Lock didn't care what Cross was thinking.
He shot forward again, the air cracking around him. Though that last punch had left him slightly winded, it had also given him something far more valuable—his first clear sense of how Cross's "Nuclear Explosion Fist" actually operated.
Cross wasn't a cultivator; he didn't know how to conceal his energy flow. And even if he tried, the sheer intensity of that nuclear force made it impossible to hide.
"Boom!"
Their fists collided again, thunder splitting the heavens.
This time, Cross didn't multiply his power tenfold. He fought Lock blow for blow, fist meeting fist.
Lock didn't unleash his full strength either. He deliberately restrained the Infinite Divine Fist, controlling it precisely. Even if Cross suddenly ramped up to ten times power again, Lock was ready—he could match it instantly, atom for atom.
Above them, the sky blazed like a battlefield of suns.
Clouds across hundreds of kilometers had already evaporated, leaving behind a massive vacuum-like ring in the atmosphere. From cities thousands of miles away, people could still see flashes of light strobing across the distant horizon.
With every impact, Lock's understanding deepened. He could feel the flow of energy within Cross's body—the strange pattern of movement created by the Pym particles.
It was as if vast quantities of those particles had been injected into his bloodstream. Each time Cross drew a breath, matter within his body condensed—compressed into his core until it transformed into raw, explosive power. The energy then surged upward from his center, rushing along his arms before detonating from his fists.
Though Cross had never trained in any kind of mystical technique, his genius intellect had instinctively found a crude mimicry of one—a primitive "energy circulation" pattern that worked purely through intuition and science.
It was clumsy, inefficient, and lacked finesse—but it worked.
Most cultivators learned to hold back a portion of energy with every strike, careful not to exhaust themselves completely.
Cross was the opposite. Every single punch was a gamble, compressing and detonating everything he had—an all-or-nothing burst that left no reserve.
Lock frowned slightly. So simple… and yet it functions.
The key wasn't in the technique at all—it was in the compression itself. To push matter within one's own body to the level of nuclear fusion was like trying to touch the stars with bare hands.
Lock tried it once with divine power, channeling it inward, compressing. The energy grew denser—yet it was still thousands of miles away from true fusion.
He sighed inwardly. So even divine energy can't bypass the Pym process…
Then his eyes glinted. "Guess I'll borrow a sample."
In a blur, Lock appeared beside Cross. His fingers flicked—just a light scratch across the man's shoulder—and a droplet of blood floated free.
Cross roared in outrage. "What the hell are you doing, Lock? If you want to fight, then fight!"
Lock didn't respond. He caught the droplet midair, letting it hover in his palm, studying it as they circled one another through the air, exchanging blows like flashes of lightning.
Even with his immense mental strength, Lock couldn't fully analyze the atomic-level complexity of Pym particles. They were too small, too intricate—beyond mortal comprehension.
But Lock wasn't relying on mortal means.
In addition to the Space Stone's power, he carried the Reality Stone—the ether itself.
The Reality Stone could reshape matter, but it could also analyze it—revealing the structure of anything it touched.
Lock raised one hand, holding the blood. In the other, he summoned a crimson fluid—the ether, liquid reality.
A red glow spread between his palms. The blood began to separate, splitting apart molecule by molecule until two distinct forms hovered before him: one a sphere of dark red blood, the other a glimmering mass of pure Pym particles.
Lock flicked his wrist. The blood dispersed into harmless mist.
Cross's furious punch slammed through the cloud—only to dissolve into nothingness before reaching Lock.
The King of Power now held something far more precious in his hand. The Pym particles shimmered as they were enveloped by the ether, twisting and reforming in mesmerizing patterns.
Cross stopped midair, glaring. "You're trying to analyze Pym particles with your bare hands? Hahahaha—Lock, you don't even understand basic physics, and you think you can break down a quantum structure? You're dreaming!"
Lock smiled faintly. "Do I need to know physics?"
The sphere in his hands began to expand.
In the blink of an eye, a droplet became the size of an egg. Then a grapefruit. Then a football.
The glow grew brighter, red light spilling across the heavens.
Cross's eyes widened in disbelief. "Impossible! Absolutely impossible! Pym particles can only be created using precision instruments—controlled energy transitions, the correct atomic equations—this isn't something you can just make!"
Lock's expression didn't change. Cross was right about one thing—he couldn't create Pym particles with his hands alone. But he didn't need to.
The Reality Stone could perform transformations at the most fundamental level. With its help, Lock could replicate the effect of the Pym Equation without ever needing to understand it.
Still, this method had flaws. It was impractical to rely on the Reality Stone every time he wanted to use the Nuclear Explosion Fist. He would merely be swapping dependence from one Infinity Stone to another.
Lock wanted more.
The Infinite Divine Fist had been born from the Space Stone's energy, but over time, he'd learned to replace that power with his own divine essence. It wasn't infinite, but it was close.
If divine power could imitate the Space Stone, perhaps it could also replace the ether to create Pym particles independently.
That would make his power self-sustaining.
The glowing sphere above him swelled until it spanned more than ten meters, a miniature sun hanging over Lock's head. The crimson light painted the clouds, turning the entire sky blood-red.
Cross stared, frozen.
It had taken him over a decade of study—and the mentorship of Hank Pym himself—to master the Pym Equation. Even then, his experiments produced particles in microscopic quantities. Years of accumulation had yielded only a few meters' worth of usable mass.
Now, Lock had created ten times that amount in seconds—without tools, without equations, without machines.
Cross's lifelong pride cracked. His achievements, his genius, his identity—all of it crumbled in an instant.
Lock let the massive Pym sphere shrink, then expand again. He was breaking it down, rebuilding it, watching every stage of transformation. His mind analyzed the process at superhuman speed until he finally smiled.
With a flick of his hand, the last of the ether dissolved, the knowledge sinking into his body like molten light.
Then he raised his palm. Divine power surged outward, stirring the clouds into a spiraling storm.
Cross flinched back instinctively. "What are you—?!"
Lock's expression remained calm. Energy condensed in his open hand—a single, perfect droplet of red.
Pym particles.
Created purely by divine power, without the Reality Stone's aid.
It had taken effort—a grueling, atomic-level simulation—but he had done it.
Lock looked at the droplet, then at Cross, and smiled faintly.
"Cross," he said softly, "how about I show you my version of the Nuclear Explosion Fist?"
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A/N: Advanced Chapters Have Been Uploaded On My Patreon
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