He stumbled, legs shaky, and forced himself upright
His voice was raw. "Level one fight, my ass..."
A grim smile cracked across his lips.
"This is a fucking raid boss."
That saber was no ordinary weapon. Lucian’s body was a fortress. His arms — six weapons. Each movement, unpredictable.
And Dirga? He’d just unlocked his concept. He’d barely scratched the surface of his own power.
Hand-to-hand was suicide.
He looked at the broken battlefield — shattered spears, bent swords, shards of steel and debris.
He had something Lucian didn’t.
If Lucian had six arms... Dirga would fight with six weapons.
He gritted his teeth.
"Six at once," he whispered. "I can do it. I have to."
Of her pale face in that hospital bed.
Of the quiet promise he whispered over her unconscious form.
Lucian fought for vengeance.
Dirga fought for love.
This wasn’t just a battle of power.
It was a war of conviction.
And only one would be left standing.
The weapons around Dirga began to tremble.
Swords. Daggers. Pipes. Broken rebar. Shattered metal from dead Lucians. All of them floated, gleaming in the blood-soaked air.
The six weapons shot forward—spinning death aimed at Lucian’s monstrous new form.
He tried to dodge—too late.
Dirga closed the gap, sprinting low like a panther. His fist pulled back, a center of gravity forming in his knuckles.
His punch connected—Lucian’s torso snapped back with a crunch, thrown like a ragdoll into a wall of shattered debris.
The six airborne weapons whistled through the air like kamikaze missiles, raining down upon the red-skinned giant.
The explosion of steel and flesh filled the air with smoke and debris. Dust curled like fire.
Three blades embedded in him.
Blood soaking the floor.
Lucian grinned, his jaw hanging wide.
He tore the weapons from his body—flesh burning closed behind them. His wounds hissed as they sealed.
Six more swords appeared—identical sabers with serpent handles, one for each of his six arms.
Dirga’s eyes narrowed. His chest rising and falling.
He reached out with his mind. Six more weapons floated from the dead.
The air felt heavy—like gravity thickened.
They both launched at once.
A shockwave exploded in the center of the room as man and monster collided.
Blades clashed with blades. Sparks lit the dark.
Dirga dodged slashes that could cut steel, his mind juggling six weapons like puppets on strings.
Lucian roared, slashing with wild savagery, uncaring of pain, trading flesh for blood, strikes for death.
A blade scraped his shoulder.
He punched Lucian’s ribs.
Lucian swung an overhead strike—
Dirga’s weapon intercepted.
Dirga bled from a dozen cuts. But Lucian—Lucian was madness incarnate. His body refused to die. Regenerating. Burning. Bleeding again.
"He’ll keep going until I stop his heart."
Dirga gritted his teeth.
This wouldn’t end in attrition.
This needed one blow.
He stepped back. Reached deeper. Ten weapons lifted behind him, orbiting like moons.
Lucian charged, snarling like a beast. His eyes were blood. His six blades howled.
"Punch Style: Collapsing One Point."
Dirga didn’t scream it. He whispered it like a prayer.
Gravitational center—shifted to his fist.
Lucian flew toward him—dragged by an invisible force.
"Asura Style: One Sword."
All six of Lucian’s weapons merged into one massive saber, blazing red.
Flames poured from the blade like liquid fire. The steel hummed with hatred.
Dirga’s fist surged forward. Telekinesis compressed into his knuckles. The gravitational pulse howled.
Lucian twisted midair. An awkward arc, his head dropping downward—
And from that distorted pose, he swung the flaming sword.
He couldn’t stop the punch—his body would break from recoil.
He couldn’t dodge—Lucian was already mid-swing.
Dirga threw his right leg into the sword’s path, twisting his body just enough to let his punch continue.
The blade sliced clean through his thigh. Heat singed muscle. Burned nerves. Blood burst in a red arc.
An explosion louder than thunder.
The space around them shattered.
Air folded. Concrete cracked. Windows vaporized.
Lucian’s head imploded.
Half his body was gone—ripped apart by the force of a dying star.
Dirga’s punch carved a crater into the earth.
Lucian’s remains were caught in the aftershock—pulled inward by gravitational collapse.
A micro-black hole formed, swallowing his remains.
It detonated outward in a final, devastating quake.
Dirga fell to one knee.
Blood poured from the stump where his leg had been.
His right arm hung limp, shattered, crushed by recoil.
His body was drenched in blood—his own and Lucian’s.
His wounds—burned. Searing pain. But no more bleeding.
The power had sealed them shut.
Dirga looked up, his vision swimming.
The air smelled of ash and iron.
"Naya... I’m still here."
In the silence, a figure stepped from the shadows.
"Now that’s the kind of hell I like to see."
A devil had just witnessed a star being born.