The massive stage, built for a war, now felt strangely empty. Three teams—Plant, Heavenly Water, and Thunderclap—were gone, their members either unconscious or having forfeited. Most of the Divine Wind Academy lay in a tangled, vine-wrapped heap, defeated by Zhang Tian's opening salvo.
The remaining combatants converged on the center, a ring of weary, desperate fighters surrounding a single, calm man.
It was now six against one, plus the hostage. Zhang Tian, still holding Xiao Wu pinned against him with one arm, faced them down.
His opponents were a collection of the strongest young talents in the empire: Tang San, who was struggling to his feet, shoving one of Oscar's Big Recovery Sausages into his mouth, his shoulder a bloody mess.
Dai Mubai, his golden aura flickering with rage and exhaustion. Yu Tianheng, his draconic arm crackling with unstable lightning.
Huo Wushuang, his face grim, his fire burning low. Huo Wu, her beautiful face pale with spirit power exhaustion. And Feng Xiaotian, his breathing ragged, his pride in tatters.
Zhang Tian just looked at them, a casual, almost bored expression on his face. "Is that all?" he asked, his voice carrying across the silent arena. "I was promised a challenge. This... is disappointing. You're all so weak."
His words were the final spark on a mountain of dry tinder.
"SHUT UP!" Dai Mubai roared, his voice breaking with fury. He led the charge, his pride as a prince and a warrior overriding his fear. The other four—Huo Wushuang, Huo Wu, Yu Tianheng, and Feng Xiaotian—attacked as one, a desperate, final wave of power.
Zhang Tian just laughed. Still holding Xiao Wu tightly against his chest, his left arm a band of iron around her waist, he used his free hand and his spirit. His Blood Silver Grass, infused with thunder and ice, erupted from the ground, a crimson storm answering their charge.
Feng Xiaotian was the first to reach him. "Stormwind Demon Wolf's Thirty-Six Successive Chops!" he screamed, his body becoming a spinning vortex of cyan wind blades, each chop in the sequence building on the last, designed to tear through any defense.
Zhang Tian met the attack head-on. He didn't use a spirit ability. He used his martial arts. His free right hand became a blur, a series of simple, elegant, and perfectly timed blocks.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
His palm, protected by his own spirit power, met each of the 36 wind blades. The first chop was strong. The tenth was powerful. The twentieth was a blow that could shatter steel. But his hand was a mountain, unmoving. He deflected each successive, more powerful blow with a casual, almost lazy grace.
"Is that... all?" he taunted, his hand a blur.
On the thirty-sixth and final chop, a blow carrying the full, desperate power of Feng Xiaotian, Zhang Tian didn't just block. He caught the wind blade. He clenched his fist.
CRACK!
The blade shattered. The force of the backlash, combined with his own power, sent Feng Xiaotian flying backward, his ultimate skill broken by pure, casual skill. He crashed to the ground, his spirit possession flickering, his arms numb.
"He... he caught it?" Feng Xiaotian whispered from the ground, his mind unable to process what had just happened. "With his bare hand?"
"My turn," Zhang Tian murmured.
Huo Wu and Huo Wushuang, seeing their opening, had chosen a different tactic. They didn't use their ultimate attacks, which he had already proven he could devour. They used their most basic, most fundamental abilities.
"Second Ability: Blazing Fireball!" "Second Ability: Fire Dragon's Breath!"
They believed the sheer volume and speed of their second-ring abilities, a barrage of explosive fireballs and a constant stream of draconic fire, would be too much for him to swallow so easily while holding a hostage.
Zhang Tian just scoffed at their simplistic tactic. He didn't bother with his vines. He moved.
"Thunder Hell Phantom Step."
He vanished. One moment he was there, holding Xiao Wu. The next, he was ten meters to the left, their fiery attacks exploding harmlessly on the stone where he had just been.
"He's too fast!" Huo Wu cried, her eyes wide.
