Chapter 204
Ali plummeted through the air, his black eyes locked onto his prey. His figure was a dark blur against the arena lights, descending at an unrelenting speed, like a missile locked onto its target.
The sheer precision of his dive sent waves of anticipation through the crowd-he wasn't just attacking; he was executing a plan with ruthless efficiency.
Sylf's heart pounded violently, but she refused to let fear dictate her next move. Her hands clenched into tight fists, the engraved wraps around her forearms glowing a fierce green as the winds around her body began to twist and spiral.
A howling vortex of cutting air gathered around her right fist, the pressure in the surrounding atmosphere shifting dramatically as she focused everything into her next strike.
Her instincts screamed at her—
If she didn't stop him now, they were both dead.
With one final breath, she launched her fist forward.
BO000OOM
A roaring blast of wind erupted from her knuckles, twisting into a deadly spinning projectile, its razor-sharp edges vibrating intensely, creating a high-pitched whistling sound as it sliced through the air toward Ali.
The moment the attack left her hand, hope flickered in her chest—
This was her strongest technique.
There was no way he could evade mid-air.
There was no way he could stop it.
She was wrong.
Ali didn't even blink.
He didn't try to dodge.
He simply raised his hand.
Ali burned through 15% of his Spirit and 'Force Push.'
BOO000000000M!
A sudden shockwave exploded outward, the sheer force of his Spirit slamming into the wind blades and reversing their direction.
Sylf's eyes went wide as she realised too late—The attack was coming back at her.
She tried to move, tried to twist her body away, but she was too slow.
CUT. CUT. CUT. CUT.
A sharp whistle sliced through the air as the wind blades tore into her flesh.
Her stretched-out arm—
Gone.
SPLASH.
Her severed limb hit the sand with a sickening thud, blood spraying into the air like a bursting fountain.
Sylf stumbled back, her remaining hand clutching at the open wound, her mind spiraling into shock.
Her vision blurred.
The pain was too much, too overwhelming, too unreal.
But that wasn't the worst of it.
She felt a strange warmth spread across her stomach-
And then, in slow motion, she saw it.
A thin red line appearing across her midsection, starting small... but then widening.
Her insides spilled out.
Her intestines, slick and wet with blood, unraveled from her open stomach, dropping into the sand in thick, coiled ropes.
Sylf gasped soundlessly, her hands frantically trying to push them back in -
But it was too late.
Her knees buckled.
Her vision darkened.
Her body collapsed.
THUD.
The crowd fell silent.
They watched in stunned disbelief as her legs twitched violently, her body going through its final spasms before the light in her eyes faded completely.
She was dead.
Executed instantly.
Her own technique turned against her.
"NO00000000!"
Lava Fist's scream of rage ripped through the stadium, his voice drowning out the gasps of the crowd.
His fists clenched so tightly, his knuckles cracked audibly. His chest heaved, his vision blurred with fury-But he didn't stop running.
He couldn't stop running. He refused to let Sylf's death be in vain. He was only meters away now, closing in on All's position-But Ali had already moved on.
Bliss had been praying the entire time, her hands clutching her prayer beads, the holy energy radiating from her body growing stronger with every second.
The brown light around her intensified, the sand beneath her floating up into the air, twisting in a whirlwind of sacred energy.
She knew what was coming.
She knew she was next.
But she wouldn't go down without a fight.
Bliss looked up into Ali's cold eyes before her and she raised her hand holding the beads…
Her fingers tightened around the beads.
Then—
She crushed them.
BO0000OOM!
A massive explosion of brown light burst from her body, the shattered beads turning into projectiles of raw divine energy, each one detonating with force as they shot outward in a wave of destruction.
The sand in front of her was obliterated.
The sheer impact of the explosion sent her allies flying backward, pushing even Lava Fist off balance.
The crowd watched in awe—
Had she done it?
Had she managed to take him out?
Then—
A large hand gripped the back of her head.
Her body froze.
Her breath hitched in her throat.
Her eyes darted wildly in panic.
Ali was behind her. Completely unscathed.
His grip was strong, unbreakable, his fingers digging into her skull like a vice.
Bliss's hands shot up instinctively, trying to pry his fingers away—But it was futile.
She was caught.
Her fingernails clawed against his skin, but she couldn't leave a mark. Lava Fist saw it happen.
He saw her desperate struggle. He saw her legs kicking uselessly in the air.
He saw the moment she realized it was over.
Then—
She stopped struggling.
Her hands fell limp at her sides.
Her legs went still.
And she..
She smiled.
It was gentle.
Almost peaceful.
Like she accepted her fate.
