Ashura's chest rose and fell steadily. Sweat beaded along his brow, mixing with the blood of the last skirmish. The remnants of the Defender of Heavens shimmered, fading into echoes of light. Yet he could feel it—the arena had shifted again, the air thickening, the gravity of his trial pressing down.
Before him, the next stage materialized. The third version of Leios stood at the center, an embodiment of disciplined fury. His form radiated calculated authority, black hair flowing against a perfect set of movements. His eyes—like mirrors of the void itself—fixed on Ashura with an intensity that could paralyze lesser beings.
Ashura smirked. "You look… disciplined. I like that. Let's see if you can keep up."
Leios's lips curled into a faint, almost amused smile. "I am the culmination of mastery before the fall. You will not merely be tested. You will be perfected—or destroyed."
Ashura tightened his grip on Transcendent Wrath, his purple-black lightning subtly igniting along the edge of the blade. This is it. This is the moment. Every lesson, every wound, every fight has led here.
The first movement came before a word was even spoken. Leios shifted like liquid shadow, striking with a martial precision Ashura could only describe as divine. Hands and feet moved in perfect harmony, striking pressure points and angles designed to break balance. Ashura blocked, parried, and twisted away, his own sword slicing arcs of lightning as he countered. Every step, every pivot, every rotation of his hips carried weight.
360-degree awareness. Every strike, every angle, every opening—watch, feel, respond.
Leios struck again, his blade flowing in a sequence that could be mistaken for three simultaneous attacks. Ashura felt the wind compress around him, the sword threatening to tear through bone and sinew. He ducked, rolling along the side, then sprang upward, delivering a spinning slash with Transcendent Wrath that met Leios's sword mid-air. Sparks erupted, thunderclaps shaking the arena as the collision of black lightning against divine light crackled across the battlefield.
Leios didn't falter. His body rotated, flipping over Ashura in a perfect somersault, his blade striking from behind in a blur. Ashura barely deflected with the flat of his sword, feeling the impact jolt his entire frame. This is… beyond anything I've felt. His martial arts… it's like he's reading me before I move.
Ashura grinned through the strain. "Then let's give him a real show."
He unleashed a series of rapid strikes, his hands moving as much as the sword itself—fingers manipulating the blade's balance, pressure points struck mid-motion, leveraging momentum to increase force. His legs swept low, high, jumping, twisting, delivering kicks that interlaced with sword swings, a dance of pure martial precision. Each movement was a combination of offense and defense, a perfect balance of lethal grace.
Leios responded in kind, anticipating, countering, and striking back with equal fluidity. Their battle moved like a hurricane across the arena: leaps, flips, mid-air rotations, spins, blocks, counters, and thrusts. Lightning licked across Ashura's blade, arcs of purple and black colliding with Leios's aura of divine radiance. Each strike sent shockwaves outward, scattering the remnants of the previous stage like dust.
The fight was no longer just swords. It was martial mastery: elbows, knees, palm strikes, and kicks blending seamlessly with lethal slashes. Ashura twisted under a palm strike that could have broken ribs, countering with a spinning backhand kick into Leios's chest while simultaneously sweeping the blade upward in a cross slash. Leios barely staggered, responding with a double-step that closed the gap in a heartbeat, blades crossing again in a violent clash.
Ashura's mind raced. Every opening he found was fleeting—every mistake, punishable. Sweat poured, muscles burned, yet his mind remained sharp, calculating angles, reading micro-adjustments, sensing the flow of the opponent's rhythm. This is why my class… Godslayer… fits. This isn't about brute strength. It's about reading divinity, breaking mastery, surpassing it.
The battle escalated. Ashura summoned a minor Transcendent Wrath surge, black lightning surging around him, halo flickering in synchronized beats with his strikes. Each move now carried not only force but a shockwave that distorted the very air. Leios staggered, just slightly—enough for Ashura to notice, enough for him to capitalize.
With precise timing, Ashura initiated a 360-degree spinning maneuver, using the centrifugal force to deliver a series of strikes that combined martial artistry with elemental power. Leios blocked, countered, pivoted, but Ashura flowed through him—switching stances fluidly, transitioning from defensive forms to offensive, using palm strikes, sword slashes, and lightning-infused kicks in a continuous, unbroken sequence.
The clash pushed Ashura to his limits. He felt bones screaming, muscles screaming, lungs burning—but he didn't stop. Each near-death encounter honed him further. A missed block, a grazing cut—he learned, adapted, evolved mid-battle.
Finally, in a crescendo of motion, Ashura feinted left, shifted weight onto his back leg, spun his body like a pendulum, and delivered a precise strike infused with Transcendent Wrath. The black-purple lightning seared through the air, slicing a perfect line through Leios's defenses.
Leios staggered, then fell to one knee. Ashura held his sword to his throat, chest heaving, aura blazing.
"Do you yield?" Ashura asked, voice calm but unwavering.
Leios looked up, eyes meeting Ashura's. "You… have surpassed this stage. Not through mercy, but through will. You are… prepared."
Before Ashura could respond, the arena shifted. The air shimmered with temporal distortion. A timer appeared in his vision, silent yet palpable:
Time Remaining: 7 Hours, 46 Minutes, 32 Seconds
The trial continued. Ashura straightened, black halo flickering faintly above, sword crackling. He breathed in, sensing the next phase—the final confrontation, where all the lessons, all the skills, and every ounce of fury would be tested against the Nameless One in his fallen form.
This stage had pushed him further than ever. Martial mastery, swordplay, elemental manipulation, and tactical precision—all sharpened to a deadly edge. Yet he knew the true trial awaited.
Ashura smirked. "Good. I'm ready. Let's see how far this goes."