Before they could even turn, he was on them. He appeared directly in front of Huo Wushuang. He didn't strike. A single, crimson vine, sharp as a spear, shot from his sleeve and pierced the dragon-man's shoulder, injecting a paralyzing jolt of thunder.
"Gaaah!" Huo Wushuang roared in pain, his arm going numb.
At the same time, another vine, this one moving like a sentient snake, wrapped around Huo Wu's waist, yanking her forward. She screamed as she was pulled off her feet, her body held tight in the crimson tendril. Zhang Tian held her there, suspended in the air, a few feet from him, her voluptuous form a second, struggling hostage.
"Let my sister go!" Huo Wushuang roared, charging, his non-paralyzed arm wreathed in flame.
"I wouldn't," Zhang Tian said, his voice a cold warning. The vine around Huo Wu's body tightened. She gasped, her face turning pale. "I am not a gentle man. If you continue to fight, she will be the first to pay the price."
While this was happening, Dai Mubai and Yu Tianheng had finally reached him, their physical assaults, a flurry of tiger claws and draconic lightning, aimed at his flanks.
But a barrage of crimson vines, erupting from the ground like a cage of spears, met their every move. The vines seemed to anticipate their attacks, blocking, parrying, and counter-attacking with a terrifying, inhuman intelligence.
"Damn it! I can't get through!" Dai Mubai roared, his claws shattering a dozen vines, only for two dozen more to take their place.
"Be careful, Princey," Zhang Tian taunted, his voice dripping with amusement as he effortlessly held Xiao Wu and Huo Wu captive while his vines toyed with the two power attackers. "You almost scratched your teammate. Tsk, tsk. So sloppy."
"Let me go!" Xiao Wu was still fighting, kicking, and biting at the arm that held her, but her strength was useless against his. "You bastard! Let me go!"
The remaining powerful spirit masters were exhausted, their spirit power draining rapidly. They were not just fighting Zhang Tian; they were fighting his endless, intelligent vines. They were terrified of hitting their own teammates. They were being completely, hopelessly outmatched.
As the remaining captains were being toyed with, Tang San finally roared. He had forced Oscar's Big Recovery Sausage down his throat, the rich, warm energy battling the lingering, parasitic power in his shoulder. He activated his Torso Spirit Bone. "Toxic Tremor!"
A shockwave, not of earth but of pure, venomous spite, erupted inward, shattering the last of the parasitic vines that were binding him from the inside. He staggered to his feet, his shoulder a bloody mess, his face pale as a sheet, but his eyes... his eyes were burning with a cold, murderous light.
"You want to play, Zhang Tian?" Tang San hissed, his voice a low, dangerous sound that promised death. "Let's play."
He didn't charge. His hands became a blur, a flurry of motion that was almost as fast as Zhang Tian's.
"Hidden Weapon: Tense Back Flower Adornment Crossbow!"
A complex, black-iron device strapped to his back unfolded with a series of sharp, metallic clicks. A cloud of sixteen long, black-fletched bolts, their tips gleaming with the dark, purple poison of his new spirit, screamed through the air, their trajectories calculated to bypass his two hostages and strike him from every conceivable angle.
At the same time, Tang San's eyes flashed with a faint, purple light. "Purple Demon Eye!" He unleashed his mental force, not as an attack, but as a subtle, disorienting probe, attempting to disrupt Zhang Tian's concentration.
Zhang Tian, still holding Xiao Wu, just smirked. The mental probe hit his mind and was instantly annihilated, like a single drop of rain hitting a blazing sun. 'His Purple Demon Eye is still at the second level? How... pathetic.'
"Slow. Predictable," he murmured. He knew every detail of this weapon from Tang San's memories.
He didn't dodge. He didn't even use his free hand. A solid, thick wall of crimson vines, woven with the speed of thought, erupted from the ground. The powerful crossbow bolts thudded uselessly against it, their purple poison sizzling harmlessly on the lightning-wreathed grass, which seemed to absorb the toxin without any ill effect.
Tang San's eyes widened. "He… he blocked it? So easily? And my poison… it did nothing?"