Ali leaned in slightly, whispering behind her ear—
"How about dying a martial artist's death?"
Then—
He let go.
Bliss dropped.
Her feet hovered briefly above the sand.
The crowd collectively held their breath.
Then—BANG.
Ali's fist connected with the back of her skull.
BO00000000000000M!
Her head exploded.
Her head exploded.
Blood sprayed into the air in a grotesque mist, the force of the punch detonating her skull like a watermelon under a sledgehammer.
Her headless body remained upright for only a second, before crumpling lifelessly onto the sand.
Ali lowered his hand, his fist completely clean.
Not a single drop of blood.
His lips curled into a smirk.
'I'm so good…'
He stepped forward, his boots stepping over the corpses of Bliss and Sylf as he advanced.
There were only three left.
Lava Fist's entire world felt as though it had come to a grinding halt. His vision blurred slightly, but not from exhaustion-it was the sight of Bliss's headless body collapsing into the sand, the way her lifeless form twitched slightly, the sheer finality of it that made everything around him seem distant, as though the fight had suddenly become a dream.
He had seen countless deaths before. He had taken lives with his own hands. He had watched his comrades fall in battle, had fought in blood-soaked arenas where death was a natural consequence of weakness.
But this—
This wasn't battle.
This wasn't a fight.
This was an execution.
And Ali, standing over the corpses of Bliss and Sylf, was the executioner.
Lava Fist clenched his fists so tightly that the engraved wraps on his hands began burning against his skin, the heat intensifying as his rage grew stronger.
His entire body trembled with fury, not just from the loss of his teammates, but from the sheer helplessness he felt in that moment. He had come into this duel thinking they had a chance, believing that if they fought together, if they played it smart, they could overwhelm Ali through numbers alone.
He now realised how utterly delusional that belief had been.
The crowd, which had erupted in wild cheers and conversation earlier, had now fallen into a heavy silence. Some players stared with wide, stunned eyes, their hands gripping the railing in front of them as they tried to process what they had just witnessed.
Others had their hands covering their mouths, their faces pale, the sheer brutality of Bliss's execution sinking into them.
Up in the stands, a young man wearing a dark brown trench coat leaned forward, his fingers gripping the seat in front of him as he whispered, "Did you see that punch?. Fuck me He made it look effortless. I've never seen anything like it."
Beside him, another player, a woman with blue hair and a scar over her cheek, swallowed hard before muttering, "I heard he just ascended from the Slum yesterday. How the hell does someone go from surviving the Slum to killing people like this? He's treating them like training dummies."
A bald, older man sitting in the row behind them let out a slow, measured breath, his hands folded over his lap as he nodded. "That wasn't just power. That was precision.
That was calculated, controlled destruction. I've seen prodigies rise through the ranks before, but this... this is different."
He turned his gaze toward the giant screen displaying Ali's calm, expressionless face, his black eyes devoid of any emotion as he casually stepped over Bliss's corpse like it was nothing more than an obstacle in his path.
"This one isn't normal," the old man muttered under his breath. "This one is a monster."
Jacob, standing with the members of the Air Guild, had barely moved throughout the entire fight.
He watched everything unfold with unwavering focus, his sharp mind dissecting every move Ali made, every decision, every shift in his stance. Unlike the others around him who were still trying to comprehend the sheer brutality of it all, Jacob wasn't disturbed.
He was fascinated.
He had known Ali was strong.
He had suspected Ali was far more powerful than most people here realised, but even he hadn't anticipated this level of absolute domination.
There had been no hesitation, no wasted movement, no unnecessary theatrics-Ali had assessed his enemies and eliminated them with swift, ruthless efficiency.
'He's not just powerful,' Jacob thought to himself, his lips pressing together. 'He's efficient. He doesn't just kill-he executes. There's no hesitation in his actions, no wasted energy. He's only using as much effort as necessary to get the job done. Also these are experienced second level players, their not bums…'
Jacob's hands tightened on the metal railing, 'If only I had power like that, I would…'
His girlfriend, Siline, had her hands clenched together as she stood beside him, her breathing uneven. Unlike Jacob, she wasn't analysing the fight-she was simply trying to comprehend the sheer cold-bloodedness of it all.
Across the arena, Celestia Thunderbloom sat with her arms crossed, her electric-blue eyes locked onto Ali's movements with a quiet intensity. Unlike the others around her who were either shocked, awed, or terrified, Celestia's expression remained unreadable, her sharp mind processing everything she had just seen.
Her guild members around her whispered amongst themselves, their voices filled with excitement and disbelief.
"Did you see that?! He killed her with a single punch!"
