Chapter 15: Void Serpent Form
The Arena of Ascension rang with silence—not from stillness, but from the weight of breathless anticipation. Millions of eyes locked onto the center platform, where two figures stood in eerie contrast.
Malikai Doom, half-step Core Formation. An Asura wielding a crude, two-handed axe with crimson veins running along its obsidian edge. His stance was firm but youthful, like a blade still being forged.
Virell of the Nagarajin Clan, peak Core Formation. His snakelike fingers flexed with unnatural rhythm, nails sharp like needles, eyes narrowed with cold precision. No weapon. He was the weapon.
No formal announcer. No countdown.
Just the echo of a gong.
BOOM.
Like coiled thunder, Virell shot forward.
Malikai barely raised his axe in time.
CRACK!
The first strike—a palm strike disguised as a jab—landed against the axe's haft. The weapon vibrated violently, nearly disarming Malikai.
Virell's second hand lashed out like a serpent. Slaaash!
Five claw marks tore across Malikai's side, drawing blood.
He grunted but didn't retreat, pivoting his heel and swinging the axe in a wide arc.
CLANG!
Virell's fingers met the axe's edge, scales flashing silver-blue as he parried it with his bare hand, and smiled.
"You swing like a toddler with a tantrum," he hissed.
Malikai stepped back, adjusting his grip.
Then lunged again.
Their battle began in close quarters—brutal, fast, raw.
Malikai relied on brute strength and instinct, each axe swing tearing the air with force but little precision.
Swoosh—BANG! Virell weaved around him with fluid grace, his attacks flicking like whips, aimed at joints and tendons.
One strike caught Malikai's knee.
CRACK! He staggered.
Another sliced across his cheek. Blood splattered the ring.
The audience roared.
Virell had the upper hand.
Malikai was losing.
No matter how hard he tried, Malikai was still losing—but something began to shift.
His movements no longer overextended. His axe swings began to tighten. He started feinting—awkwardly at first, then effectively.
Virell frowned.
Another exchange. This time, Malikai anticipated a sidestep and reversed his swing mid-arc.
CLANG!
It clipped Virell's shoulder.
A moment of surprise crossed the serpent's eyes.
"He's adapting…?"
The audience caught it, too. The initial jeers quieted.
Virell's blows were no longer landing cleanly. Malikai had learned to predict the rhythm of his strikes, responding with counters that came half a heartbeat earlier with every exchange.
One clash saw Malikai duck low, sweeping the axe at Virell's legs.
WHAM!
Virell jumped, but not high enough. His shin took the blow and cracked.
He hissed in pain, backflipping to recover, but Malikai was already charging.
Thirty minutes later.
Their movements became a blur. Axe and claw, strength and speed. Every exchange slammed like thunder, each step cracking the arena tiles.
Malikai bled from dozens of wounds—some shallow, some deep—but never stopped moving.
Virell bled too. His right arm hung looser now, fingers twitching at a slower speed.
The audience watched in awe. This was no longer a mismatch.
They were evenly matched now. After a couple dozen exchanges,
Malikai slipped for just a moment.
Virell seized it.
A serpent kick drove into Malikai's chest. Bones shattered. He flew backward, tumbling across the ring.
Blood sprayed from his mouth.
Virell dashed to follow up, claws gleaming, but Malikai rolled mid-air, swinging his axe from the ground.
BOOM!
The shockwave forced Virell back.
Malikai slowly stood. His wings were broken, dangling uselessly. One arm was twisted, with a bone protruding.
But his breath came steady. His gaze sharp. His wounds were already closing rapidly.
The audience gasped.
Even Virell faltered for a heartbeat.
"...What are you?" he murmured.
Two hours later,
Virell's movements were slower. Blood loss, cracked ribs, two broken fingers.
Malikai? He had no right to still be standing, let alone pressing the attack. Yet every minute, every second, he grew stronger. Not in cultivation—but in battle clarity. His body moved more fluidly, his decisions more refined.
He was absorbing the fight itself.
Virell struck low.
Malikai parried with the axe shaft—then used the rebound to slam the butt into Virell's chin.
CRACK!
The Void Serpent reeled.
The arena held its breath.
Then, silence.
They paused—just for a moment.
Malikai stood tall, body trembling. Blood dripped from his mouth. His ribs were crushed. But his muscles knit back together with freakish resilience. Bones slid beneath skin, resetting themselves.
Virell was panting, face pale.
He felt it.
Danger.
His instincts screamed.
"I… need to end this before it's too late."
He stepped back and roared.
His body erupted in a storm of qi and ancient bloodline power. Void-colored light poured from his pores. Scales tore through skin. His body stretched and cracked, limbs shifting.
A serpent coiled in the air.
Not massive—he was still in Core Formation, and his beast form was only twenty meters long. But he was majestic. A lithe, void-black serpent with silver horns, glowing pupil-less eyes, and mist-like energy coiling around his body. Translucent wings fluttered behind him, not for flight, but to manipulate the air itself.