High above the arena, Jack was leisurely munching on a bag of crackers he'd "borrowed" from the Peng Lai kitchens. The murmur of the crowd was a pleasant, distant hum. Then, he felt it. A prickling on the back of his neck, a sharp, violent ripple in the celestial energies above. He looked up.
A blur of red, a screaming crimson comet, was tearing through the heavens, descending directly upon them.
Jack squinted, his eyes flashing gold. In the fraction of a second it took for his brain to process the threat, the comet was already upon him. He moved, a pure instinctual lurch, diving off of Zephyr. A fraction of a second later, a brilliant, Fire-Tipped Spear shot through the very space he had just occupied, its tip glowing with a heat that warped the air around it.
He was about to say something, a witty, unhinged remark, when he looked up again. What he saw was the sole of a child's foot, wreathed in fire, just centimeters away from kicking him in the face.
"Not the face!" he shouted, instinctively raising his staff to block.
The kick connected with the Ruyi Jingu Bang. It was not the kick of a child. It was the kick of a god. The impact sent Jack rocketing downward, a black and gold meteor slamming into the newly cleaned arena floor.
A loud, deafening BOOM rocked the Heart of Heaven. The crowd, the champions, and the leaders all stared in shock as a massive cloud of dust and debris erupted from the center of the colosseum. As the dust began to settle, they saw a figure standing in the bottom of a newly formed crater. Jack Hou was on both legs and one hand, his other hand holding his staff, which had a searing, red-hot dent in it from where the kick had landed, smoke pouring from the superheated metal.
Jack looked up.
A teenager, his form wreathed in a floating red sash, his feet encased in two spinning rings of pure fire, floated down. He landed gracefully on the end of his still-quivering spear.
"Nwehehehehehe," he laughed, a high, arrogant sound. "You're not much of a king now, are you?"
"Kekekeke," Jack coughed, pushing himself up straight. "And you haven't grown out of your child's body, have you, Nezha?"
Nezha's smug expression instantly turned to one of pure, childish fury. "I'M STILL GROWING!!"
"Kekekeke, sorry kid," Jack shot back, his grin returning. "But I'm a shower, not a grower."
He pointed his staff at the tip of Nezha's spear, and with a flick of his wrist, the spear began to spin violently. Nezha, unfazed, leaped from the weapon and began to run up the length of the now-horizontal, spinning staff, his fiery wheels giving him perfect traction. He launched himself into the air, aiming another devastating high kick directly at Jack's face.
But this time, Jack was ready. He parried with his own foot, his tail whipping around and slamming into the ground behind him, a third leg for a perfect, impossible balance. The impact of their kicks created a shockwave that cracked the arena floor.
This was not a spar. This was a battle.
Nezha's Universe Ring, the red sash, shot out, a silken, crimson serpent that wrapped around Jack's staff, trying to wrench it from his grip. Jack countered, letting the staff spin freely, turning Nezha's binding move into a chaotic, flailing weapon.
Nezha recalled his sash and attacked again, this time his spear a blur of motion, a hundred strikes in a single second. Jack was on the defensive, the Ruyi Jingu Bang a spinning, black and gold shield. But he was being pushed back. The raw, divine power of the Third Lotus Prince was overwhelming. This was not the arrogant, easily defeated child from his fragmented memories. This was a true god, and Jack, in his current state, was not his equal.
Nezha saw an opening. He threw one of his Wind and Fire Wheels, a spinning disc of divine flame that screamed through the air. Jack knocked it aside with his staff, but it was a feint. Nezha was already there, his spear aimed not to pierce, but to slam into Jack's chest with the force of a falling star.
Jack crossed his staff in a desperate, last-second block. The impact sent him flying backward, his body skipping across the arena floor like a stone on water before he finally skidded to a halt at the very edge of the colosseum, his body aching, his pride thoroughly, and painfully, bruised.
…
The crowd, which had been in a state of stunned confusion, now erupted into a panicked roar. The leaders in the stands were on their feet, their faces a mask of shock and awe. This was not a tournament duel. This was a battle between gods.
"Evacuate the arena!" Lei-Kung's voice boomed, a thunderclap of pure authority that cut through the chaos. "This is a battle beyond ordinary mortals!"
The ordinary citizens, the farmers and craftsmen of the Seven Cities, began to flee, a wave of panicked bodies pouring out of the colosseum exits. But the champions, the elders, and the most powerful warriors remained, their eyes wide, their gazes fixed on the impossible duel unfolding before them. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to witness true, divine combat. And amidst the stoic masters and seasoned warriors, one small, solitary figure stood his ground, his monk's robes a splash of saffron against the grey stone. Tenzin watched, his expression not of fear, but of a deep, unwavering focus.
…
Jack pushed himself up from the rubble, a low, appreciative chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Kekekeke, it's been a while since I was caught off guard like this."
He plucked several long, black hairs from his head, brought them to his mouth, and bit down, splitting each strand into a dozen smaller pieces. He then took a deep breath and blew. The black specks shot out, a cloud of chaotic energy that, in the space of a single heartbeat, coalesced into a storm of identical figures. A hundred Jack Hous now stood in the arena.
