Chapter 93: Beast vs Water Again

The air within Elder Kong's meditation chamber was thick with anticipation. The chamber, once a sanctuary of serenity, now pulsed with ominous energy. Intricate sigils etched into the stone walls glowed with a cerulean hue, casting dancing reflections upon the polished floor. At its center, a vast water elemental formation churned—a vortex of liquid power, its depths concealing ancient secrets and formidable strength.

Han stepped into the chamber, his presence disrupting the delicate balance. The pendant around his neck shimmered, reacting to the potent energies that surrounded him. His eyes, once filled with youthful curiosity, now burned with unrelenting resolve.

"Elder Kong," Han's voice echoed, steel beneath the words.

Han raised his hand, summoning a barrier of Demonic Qi that rippled outward. It sealed the chamber, trapping them within.

"Kai won't be coming," Han said. "This is between us."

The elder, seated in deep meditation, opened his eyes slowly. They bore into Han's soul—measuring, probing, perhaps even mourning.

"You've returned," Kong said at last, his tone a blend of sorrow and grim preparedness. "I had hoped you would choose a different path."

Han smirked, the expression cold and hollow. "Hope is for those who believe in mercy."

The water formation stirred, coils of liquid power rising into the air, twisting like serpents. The temperature dropped. Mist rolled across the floor like fog on a battlefield.

"I knew you would return to finish what you started," Elder Kong said, his voice calm but edged with steel. "After your last intrusion, I wove this formation knowing that this confrontation was inevitable."

"There's still time, Han Long," Kong declared. "You can walk away from this, repent and return to the way of the light."

Han's laugh rang sharp through the chamber, as cutting as a blade. "Repentance? Light?" His eyes glowed with a dark fire. "All that matters is power!"

The chamber vibrated as the water formation came alive.

Dozens of glyphs along the walls pulsed and locked into place, and the floor beneath Han's feet liquefied, rippling with unnatural clarity. The room became a kaleidoscope of reflective illusions—mirror-images of Elder Kong and Han flickering from every direction. A whispering tide of voices echoed, designed to fracture the mind and break focus.

Then the pressure came.

Invisible at first—a tightening in the chest, a subtle weight on the limbs. But it grew. Within seconds, Han felt as if he stood beneath the crushing depths of an ocean. The pressure wrapped around him like an iron coffin. Breathing became a conscious effort. Every heartbeat felt like it might be his last.

The formation wasn't built merely for combat.

It was a mental siege.

Kong's voice resonated through the chamber. "You wield power without understanding. But this formation is not a mere trick. It was crafted to break even peak ascendants."

Jets of water struck like blades. Tidal waves twisted through the chamber, seeking to batter, drown, and disorient. Han countered with slashes of chaotic Qi, but for every stream he shattered, another surged. The water was everywhere—beneath his feet, in the air, behind his back. And with it came illusions—visions of people he once knew, moments of past weakness.

He staggered once, knees dipping.

But then the pendant flared, and Han roared—a sound like a beast untethered.

"Enough."

He dropped his stance, let the pressure descend—and absorbed it. His Bestial Chaos Qi twisted around him, a whirlpool of shadow and fury. The demonic aura pulsed, devouring the surrounding energy. His body expanded slightly with each breath, monstrous and unyielding.

He slammed his palm to the floor. Black cracks webbed outward, swallowing the sigils in shadow.

"You built this formation to drown weakness." His eyes glowed with madness and purpose. "I am beyond drowning. I am the tide!"

The formation shuddered.

Water crashed from the ceiling like collapsing heavens, but Han's demonic aura spiraled upward in a reverse vortex, cutting a path. One by one, the elemental glyphs flickered out, the core structure collapsing under the weight of Han's corrupted energy.

With a final scream, Han clenched his fists—and the formation imploded, water boiling into steam, sigils unraveling in flashes of dying light.

Silence.

His clothes were soaked, his face lined with pain, but his eyes held the clarity of a master unbroken.

Elder Kong stepped forward, undeterred. "What have you become?"

"What I was meant to be," Han replied, stepping forward. With each step, the floor beneath him groaned and splintered.

"You've grown powerful, Han. But this is not power born of cultivation. It's rot. It's hunger."

Han didn't speak. He raised his arms—and the dragon tattoos on his forearms lit up, blazing crimson. A spectral cloak of flame and scales enveloped him, coiling like a living wyrm.

Kong's eyes widened slightly. "That technique… I've seen it before..."

Han charged.

They collided mid-air—Kong's water Qi energy meeting Han's clawed hand wrapped in black Qi and dragon flame. The chamber shook. Kong spun and redirected with a sweep, sending a spiraling whip of compressed water toward Han's ribs. It connected—but Han didn't stagger. He used the momentum to hurl himself forward, slashing through with a barrage of jagged, demonic claws infused with the glowing aura of the Dragon Cloak.

Water spears formed and shattered. Mist coiled and crystalized into defensive plates around Kong's arms, but Han broke them one by one. His Chaos Qi was too wild, too deep—rooted not in technique but instinct and rage. The Dragon Cloak amplified every blow, every movement imbued with explosive, draconic force.

A clawed strike caught Kong across the chest. Blood spattered the stone. He dropped to one knee.

Han loomed above him, the spectral dragon swirling behind his shoulders like a wrathful god.