Chapter 142: Predator Form
Lucian stood up from the rubble of the building he’d crashed into. Stone dust rolled off his shoulders. The hairline fractures in his forearms were already knitting closed, Eternal Regeneration working silently.
He brought out Aethon from his shadow storage. The runeforged blade’s inscriptions flared to life along the edge, casting faint light across the rain-slicked street.
He didn’t hesitate.
Lucian closed the distance in a single Light Step and slashed — Aethon cutting horizontally, infused with light mana. The blade hummed as it carved through the green rain.
Omar raised his hand. Blood mist coiled around his forearm, thickening, hardening into something dense and crimson. He blocked the slash — CLANG — the impact sending ripples through the mist reinforcement. Before Lucian could follow up, Omar dissolved into mist.
Blood Sense activated. Lucian tracked the signature — fast, erratic, circling right —
Omar materialized at Lucian’s right side, a dagger of compressed blood mist heading directly for his eyes.
Lucian’s free hand came up. Bam. He caught the dagger wrist.
"I see you."
He slashed outward with Aethon.
"Elipse Sword Art — First Form: Crescent Moon Slash."
The arc of mana-blade screamed toward Omar’s midsection. Omar barely dodged — leaning backward, the crescent passing inches from his chest, the wind from it tearing his shirt open. He landed on his hands and kicked upright, already forming seals.
Multiple blood mist blades materialized in the air around him — a ring of crimson edges pointed at Lucian from every direction.
Swish-swish-swish-swish.
They launched simultaneously.
Lucian raised his open hand.
The blood mist blades stopped mid-flight. Every single one of them. Lucian’s S-Rank Blood Manipulation seized control of the external blood — the mist was blood-based, which meant it was his to command.
He flicked his wrist.
The blades reversed course and rocketed back toward Omar.
Omar’s eyes widened. He dissolved into mist a fraction of a second before the blades would have shredded him. They passed through the crimson cloud and embedded themselves in the building behind before dissolving.
Omar reformed fifteen meters away. Thin cuts lined his arms and torso where a few blades had clipped him before the full dissolution. Blood welled from the wounds, then stopped as his regeneration kicked in.
He frowned.
Lucian watched him with an indifferent expression. "I’ve already seen that attack before. You think it will work against me twice."
Omar’s frown deepened into a snarl. "You—"
He dissolved again. Blood Sense tracked him — faster this time, more aggressive. Omar materialized low, sweeping a leg at Lucian’s ankles. Lucian hopped over it — tap — and brought Aethon down in a vertical slash. Omar caught the flat of the blade with both hands, blood mist reinforcing his grip, and headbutted Lucian.
Crack.
Lucian’s head snapped back. Omar’s forehead was reinforced with compressed mist — it hit like a steel beam. Lucian staggered but didn’t fall. He drove his knee upward into Omar’s stomach. Thud. Omar grunted, released the blade, and dissolved backward.
Lucian pressed forward. Light Steps — flicker-flicker — closing the gap before Omar could fully reform. Aethon stabbed forward. Omar materialized just in time to twist sideways, the blade grazing his ribs — schlik — drawing a thin line of blood.
Omar countered with a palm strike reinforced by blood mist. Lucian raised Aethon to block — CLANG — the impact rattling through his arms. Omar’s other hand formed a blade of mist and thrust at Lucian’s throat. Lucian tilted his head — the blade passed his ear — and kicked outward.
Pam.
Omar dissolved into mist before the kick landed, reappearing three meters to the left. His expression was ugly now. The casual cruelty from before was gone, replaced by genuine frustration.
"You think your little parlor trick with my mist impresses me?" Omar hissed. "I’ve been killing for a hundred years. You’re a child playing with powers you don’t understand."
Lucian rolled his wrist with a mocking smile. Aethon’s runes pulsed. "Then please show me."
Twenty meters away, the other fight was not going as well.
Wei Chen and Bruno stood back to back, both breathing harder than they should have been. Khalil circled them at a leisurely pace, his hands in his pockets, his expression bored.
Wei Chen slashed — shiiiing — a horizontal arc of sword intent aimed at Khalil’s neck. Khalil leaned backward, the blade passing over his face by millimeters, and flicked a finger. A needle of blood mist shot forward and pierced Wei Chen’s shoulder.
Thwuck.
Wei Chen grunted, staggered, but kept his footing. The wound was small but deep — the mist needle had gone clean through the muscle.
Bruno charged from behind. His fist connected with Khalil’s kidney — BOOM — and Khalil actually moved this time, sliding forward two meters from the impact. But before Bruno could follow up, Khalil’s elbow snapped backward without him looking.
CRACK.
Bruno’s nose exploded. Blood sprayed. He stumbled back, clutching his face.
"Too slow," Khalil said, still not turning around. "So fucking slow. Both of you."
Wei Chen attacked again — Celestial Severance, Second Form, a fan of seven compressed slashes. Khalil raised one hand and blood mist swirled into a small shield, absorbing every slash. The moment the last one dissipated, Khalil flicked his wrist and a whip of mist lashed out.
Crack.
It caught Wei Chen across the chest, tearing through his shirt and opening a diagonal gash. Wei Chen bit down on a yell and swung wild. Khalil ducked under it, appeared behind him, and kicked the back of his knee.
Pop.
Wei Chen dropped to one knee. Khalil’s palm pressed against the back of his head holding, demonstrating that he could end it whenever he wanted.
Bruno roared and launched a Tremor King’s Impact at Khalil’s side. Khalil released Wei Chen and dissolved, the shockwave passing through empty mist. He reformed behind Bruno and drove his knee into Bruno’s spine.
Thwack.
Bruno arched forward, gasping. Khalil spun and kicked him in the chest — bam — sending him skidding across the wet stone.
"This is disappointing," Khalil said, shaking his head. "I expected more from the tournament’s finalists."
Wei Chen pushed himself to his feet. Blood ran down his chest and shoulder. His sword arm trembled slightly from the accumulated damage. Beside him, Bruno wiped blood from his face and spat a glob of red onto the ground.
They exchanged a look.
Wei Chen nodded once.
Bruno cracked his knuckles.
Wei Chen raised his sword above his head. "Sword Spirit — Maximum Output."
The twenty-meter halo erupted behind him — bigger than it had been in the tournament, brighter, more intense. Sword intent blazed along his blade like liquid starlight, so concentrated that the air around the sword warped. His mana output spiked. His pressure skyrocketed.
Khalil’s eyebrows rose slightly. "Oh?"
Bruno planted his feet. He pressed his fists together and closed his eyes.
"Martial King Body."
His skin shifted. A metallic luster spread across his body — not armor, not a shell, but his skin itself changing, every cell compressing, hardening, taking on the properties of refined metal. His muscles didn’t bulge — they densified, becoming compact, concentrated, each fiber carrying exponentially more mass than before. When he opened his eyes, they gleamed like polished steel.
Khalil looked between them. Then he laughed.
"Now this is getting fun!"
Wei Chen attacked first — shiiiing — his blade a streak of light and intent, moving faster and harder than before with the Sword Spirit’s full amplification behind it. Khalil raised both arms and blood mist surged outward, wrapping around his body in thick layers.
The mist didn’t just coat him. It formed — shaping itself into armor that clung to his frame, crimson plates interlocking over his shoulders, chest, arms, and legs. Beneath the armor, his muscles bulged.
Khalil’s eyes burned brighter. His fangs extended.
"Predator Form."
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