BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
Lightning strikes rained down relentlessly, a divine punishment of pure energy that forced Leon into a constant, desperate dance of evasion. He couldn't pause for more than half a second before another earth-shattering strike would land precisely where he had just been. A single, clean hit from any one of them would be enough to decide the outcome of the duel, overloading his defenses and ending the fight.
Even as his body moved on pure instinct, Leon's mind raced, frantically searching for a solution in the heart of the storm.
Should I use the Skeleton Shadow? Create a decoy?
No... no, that won't work. The basic version forms quickly, but it's too fragile—it would disintegrate instantly against the purity of these lightning strikes, giving me no time to capitalize.
If I upgrade it to the intermediate, more substantial form, it'll take at least three seconds to prepare... but in here, two seconds of stillness is more than enough for this lightning to turn me to ash.
"Damn it," Leon muttered under his breath, the ozone thick in his lungs. "I've never thought lightning magic could be this troublesome before!" He, the master of overwhelming force, was being bested by precision and layered strategy.
Trapped and with no visible way out, Leon was beginning to understand, with chilling clarity, the helplessness those dragon kings he had once slain must have felt in their final moments facing him.
From a safe distance, Odin watched calmly, his hands crossed over his chest, his expression stern and unreadable.
Victory was within his grasp, yet Odin felt no joy, no thrill of conquest.
"Is this all you've got, Leon?" he muttered to himself, the words lost in the thunder. If that were the case, then the fight was turning into a disappointment, a squandered potential.
Still, Odin wasn't one to draw things out unnecessarily or to humiliate a worthy opponent. Slowly, solemnly, he raised his hand, spreading his fingers wide as if grasping the very fabric of the sky.
As his immense power surged, a glowing sphere of condensed, white lightning began to form and rotate above the dual magic circles, crackling with the promise of absolute finality.
"This move will put an end to it," Odin said softly, a note of regret in his voice.
The sphere grew larger and larger, its energy so intense, so fundamentally powerful, that its waves began to seep through the boundaries of the specially created independent space. The very air in the observation decks hummed with a palpable, terrifying pressure.
"This is insane! Isn't their duel supposed to be happening in a space specially created by the Tower Master? How can the energy waves still seep out?" a young dragon noble exclaimed, his voice trembling.
"That's... that's World-Crushing Thunderstorm. The last time I heard about this spell, it was in a historical grimoire my great-grandfather used to study from!" another whispered in awe.
Ultra-S Grade Lightning Magic: World-Crushing Thunderstorm.
In the highest level of the Twilight Tower, the Tower Master herself sighed deeply, a rare show of emotion as she closed her eyes.
"If Leon can't escape this, and Odin is actually using that move, then the outcome of this battle... is already clear." Her voice was a soft echo of finality.
The dragon kings in the observation room had fallen into a profound silence. They weren't uninterested in the duel—they were captivated. But they knew what was coming. Instead of speculation, they focused on appreciating the sheer, terrible artistry of one of the highest forms of lightning magic ever conceived.
"World-Crushing Thunderstorm," one of the older dragon kings murmured, his eyes wide with reverence. "I never thought I'd live to see a dragon wield that spell in this day and age. It's a requiem."
Inside Noah's consciousness, the Ancestor's voice echoed, grim and solemn.
"That spell... it's ancient. A relic from the primordial era of Tiamat, the Dragon God. It's power in its purest, most devastating form. Even at my peak, in my original body, I couldn't have taken it head-on and survived."
Her words were calm but held the weight of millennia, a grim reminder of the spell's absolute lethality.
Noah clenched her fists, her knuckles white, biting her lip hard enough to draw a drop of blood. She stared at the recording stone, her entire being pouring into a silent, desperate prayer for her father.
"Your father is strong, Noah," the Ancestor continued, her tone softening slightly. "But this time, his situation is dire. Trapped in the Lightning Prison, there's no way to avoid it. If this were a fight to the death, your father would—"
"But it's not over yet," Noah interrupted, her voice steady but strained with immense effort. She would not accept that conclusion.