The real Jack slammed the butt of his staff into the ground. The Ruyi Jingu Bang, seemed to take root. It grew, its form twisting and expanding, and from its golden tip, a cascade of shimmering, pink peach blossom petals erupted, creating a beautiful, impossible tree in the center of the ruined arena.
Nezha looked at the spectacle, his arrogant grin faltering for a moment, replaced by a flicker of genuine annoyance. He walked over to his fallen spear, picked it up, and pointed it at Jack. "You don't even realize your clones have a problem, do you?"
Jack's hundred clones all turned their heads in unison. "And you don't even realize your double-bun hairstyle isn't in trend right now," they all said at once.
The comment clearly urked Nezha, a flash of childish fury in his eyes.
"Kekekeke," the real Jack laughed. "You're a child. Why don't you go back? What if I teach you how to use a spear the proper way?"
In a flash, one of the clones leaped into the air and, with a shimmering ripple, transformed into a perfect, identical copy of Nezha's Fire-Tipped Spear.
That was the final insult. With a roar of pure, divine rage, Nezha moved.
The battle was a symphony of beautiful, brutal chaos. Nezha was a whirlwind of fire and steel, a one-man army cutting a swath through the clones. His spear was a blur, and his Wind and Fire Wheels became deadly, flaming chakrams that he threw with impossible precision, each one slicing through a dozen clones before returning to his feet.
But Jack's army was a chaotic, unpredictable thing. The clones weren't just brawlers; they were masters of deception. Some transformed into giant, hard-shelled beetles, acting as living shields. Others became venomous snakes, striking at Nezha's ankles. A squadron of clones turned into hawks, diving from above, their talons sharp and deadly.
From the center of the arena, the Peach Blossom Tree staff began to shed its petals, a beautiful, deadly storm of razor-sharp pink and white that filled the air, forcing Nezha to constantly defend from a thousand different angles at once.
One clone got close, close enough to see the fury in Nezha's eyes. It didn't attack. It just shouted a single, ancient word: "Freeze!"
For a split second, Nezha's body locked up, the Body Freezing spell taking hold. It was all the opening Jack needed. A dozen clones swarmed him, their fists and feet a blur of motion.
But Nezha was a god. With a roar that shook the heavens, he broke the spell, a wave of pure, divine energy exploding from his body, incinerating the clones that had surrounded him. His Universe Ring, the red sash, shot out, a living, coiling serpent of crimson silk that bound and crushed another twenty clones.
He was a force of nature, a god of battle in his element. But he was one against a hundred. And the one in the center was the real threat.
The fight ended as it began: with a single, explosive moment. Nezha, his body a canvas of bruises, his breath coming in ragged gasps, unleashed everything he had left. A final, desperate attack, a spinning vortex of fire and spear and divine rage that wiped out the last of the clones in a single, brilliant, blinding flash.
The arena was silent once more. The Peach Blossom Tree was gone, the dented staff back in the hand of its master. All the clones had dispersed.
In the center of the ruined colosseum, two figures remained. Nezha, on one knee, panting, his divine armor cracked and smoking. And Jack Hou, leaning heavily on his staff, his red and gold hanfu in tatters, a thin trickle of blood running from a cut on his forehead. The battle was a draw. A brutal, exhausting, and utterly magnificent draw.
The arena was a landscape of ruin. In the center, two figures stood, bruised, battered, and bleeding.
And then, they began to laugh.
It was not a laugh of humor. It was the sound of two storms colliding, a shared, joyful madness that echoed through the silent, shocked colosseum.
"Kekekeke… KEKEKEKEKEKE!"
"Nwehehehehehe… HEHEHEHEHE!"
It was a duet of pure, unadulterated battle lust. And it was a trigger.
With a sudden, violent SNAP of displaced air, the Ruyi Jingu Bang appeared in Jack's right hand. A furnace door had been kicked open within his soul. His long, black hair erupted into a mane of fiery, impossible crimson. From the crown of his head, three long, scarlet feathers sprouted, like the crest of some primordial, war-like bird. His golden eyes were gone, replaced by twin pools of molten magma, spiderwebbed with cracks of raw, white-hot energy. With every ragged breath he took, a wisp of black smoke escaped his lips.
Nezha saw this, and his grin widened into one of pure, divine ecstasy. This was it. This was the fight he had craved.
His own form shimmered and expanded. Four new arms sprouted from his torso, not in a grotesque, fleshy tear, but in a seamless, divine unfolding. As they appeared, two new heads grew from his shoulders, one on each side, each with the same look of arrogant, joyful fury as the one in the center.
One by one, each of his six hands reached into the void of his satchel, pulling forth his true arsenal. A Demon-Slaying Sword that hummed with a demon-slaying purpose. A Demon-Binding Book that thrummed with the power of absolute law. A Fire Wheel that burned with a heat that was not of the mortal world. A Demon-Subduing Handle, heavy with the weight of divine judgment. A vibrant, deadly Hydrangea flower. And a Demon-Inlaid Knife that seemed to drink the very light from the air.