"This guy is insane. How the hell does someone get that strong so fast?"
"He's a monster. No hesitation. No mercy. Just pure, calculated murder."
Celestia didn't respond.
Instead, she studied Ali's movements, her mind dissecting his footwork, his speed, his reactions. She wasn't just looking at his strength-she was looking at his control.
And what she saw intrigued her.
"He's fast," she murmured, causing the girl next to her to glance over. "What?"
"Four points in speed," Celestia answered, her voice smooth but analytical. "That's how fast he is. Based on his movements, the way he evades, the way he reacts-it's at least four."
The girl beside her blinked in surprise before looking back down at the arena.
"That's impossible... He just ascended yesterday," she whispered.
Celestia's gaze remained fixed on Ali, her mind running through possibilities, calculations, estimations. His strength. It wasn't something that should belong to a newcomer.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
'Just who are you...?'
Meanwhile, at the very edge of the arena stands, a woman cloaked in black robes stood near the stairway, her raven-coloured hair flowing slightly in the arena's artificial wind. Her seductive body would make even monks lust over her
Unlike the others who were whispering in awe, unlike the ones who were afraid, fascinated, or shocked, she simply... watched.
Her dark, piercing eyes remained locked onto Ali, a faint smirk playing at the edge of her lips.
She wasn't disgusted by his ruthlessness.
She wasn't horrified by his efficiency
She wasn't intimidated by his strength.
She was entertained.
The leader of the Death Guild on the second level, Evelyn, watched with mild amusement as Ali tore through his opponents with mechanical precision, his every action effortless, brutal, and perfect.
"He belongs in the guild more than I do," she mused to herself, her smirk widening slightly.
"Paradise always delivers the best surprises."
Back in the arena Ali opened his hand, and a sleek, black handle materialized in his palm, immediately drawing the attention of the crowd. Their curiosity deepened as they noted the weapon's lack of a visible blade, but before they could ponder further, Ali pressed the button on its side-
In an instant, the handle burst into its monstrous red form, a menacing, pulsating blade that exuded a dark, lethal aura.
"A Quinque?!"
Gasps erupted throughout the arena.
Apart from Jacob, everyone was visibly shocked. A Quinque was an incredibly rare and expensive melee weapon in the market, highly durable but lacking any special enhancements like the enchanted weapons used by many fighters.
Despite this, its sheer brutality and resilience made it a coveted tool among the strongest warriors.
Yet Ali, without hesitation, stabbed the Quinque into the sand-not as a weapon, but as a simple coat rack.
He began shrugging off his Sith jacket, his movements slow, unhurried. The three martial artists watched in stunned disbelief as Ali carefully hung his jacket over the tall, monstrous sword, as though he were merely getting comfortable before a casual spar rather than an all-out battle to the death.
"This guy..." Jacob let out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head as he watched Ali's carefree display of arrogance.
The arena fell into a hushed silence as all eyes locked onto the ruthless executioner, now standing in the centre of the battlefield with only his bare fists.
Without the Sith jacket, Ali's tight black shirt clung to his sculpted frame, accentuating the chiseled musculature beneath. The defined ridges of his broad shoulders, the corded strength in his forearms, the controlled ease of his posture-he looked utterly untouchable.
No tension in his stance.
Only absolute confidence.
Up in the stands, the leader of the Martial Arts Guild on the second level sat watching the battle unfold with razor-sharp eyes, his focus unwavering.
'He's... he's got it.'
'The perfect physique.'
'The perfect technique.'
'The perfect mentality.'
'A genius.'
'An absolute genius.'
His mind raced as he analysed every movement, every choice, every action Ali had taken so far. This wasn't just the raw talent of a strong fighter-this was something far beyond that.
The Martial Arts Guild leader had dedicated his entire existence to the pursuit of martial perfection. Before arriving in Paradise, he had spent decades refining his craft, pushing his body and mind to their absolute limits.
And after arriving here, he had taken that obsession even further-training every second of every day, delaying his world transfers as long as possible to hone his body, master his techniques, and refine his abilities. He had sought out the greatest martial arts from every world he had entered, absorbing their philosophies, improving on their forms, and striving for an unparalleled level of combat mastery.
Yet even with all those years of dedication-
Even after countless fights, thousands of battles, decades of refinement-
Ali was miles ahead of him.
And he had ascended only yesterday.
His hands trembled slightly as he clasped them together, the sheer weight of realisation crashing down on him like an avalanche.
This was different.
This wasn't just talent.
This wasn't just hard work.
This was something unnatural.
Ali had displayed only a glimpse of his footwork, only a single strike, yet from just that—
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