"Don't underestimate my hidden weapons!" Tang San roared, his pride as a Tang Sect disciple stung to the quick. His hands flashed again, a new, more intricate pattern. "Hidden Weapon: Phoenix Guides Nine Chicks!"
Nine thin, willow-leaf-shaped throwing knives, forged by the Strength Clan's elders from the finest steel, and personally balanced by Tang San himself, arced through the air. Their paths were erratic, unpredictable, like nine birds swooping on their prey. They were aimed at Zhang Tian's eyes, his throat, his heart, all designed to find the gaps between his vines and his hostages.
"Nine blades," Zhang Tian scoffed. "How quaint."
He activated his own Purple Demon Eye, his gaze a boundless, endless void. His mental force, at the fourth, Boundless level, locked onto every knife, calculating its trajectory, its velocity, its spin.
"Blood Silver Domain: Control."
Nine tiny, crimson grass tendrils, no thicker than a needle, shot from the ground. They moved faster than the knives. They intercepted each blade mid-flight, their tips wrapping around the cold steel with a quiet, final thwip.
The nine deadly knives, the pinnacle of Tang San's current throwing skill, hung uselessly in the air, a few feet from his face, suspended in a web of crimson grass.
Tang San stared, his blood running cold. His pride. His secret. His ultimate advantage from a different life… it was being dismantled, piece by piece, as if it were a child's toy.
"How… how did you do that?" he whispered, his voice trembling, his confidence shattering like glass. "My Phoenix Guides Nine Chicks… it's impossible to stop!"
"Impossible?" Zhang Tian replied, his voice a soft, pitying sound. "For you, perhaps. For me… it's just a simple matter of control."
Tang San was desperate. He saw his allies being held back by a wall of vines. He saw Xiao Wu, helpless in his enemy's arms. He saw Huo Wu, also a prisoner. He had one last chance. The ultimate weapon of the Tang Sect's outer disciples.
He pulled the heavy, black crossbow from his storage belt. The Godly Zhuge Crossbow.
"DIE!" he screamed, his voice a raw, ragged sound of pure, unadulterated fury. He aimed it, not at Zhang Tian's vitals, but at his legs, a desperate, final gambit.
He unleashed the barrage. Forty-eight armor-piercing bolts screamed through the air, a cloud of black, whistling death.
Zhang Tian, still holding Xiao Wu, finally looked bored. "This is just sad, Tang San."
He used his spirit.
"Blood Silver Domain: Iron Rain."
A cloud of crimson-gold needles, ten times as numerous as Tang San's bolts, materialized from the vines at his feet. They were not thrown; they were launched, propelled by his own, immense spirit power.
The two clouds of projectiles met in mid-air. The sound was a deafening CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!
The Godly Zhuge Crossbow bolts, forged from the finest steel, capable of piercing any defense... were met, one by one, by Zhang Tian's crimson-gold needles. The needles, imbued with the power of his Spirit King cultivation and his divine bloodline, were harder, faster, and more powerful.
They didn't just block the bolts. They shattered them.
The air was filled with a rain of black, broken metal. Tang San's ultimate weapon, his final hope, was vaporized. Turned to dust.
"NO!" Tang San screamed, his mind finally, truly breaking. His last defense, his last shred of pride, was gone.
He was no longer a strategist. He was an animal. A cornered, wounded animal.
He roared, a sound of pure, mindless fury. He activated his leg bone. "Toxic Endurance!" He activated his torso bone. "Toxic Tremor!"
But he didn't stomp the ground. In a move of pure, desperate genius, he channeled the shockwave, not into the earth, but into his own body, propelling himself forward, a living, poison-wreathed missile, aimed directly at Zhang Tian.
Zhang Tian just watched him come. He saw the desperation. He saw the fury. He saw the last, flickering embers of his rival's broken pride.
He met the charging, poison-wreathed Tang San with a single, calm, open-palmed strike.
The battle paused. The world seemed to hold its breath.
