The silence in the Grand Arena was a physical thing, a heavy blanket that smothered all sound. Xue Feng stood alone, watching the unbreakable wall he had failed to breach now advance upon him. His team was gone. His strategy had failed. His pride, the very foundation of his being, was a shattered ruin. Across from him, the "heretic," the "anomaly," walked with a slow, deliberate pace, each step a drumbeat marking the end of Xue Feng's reign.
A crimson aura, no longer faint but a palpable, swirling cloak of energy, radiated from Bu He. It was the energy Xue Feng had just fed him, refined in the crucible of his strange body and now aimed back at its source.
"This... is impossible," Xue Feng whispered to himself. "The body is a vessel, a shell for Qi. It cannot withstand such power on its own."
But the truth was walking toward him, and it was undeniable. Bu He was no longer just a rival. He was a living refutation of Xue Feng's entire worldview, a heresy made flesh.
"Is it over, Golden Lion?" Bu He's voice was calm, but it carried the deep, humming resonance of his Blood Core. "Was that the extent of Heaven's grace?"
That final taunt shattered the last vestiges of Xue Feng's control. Fear was replaced by a final, desperate surge of pride. He would not be defeated by this... this filth.
"IT IS NOT OVER!" he roared, his voice filled with the fury of a dying star. "I will show you and this entire world that your path of mud and pain is nothing before the glory of the Heavens!"
He began to gather every last wisp of his golden Qi, pulling it from his meridians, his Dantian, his very soul for one final, all-or-nothing gamble. His aura exploded, for a moment outshining the sun itself.
"Golden Lion's Soul-Shattering Fang!"
He thrust his fist forward, and all of that pure, refined Qi condensed into the form of a massive, translucent lion's head. The lion roared, a sound that shook the very spirit, and launched itself directly at Bu He. This was not a physical attack; it was a spiritual one, an assault of pure will and energy designed to annihilate the soul.
The crowd drew back in terror. Elder Bao's face was white as a sheet.
But Bu He, facing this absolute destruction, did something unexpected. He smiled. A pained, bloody, yet triumphant smile.
Because in that moment, he understood that his opponent was offering him the greatest gift of all. The final, purest fuel for his Dark Ascension.
"Come, then!" he yelled, running towards the oncoming lion's head.
He did not defend. He dove into it.
The explosion of golden light consumed the arena. For a moment, everyone believed Bu He had been vaporized. Xue Feng, having spent his last ounce of power, collapsed to his knees, panting, a victorious sneer on his face.
But then, something went wrong within the heart of the golden storm. The light flickered, and it began to be absorbed, drawn inward as if into a vortex, a black hole of hunger.
When the light faded, the sight was unbelievable.
Bu He was standing in the very same spot. His robes were shredded, revealing the forged muscles beneath. His body was covered in a network of fine, crimson veins that pulsed with an inner, incandescent light. The white lock of his hair was stark against his forehead. But the most terrifying part was his eyes. They were no longer human. They were two solid, pulsing orbs of crimson ember.
His Blood Core, after that magnificent feast, had reached the peak of its power.
"My turn," Bu He's voice whispered, but it no longer seemed to belong to him. It was deeper, more primal.
Xue Feng, completely spent and defenseless, looked up in absolute horror.
With a Traceless Burst, Bu He appeared before him. He used no fancy technique. He performed no complex move. He simply focused all the pain, all the humiliation, all the power he had absorbed into a single point.
He raised his fist.
And brought it down.
The fist struck the gleaming golden emblem on Xue Feng's chest. There was no Qi. There was no Leyna flare. There was only the weight of a mountain, pure, condensed physical force forged from agony.
THUD.
The sound was not an explosion, but a heavy, final impact, like a smith's hammer striking a finishing blow.
The last remnants of the golden aura around Xue Feng shattered like glass. A spray of blood erupted from his lips as his eyes widened in shock. His body was thrown backward like a puppet with its strings cut, flying across the entire length of the arena to land in a crumpled heap at the feet of the Head Instructor on the dais. He was motionless.
Defeated. Not just his body, but his spirit, his pride, his entire belief system, shattered by a single, heretical fist.
A dead silence fell upon the arena. Tens of thousands watched, breathless, at the lone figure standing in the center, his body still steaming with a crimson vapor.
The terrifying red in Bu He's eyes slowly faded, receding back to their normal color, revealing his own weary but determined gaze. But the hunger in his core was no longer a whisper; it was a roar. He had won, but the price he paid had pushed his soul one step closer to the edge of the abyss.
The Head Instructor stood up. His face was a complex mask of emotions. He looked first at the defeated form of Xue Feng, then at the victorious but terrifying youth in the arena.
His voice boomed across the silent plaza:
"The winner... is the Heretic Team."