She took a deep, shuddering breath and exhaled slowly, forcing calm into her spirit.
"My dad always says, 'Until the very last moment, until the final breath is gone, no one knows how it'll end.'"
Her words weren't grand or elaborate, just a simple, fierce statement of belief in the man who had defied death and fate for them.
The Ancestor, sensing the ironclad determination in Noah's tone, didn't argue. She simply remained a quiet, supportive presence, watching the battle unfold alongside her host.
Within the independent space, the massive purple-white lightning sphere began its slow, inevitable descent, heading straight for the center of the Lightning Prison where Leon was contained.
There was no escape. No room for evasion.
The light it radiated was apocalyptic, illuminating Leon's determined face and the confines of his prison with an inescapable, terrifying glow. It was the kind of power that could tear through dimensions—a force that could only be met head-on, if one had the means.
As the blinding purple light neared, washing over him, Leon's vision blurred. For a brief, transcendent moment, he felt a powerful, unfamiliar energy sweep over his consciousness, not from outside, but from a place deep within.
Outside the battlefield, murmurs of pity and acceptance rippled through the crowd of dragon kings and spectators.
"Has Leon lost?"
The atmosphere was heavy with the scent of defeat, and even Odin's posture, his hands lowering, suggested that the fight was nearing its merciful end.
Yet, in the Twilight Tower's observation room, Constantine stood frozen, his expression uncharacteristically grim as he stared intently at the recording stone.
"Leon..." he muttered, the name a low growl of disbelief.
Beside him, his recently healed daughter Heifi tugged at his sleeve, her voice small and timid.
"Father... Uncle Leon, is he really... defeated?"
Constantine didn't answer. For the first time, the usually stoic and arrogant Crimson Flame Dragon King looked utterly uncertain, unwilling to voice the possibility of Leon's loss.
The recording stone flared with a blinding, all-consuming white light, forcing everyone to shield their eyes or look away.
When the light finally faded, the screen showed a deep, smoldering crater left by the impact of Odin's cataclysmic spell.
And at its very center, a figure stood tall, unbroken.
Leon's clothes had been burned away to ash, revealing his powerfully muscular frame, which now radiated a soft, ethereal white glow, like an armor of pure light forged from his very soul.
His black hair flowed in an unseen wind, and his deep, calm eyes reflected a tranquility as still and profound as the deepest ocean. There was no anger, no strain, only focused serenity.
"White energy... is that primordial power?" Noah whispered, her voice trembling with hope and confusion.
"No," the Ancestor replied, her tone one of sheer, reverent astonishment. "That's not primordial energy. If Odin's World-Crushing Thunderstorm was a testament to the peak of ancient, elemental magic, then this... this is something else entirely. This is a miracle."
The Ancestor's voice grew quieter, filled with an awe she had not felt in eons. "I spent millennia seeking this kind of power, this state of being, but I never even scratched the surface. It's something beyond this world, beyond all conventional magic. It is perception itself made manifest."
She paused, feeling Noah's soaring hope. "Noah, you were right. Until the very end... no one can predict the outcome."
In the observation room, the dragon kings stared at the recording stone in stunned, disbelieving silence.
The sight of Leon, standing amid the ruins glowing with a forbidden, brilliant light, left them utterly speechless. Even Rossweise, who had been trembling moments ago, now held her breath as she gazed at the screen, her amethyst eyes wide with a mixture of shock, pride, and overwhelming relief.
Leon stood like a god reborn, unmoving yet commanding absolute awe.
One of the elder dragon kings, Morgan, finally broke the silence, his voice a dry croak.
"Heh... that technique... that state... it couldn't be—"
His voice faltered, unable to finish the thought, the words too monumental to speak.
Just then, a soft, melodic, and confident voice echoed through the tense room.
"It is exactly what you think."
The dragon kings turned in unison to see a blue-haired woman standing at the entrance, her serene smile radiating absolute confidence and knowledge. It was the Tower Master's chief attendant, a being of great age and wisdom.
"Supersensory," she said, enunciating each syllable with deliberate, world-changing clarity. "The state beyond perception. Ultra Sense."