The force of the blow, a simple, elegant palm strike infused with Zhang Tian's own, immense spirit power, sent Tang San flying backwards. His spirit bones' powers were shattered. His charge was broken. His body, already wounded, was sent tumbling end over end, crashing in a broken heap at the feet of his horrified, defeated teammates.
The entire arena was silent.
Zhang Tian stood in the center of the stage. He still held Xiao Wu in the iron grip of his left arm. He still held Huo Wu, a helpless, struggling captive, in a cage of his crimson vines. He looked at the last three, trembling captains—Dai Mubai, Yu Tianheng, and Feng Xiaotian—who stood frozen, their weapons lowered, their faces a mask of pure, unadulterated terror.
The crowd, the dignitaries all watched while holding their breath. Tang San, the supposed core of the allied teams, lay in a broken heap, his ultimate hidden weapons shattered and useless. His body, though ravaged by the internal parasitic vines, was already being force-fed sausages by a terrified Oscar who had landed nearby.
Zhang Tian stood in the center of the stage, his black hammer, wreathed in crimson lightning, resting casually on his shoulder. His other arm was still a cage of iron around Xiao Wu's waist. He looked at the last three, trembling spirit masters—Dai Mubai, Yu Tianheng, and Feng Xiaotian—who stood frozen, their weapons lowered, their faces a mask of pure, unadulterated terror.
"Who's next?"
The question was not a shout. It was a casual, almost bored, inquiry. And it was the single greatest humiliation they had ever suffered.
Dai Mubai was trembling. Not with fear, but with a rage so pure it burned away his exhaustion. He looked at the weeping, helpless Xiao Wu in Zhang Tian's arm. He looked at the broken Tang San, their leader, defeated by a single, insidious trick. He looked at Huo Wu, also held captive in a cage of vines.
"He… he's toying with us," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous sound.
"He's not just toying with us, Boss Mubai," Yu Tianheng said, his draconic arm crackling with unstable, diminished lightning. "He's making a statement. He's showing us that even with one hand, even while holding two hostages, we are nothing to him."
"So what do we do?" Feng Xiaotian panted, his body aching from where he'd been slammed into the ground. "He's too fast. My Stormwind Chops… he just… he just blocked them. With his bare hand."
"Then we don't give him the chance," Dai Mubai roared. His pride, his very soul as a prince of the Star Luo Empire, would not allow him to surrender. Not like this. "We charge him. All at once. He can't block us all while holding two people. He has to have a weakness. He must."
"He's right!" Yu Tianheng agreed, his own fiery pride reignited. "He cannot fight all five of us at once. We aim for his legs, his head! We overwhelm him!"
It was a desperate, suicidal, and utterly final plan.
"FOR THE HONOR OF OUR ACADEMIES!" Dai Mubai roared, and he led the charge.
The three remaining strong spirit masters—Dai Mubai, Yu Tianheng, and Feng Xiaotian—charged as one, a final, desperate wave of power. They poured the last dregs of their spirit power into this one, final assault.
Zhang Tian just watched them come. And he sighed. It was a sound of genuine, profound boredom.
"This is just sad," he said, his voice laced with an almost pitying contempt. "This game is over. I'm bored."
He did something that shocked them all.
He released his hostages.
His arm around Xiao Wu's waist unwrapped, and he casually, almost dismissively, tossed her body towards the Shrek team's side of the field. "You're no fun anymore," he said, as she tumbled in a heap near the recovering Tang San.
At the same time, the crimson vines holding Huo Wu captive unraveled, dropping her unceremoniously to the stone stage.
"And you're unnecessary as a hostage," he added.
His hands were free.
The three charging spirit masters faltered for a fraction of a second, their minds unable to process this sudden change. He had given up his shields.
"He's arrogant!" Tang San screamed from the ground, his voice raw. "He's underestimating you! KILL HIM!"
"Enough," Zhang Tian said, his voice no longer casual, no longer bored. It was cold. It was final.
He raised both hands.
"Fifth Spirit Ring Ability: Blood Hell Thunder Cage."
The entire stage erupted.
