Ashura stepped forward, the air around him thick with tension. The arena had shifted once more; the walls seemed to expand into infinity, yet cold and unyielding, like the very void of creation. Shadows danced along the walls as though the universe itself held its breath. At the far end, a figure awaited him. Not a simulation. Not a fragment. But Leios, fully awakened—the Nameless God.
The being before him radiated authority, arrogance, and divine pride. Black lightning surged along the edges of his silhouette, arcs of power that warped the very space between them. His black halo flared, large enough to cast shadows like towering obelisks. His eyes glimmered with millennia of battle, wisdom, and ruthless resolve. Every inch of his presence screamed perfection, power, and danger beyond comprehension.
Ashura gripped Transcendent Wrath, feeling the purple-black lightning pulse in resonance with the black storm surrounding his enemy. His chest rose and fell steadily. This is it. One life. One chance. If I fail, it ends here.
The Nameless One's voice echoed in the arena, deep, melodic, yet carrying a subtle malice. "So… the heir stands before me. You wish to surpass what I once was. Very well. Let us see if your resolve is as strong as your arrogance."
Ashura didn't flinch. He stepped forward. The sword hummed with anticipation. "Aiite. Let's see what you got."
With a sudden surge, he lunged, the blade cutting a streak of purple-black lightning through the air. The Nameless One met the strike almost lazily, the force of his aura deflecting it like a wall of hardened storm energy. Sparks and arcs cascaded around them, the shockwaves rattling Ashura's bones. His attack was blocked—effortlessly. He staggered back, realizing the truth immediately.
This… swords alone won't work.
Dropping the blade, Ashura planted his feet. His fists clenched, muscles taut, and his aura flared. "Alright… aiite. Let's throw hands."
The Nameless One's lips curled into a faint, prideful smile. He mirrored Ashura, stepping forward with fluidity, fists glowing with black lightning, a subtle aura of power surrounding his limbs. "So be it, child of mortals and divinity. Let us see if you can strike me without dying."
Ashura lunged. His fist collided with the Nameless One's in a burst of sparks. Shockwaves tore through the ground, sending stones into the air like hail. Ashura's mind raced, calculating angles, trajectories, and every micro-movement to avoid a fatal counter.
The Nameless One retaliated with a whirlwind of martial strikes—palms, elbows, knees, spinning kicks, and mid-air flips that twisted reality. Ashura was slammed into the wall, leaving a crater in the stone as arcs of black and purple lightning exploded around him. Pain screamed through his body. Every bone felt like it was about to shatter. He rolled, barely catching himself, then sprang into a flurry of counterattacks.
He struck fists, palms, and elbows in a seamless combination, each blow infused with Transcendent Wrath. Black lightning laced every movement, arcs converging on the Nameless One's defense. But every strike was absorbed or deflected effortlessly, like water sliding off obsidian.
Damn… I'm faster, stronger, but it's not enough. I can't rely on strength or speed alone. Ashura's mind raced. Every breath, every beat of his heart was a calculation. I have to think beyond instinct. Beyond reaction.
The Nameless One spun mid-air, delivering a crushing combo that smashed Ashura through two walls and out into a collapsed floor below. Ashura hit the rubble, scraping across jagged stone. Blood ran freely, bones rattling. He forced himself to rise, teeth gritted, aura flaring even brighter.
I can't die. Not here. Not now. Lysera… my mother… my sister… all of them. My goal. I can't afford failure.
He launched himself, fists moving faster than eyes could follow. Every strike was a calculated rhythm, using momentum, feints, and lightning-charged attacks. The Nameless One parried, countered, and slammed him repeatedly, the force so immense it shook Ashura's vision. Yet, with every blow, Ashura learned, adapted, and exploited the tiniest openings.
The Nameless One's movements were a perfect blend of martial arts and elemental mastery. Black lightning augmented each strike, every movement precise, a flawless choreography of death. Ashura was slammed into walls, tossed through ceilings, and thrown into the ground—but he refused to yield.
I can't rely on brute force. I have to read him, anticipate him… predict his perfection.
The battle raged, the air thick with the scent of ozone and burning stone. Ashura's skin was bruised, torn; his arms ached as if muscles were being shredded. He rolled under a spinning kick, countering with a punch that clipped the Nameless One's side, just enough to stagger him a fraction of a second. That was the opening he needed.
Summoning every ounce of stamina and skill, Ashura spun, delivering a full-body strike infused with Transcendent Wrath. Black and purple lightning coiled around him, arcs lancing out in every direction. The Nameless One blocked, but the force staggered him back, his perfect poise slightly disrupted.
Ashura's chest heaved, every breath labored. Almost… almost there… I need one more opening.
The Nameless One smiled faintly, prideful, yet a shadow of respect flickered in his eyes. "Clever… but only barely. Do not think this ends here."
Ashura's vision tunneled, limbs burning with pain, muscles screaming, but his mind was razor-sharp. Every near-death moment had taught him how to survive impossible attacks, anticipate the unseeable, and strike when logic and reflex alone would fail.
He feinted left, a punch that seemed weak, baiting the Nameless One into overextension. Then, with a sudden pivot and explosive release of Transcendent Wrath, he struck diagonally upward, fists and elbows combining, arcs of black and purple lightning tearing through the Nameless One's defense.
The arena shook violently. Ashura hit the ground hard but rolled to a crouch, his aura flaring, energy crackling with fury. He was bloodied, bruised, exhausted—but alive. The Nameless One paused, hands on knees, body slightly bowed—not from defeat, but as if acknowledging Ashura's skill, endurance, and unyielding resolve.
Ashura smiled faintly, teeth gritted. "Not… bad… old man… but I can do this all day."
The Nameless One laughed, a deep, resonant sound, prideful yet approving. "Hmph… you survive… but remember, this is the final stage. One mistake… and you die. Every choice… every movement… must be perfect."
Ashura rose fully, aura flaring to its maximum. Every near-death experience, every slam, every strike had pushed him beyond limits. He would not yield. He would not die. He would face the Nameless One in full force, fists, feet, and fury. And somehow, someway, he would survive.
The time in the trial continued, the arena trembling with the raw clash of godlike power versus mortal mastery tempered by divinity.
Ashura clenched his fists, black and purple lightning dancing around him, and stepped forward. "Then let's finish this… and see who truly stands."