it. I was sent skidding backward through the air, the duplicate weapon shattering into golden sparks as my concentration flickered for a microsecond. I righted myself, my boots digging into the invisible floor, and charged back in.
We traded punches making a shockwave and explosion every collision.
The fight became a brutal, high-speed exchange of raw physical might. Every time his fist met my jaw, or my fist met his shoulder, the air around us detonated. The reddish-black sky was lit up by a continuous series of white and purple explosions. I can feel his base mana is so dense. It was like hitting a wall made of compressed lead and ancient grudges. He was a fortress of energy, and every strike I landed felt like trying to punch through the center of a planet.
We kept exchanging punches.
The rhythm of the battle was hypnotic—strike, block, explode, repeat. We moved across the dimension at speeds that blurred the scenery. However, amidst the heat of our duel, my senses, heightened by the Phoenix Lion, picked up a sudden shift in the distance. A spike of dark, destructive energy was converging on a familiar signature.
I saw Sogha in danger.
The image of my friend surrounded by the ten manifestations of the Wolf of Destruction flashed in my mind. The Demonking noticed my distraction and lunged, but I was already gone. I didn't care about the duel anymore. I instantly went to him.
I moved across the void in a single, blinding flash of white light. I appeared in the center of the chaos where Sogha was struggling against the erasure beams. And I killed the wolves. With a massive, circular sweep of my war axe, I unleashed a wave of Phoenix fire that incinerated the ten spirit manifestations in a heartbeat, turning the "Wolves of Destruction" into nothing but drifting ash.
The dust of the destroyed spirits swirled around us. I'm standing beside Sogha. I didn't look at him, but I could feel his ragged breathing. I kept my eyes focused on the horizon, my war axe held ready, its blade still glowing from the slaughter. I'm looking at where Zaltraf will appear.
The air rippled. The space in front of us tore open, and the Demonking stepped through, his expression one of mild annoyance mixed with that same chilling curiosity. Zaltraf appeared and said to me that he thought we wanted zero interruptions.
He stopped a few yards away, the dark mana of his barrier shimmering as he reset his stance. I just smirked and said that I'll help my best friend no matter what.
The words were a vow, a statement of fact that outweighed any agreement we had made. Sogha was my brother-in-arms, and there was no king or demon in any dimension who could keep me from his side. Zaltraf's eyes narrowed, the playfulness in his gaze replaced by a cold, sharp edge.
Suddenly Zaltraf dashed at me and kept attacking me.
He was a blur of dark purple and black, his fists raining down on me with renewed vigor. I raised my axe, parrying his strikes while staying positioned as a shield for Sogha. The explosions resumed, the ground beneath our feet cracking and repairing itself in a frantic cycle of destruction.
We clashed again and again, the white light of my spirit meeting the dark void of his mana. The battle had evolved into something far more dangerous—a melee where the stakes were no longer just pride, but the survival of those standing behind me.
After a while, Celdrich flew to us and landed into the ground and he stood up while Tokine appeared and we get ready for a big battle,