He was no longer a teen. He was a three-headed, six-armed god of war, a walking armory of divine destruction. The Third Lotus Prince, in his truest, most terrible form.
The transformation was complete. The arena, once a stage for mortal combat, was now the battleground for two raging, divine storms. The very air grew thick, superheated, crackling with the raw, untamed energy of a god and a being walking toward godhood.
The champions and masters who had remained to watch now felt a primal, instinctual fear. This was not a duel they could learn from. This was a force of nature they could only hope to survive.
"Fall back!" Lei-Kung roared, his voice barely audible over the growing din. "All of you! Now!"
One by one, the warriors retreated, their pride forgotten in the face of a power that could unmake them with a stray thought. Only Tenzin remained, a small, solitary figure in his makeshift barrier of swirling air, his gaze fixed on the impossible battle unfolding before him.
Nezha moved first. He was a vortex of destruction. His Demon-Slaying Sword slashed downward, leaving a trench of molten rock in the arena floor. His Fire Wheel shot out, a screaming disc of divine flame, while his Demon-Inlaid Knife flickered through the air, aimed for Jack's throat.
Jack met the storm with a fire of his own. He didn't just dodge the Fire Wheel; he held out a hand, and the divine flames were drawn into his palm, absorbed, consumed by the crimson, Phoenix-like energy that now wreathed his body. He parried the sword with his staff, the impact sending a shockwave that shattered a nearby spectator stand. He caught the knife between two fingers, the dark metal hissing against his superheated skin, and flicked it back at its owner.
Nezha, with his three heads, saw everything. He dodged the returned knife and unleashed his Demon-Binding Book. Chains of pure, golden light erupted from its pages, wrapping around Jack, seeking to seal his power.
But Jack was chaos incarnate. He roared, a sound that was part monkey, part phoenix, and slammed the butt of his staff into the ground. A shockwave of crimson energy exploded from the point of impact, shattering the golden chains. The Peach Blossom Tree from his earlier fight reappeared, a beautiful, deadly storm of razor-sharp petals that filled the air.
"A child's tricks!" Nezha's three voices boomed in unison. He opened his hand, and the Hydrangea flower bloomed, releasing a cloud of toxic, chi-draining pollen.
But Jack's fire was not just destructive; it was pure. He unleashed a wave of crimson flame, a purifying inferno that incinerated the pollen, the petals, and anything else in its path, creating a perfect, empty circle around the two combatants.
They were both getting tired, their divine energies beginning to wane. It was time to end it.
Nezha became a spinning lotus of death. All six arms, all six weapons, his Wind and Fire Wheels—all of it came together in a single, final, all-out attack, a screaming vortex of divine destruction aimed to obliterate everything in its path.
Jack met the attack head-on. He held his staff aloft, and his own crimson, fiery aura coalesced around it. The Ruyi Jingu Bang was no longer a staff; it was the talon of a giant, cosmic phoenix, a single, decisive strike of pure, unmaking fire.
They collided.
The impact did not create a sound. It created a silence, a moment where all noise, all light, all reality was sucked into a single, blinding point of white-hot energy. A crack appeared, not in the arena, but in the sky of the Heart of Heaven itself. The resulting explosion was a sun of red and gold that vaporized a quarter of the colosseum.
In the aftermath, as the blinding light faded, both figures were momentarily stunned, their bodies smoking, their minds reeling from the sheer, overwhelming force of their own attack.
Jack recovered a split second faster.
He moved, a blur of crimson and black. He didn't punch. He didn't strike. He grabbed the dazed, three-headed form of Nezha and, with a final, desperate roar, slammed him into the ground. The impact created a massive, spiderwebbed crater in the center of the ruined arena, the Third Lotus Prince buried at its heart.
The battle was over.
Jack stood there, his crimson hair slowly fading back to black, his body a canvas of blood and bruises. He took a single, ragged breath, then turned, grabbed Tenzin and his swirling air barrier, and leaped onto Zephyr, which had been hiding at the very edge of the pocket dimension. They shot into the sky, disappearing into the crack their battle had created.
Nezha, his extra limbs and heads receding, pushed himself up from the bottom of the crater, a roar of pure, frustrated fury on his lips. He was about to give chase, to fly after them on his Wind and Fire Wheels, when a massive, black celestial dog landed in front of him, its growl a low, rumbling warning.
"Stand down, Nezha!"
The voice was a command from the heavens. Erlang Shen floated down, his silver armor pristine, his expression a mask of cold, divine authority. From the sky above, the Four Heavenly Kings appeared, their massive, shadowy forms blotting out the suns of the seven cities, their gazes fixed on the defeated prince below.
"General," Nezha stammered, his fury instantly extinguished by the overwhelming presence of his superiors. "I was about to—"
"ENOUGH, Third Prince," Erlang's voice was a thunderclap. He landed, grabbed Nezha by the shoulder, and began to ascend, dragging the defeated god with him back to the heavens.
As they rose, Erlang's voice was a low, private murmur, heard only by Nezha.
"Good thinking, using Ao Bing as a distraction."
Nezha, though bloodied, bruised, and thoroughly defeated, kept his head held high.
**A/N**
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**A/N**