Chapter 29 - The Real Fight

The Komodo dragon's obsidian-like scales glisten beneath the dappled sunlight filtering through the dense canopy. Each slow sweep of its thick tail sends loose dirt scattering, a deliberate, measured motion. This is patience—confidence—the silent understanding of a predator that has survived countless battles.

A forked tongue flicks out, tasting the air, gauging the shift in De-Reece's stance.

Weeks of refining qi control, tempering the body, and sharpening techniques had led to this moment. But this opponent, this battle, is unlike any before. The beast before him is no mindless monster—it is a survivor, tempered by time and bloodshed, its instincts honed to a razor's edge. And it has yet to reveal its true strength.

The instant a step forward is taken, the Komodo responds. A surge of natural qi floods its monstrous form, wrapping it in an undulating shield. The translucent blue shimmer coats its body like liquid armor, not cultivated, but forged through sheer survival.

Narrowed eyes study the barrier, tracing its density, measuring its resilience. So this is the secret to its dominance.

Pain lingers beneath the surface, ribs groaning, shoulder throbbing. None of it matters. The path forward does not allow retreat.

At the edge of the clearing, Solar remains still, violet eyes locked onto the confrontation. Her claws flex against the earth, body tense, every fiber of her being screaming for action. A single glance from De halts her, a silent command passing through the bond they share.

"Stay back."

No hesitation in that tone. Not a request—an order.

Fangs flash in a silent protest, but she does not move. Not yet.

Fingers tighten around the hilt of the Cheon Ma Sin Gun's sword. The long, black blade—heavier now, as if recognizing the weight of the coming battle—vibrates with anticipation. The faint purple inscriptions along its edge pulse in time with his heartbeat, feeding off the rising tide of energy.

Fine. If this beast has turned itself into a fortress, then he will carve through its walls.

A deep breath draws qi into his core, igniting the storm that has been building beneath his skin. The Domineering Demon Sword Style is not merely a technique—it is presence, it is force, it is the promise of destruction.

The ground trembles beneath his feet.

And then—he moves.

The blade roars to life.

Fire. Wind. Lightning.

A violent symphony erupts from the weapon's core, elements intertwining in a perfect storm of raw devastation. When the blade swings, it is not just steel that cuts—it is power. A crescent arc of destruction hurtles toward the beast, the very air igniting in its wake.

The Komodo reacts instantly.

A coiled body braces, reinforcing the qi barrier as the attack crashes against it. The impact sends a shockwave through the clearing—lightning crackling against the translucent armor, fire licking at unyielding scales, wind tearing through the surrounding foliage.

The ground splits. The forest shudders.

And yet, as the dust settles, the beast still stands.

A guttural growl rumbles deep in its chest. Reptilian eyes gleam with newfound understanding.

It knows now.

This is not prey.

This is a predator.

And with that realization, the battle truly begins.

Residual energy lingers in the air, scorched earth and fractured ground marking the battlefield. Each breath burns, ribs screaming in protest, but the grip on the sword does not waver.

The Komodo stands injured, but far from defeated. The once-impenetrable qi shield flickers, hairline fractures running along its surface where elemental force has struck true. Yet, even wounded, the threat remains.

This is not a fight won through brute strength alone.

It is a strategist's duel—a battle of precision, endurance, and control.

The beast shifts.

A tension ripples through its frame.

Then—it lunges.

A monstrous burst of power propels the massive form forward, a force so overwhelming it blots out the sky.

De remains still.

A single breath. A single moment.

Then—Shadow Phantom Steps.

The air flickers where he once stood, the Komodo's claws slicing through nothing but empty space. Before the creature can react, the blade has already descended.

A strike. Precise. Ruthless.

Steel carves through the weakened shield, sinking deep into the beast's hind leg. A spray of blood follows, dark crimson staining the earth.

A normal creature would stagger.

But this is no normal creature.

It uses the pain.

A monstrous tail whips around, a blur of sheer force hurtling toward its attacker.

Too fast.

Impact.

The blow lands with crushing power, ribs caving beneath the force. The world spins, vision blurs, and the body is airborne—flung like a broken doll before colliding with unyielding bark.

A crack splits the silence.

Pain detonates through every nerve.

Something is broken. Maybe the ribs. Maybe more.

A cough rattles from his throat, crimson spattering the dirt. Yet, as the beast stalks forward, dragging its wounded leg, its predatory gaze locked on its fallen opponent—

He moves.

Slowly. Painfully.

But he moves.

The weight of exhaustion presses down like a vice, limbs screaming for reprieve. The right shoulder hangs awkwardly—dislocated—but there is no time for hesitation.

A sharp breath.

Then—a vicious, unforgiving jerk.

A sickening pop follows as the joint snaps back into place. White-hot agony surges through his body, but it is fleeting. Pain is irrelevant.

The Komodo watches.

A test.

Will he rise?

A step forward.

Solar remains motionless at the edge of the battlefield, her own pain echoing through their bond. She feels every pulse of agony coursing through him.

But she does not move.

Because she understands.

This is his fight.

The sword lifts once more, but this time, there is no wild explosion of elements.

Only precision.

Efficiency.

The beast lunges. The venom-coated maw snaps forward, fangs gleaming with deadly intent.

De ducks.

A fluid shift—blade slicing through the front leg's tendon.

A critical wound.

The beast stumbles.

But the tail retaliates—a final, desperate attack.

Instead of dodging, the force is redirected.

The sword angles perfectly, dispersing the energy across his stance. Feet skid back—but he holds firm.

A final strike.

The sword cuts deep into the left flank, shearing through muscle and bone.

The beast shudders.

It knows.

This is the end.

A primal energy erupts—its last gamble. The collapsing qi shield detonates outward.

A violent blast.

The shockwave sends him hurtling backward, body skidding across the charred battlefield.

His limbs protest.

His qi flickers, dangerously low.

But he rises.

He always rises.

The beast sways.

And then—it falls.

A tremor runs through the clearing as the massive form crashes to the ground, dust rising in the silence.

It is over.

Breath heaves in heavy, ragged gasps. The fingers gripping the sword tremble from exhaustion.

But he has won.

Not through overwhelming strength.

Not through reckless force.

But through resolve.

Solar approaches, golden-violet eyes scanning the battered form before her. A huff escapes—part exasperation, part reluctant admiration.

De chuckles, though it hurts.

"…Yeah," he mutters, wiping blood from his lip. "I know."

The blade lifts one last time.

A final, merciful stroke to the heart.

The Komodo dragon exhales its last breath.

And with it, a surge of raw, unrefined qi floods into De's body.

Power.

Strength.

A predator's essence.

This time—he claims it as his own.