It was not a new attack. It was the true power of the ability he had been using all along. The crimson vines that already carpeted the stage did not just rise; they exploded upwards. The entire arena became a forest of writhing, thrashing tendrils, each one as thick as a tree trunk, each one crackling with a furious, crimson-gold lightning that seemed to burn the very air.
The Devour aspect of his spirit, which had been a subtle, invisible drain, now became a visible, swirling vortex of red mist that rose from the vines, a fog of pure, siphoning power.
The stage was no longer a stage. It was a meat grinder.
Feng Xiaotian, who had taken to the air, was the first to be taken. "Stormwind—" he began to cry, trying to gain altitude.
A dozen crimson, lightning-fast vines, moving like striking cobras, shot from the ground. They were faster than his wind. They snatched him from the sky, his shriek of terror cut short as the vines cocooned him instantly, the crimson-gold thunder convulsing his body before he went limp.
"Hold the line!" Dai Mubai roared, his voice a desperate, dying echo of his former pride. "White Tiger Shield!"
"Lightning Barrier!" Yu Tianheng bellowed, standing back-to-back with his rival, a tiny island of gold and blue in a raging crimson sea.
The vines did not just attack. They swarmed. A tidal wave of crimson, crackling tendrils, each one sharp as a blade, slammed into their combined shields.
KSSSSSHHHHH!
The sound was like a thousand snakes hissing at once. Their shields, the last bastions of their power, crackled, sizzled, and then shattered like glass. The crimson vines were on them.
"My spirit power... it's… it's draining!" Yu Tianheng choked out, his eyes wide with horror as he felt his connection to his spirit being siphoned away, like water from a sieve.
"I can't… hold it…!" Dai Mubai screamed as the vines finally pinned his arms, the thunder shocking his system, his golden aura vanishing like a snuffed-out candle. They were buried, their roars cut off, their forms disappearing beneath the writhing, crimson mass.
Huo Wu and Huo Wushuang, who had been struggling to their feet after being scattered, were next. The vines rose up around them, a prison from which there was no escape. They unleashed one last, defiant burst of fire, which was instantly smothered by the crimson fog. They, too, were cocooned.
Zhang Tian looked up. His work was almost done.
High in the air, a single, terrified figure was still flying. Oscar, his face a mask of pure, abject terror, was flapping his mushroom-wings as hard as he could, trying to stay out of reach.
Zhang Tian just looked at him. "Oh, right," he said, his voice bored. "I forgot about you."
He didn't even gesture. He just thought it.
A single, massive vine, as thick as a fortress tower, erupted from the stage. It moved with a speed that defied its size, a red blur against the blue sky.
And it swatted Oscar.
The impact was not subtle. It was the casual, dismissive swat of a giant brushing away a fly. Oscar was sent tumbling, his sausage-wings failing, and he crashed hard onto the stage, where he, too, was instantly cocooned by the waiting vines.
The stage was silent.
The entire arena, all forty-two members of the allied teams, were down. They were scattered across the stage, each one a helpless, twitching, and unconscious prisoner in a crimson, lightning-wreathed cocoon.
The arena was a forest of red.
Zhang Tian stood alone in the center of his crimson forest. He brushed a non-existent piece of dust from his shoulder. He looked at the Titled Douluo referee, who was hovering at the edge of the stage, his face pale, his own hands shaking slightly.
The referee looked at the field of defeated combatants. He looked at the seven members of the Emperor Team, who were now regrouping behind Zhang Tian, looking completely unharmed, their breathing not even heavy. Zhu Zhuqing and Ning Rongrong, their own battles won, stood beside him, their expressions calm, as if they had just finished a light warm-up.
The Titled Douluo referee took a deep, shuddering breath. He raised his hand, his voice shaking just slightly as it was amplified across the silent, stunned plaza.
"All… all forty-two members of the allied academies are… unable to battle."
He paused, swallowing.
"The winner… is… the Emperor Team!"
~~
A/N: Check out my new fanfic - Doupo: Plundering the Plot with God-Tier Comprehension (A BTTH Fanfic)