The air within the Black Temple pulsed thick with earth-born pressure. Dust swirled in the stagnant sunlight as the courtyard bore witness to a duel of fates.
Wei Dong stood tall, his hand extended, fingers splayed. A looming shadow shaped like a mountain surged forth—SHHHHRRRRRR—as the first form of the Great Earth Palm was summoned: Mountain Striking Palm. The force split the flagstones beneath him as it roared forward, charged with primal earth intent.
Yet opposite him, Li Wuji did not budge.
Such crude earth arts. Is this all you have learned in your decades of decay? he mused coldly.
Without raising his arm fully, Li Wuji’s fingers curled into a ghostly claw—transparent, but seething with malevolence. The claw twisted, slashed the air—and RRRRRIIIPP—the mountain-shadow shattered into tatters. Wei Dong staggered backward, face whitening, eyes wide with disbelief. The backlash struck him like a bell toll at his soul’s gate.
"Th-the claw technique—!" he choked, gripping his ribs.
The Ethereal Claw, first form of the Ghost Martial Claw Art, had carved through the mystic-grade palm with ease. Wei Dong tasted blood in his throat.
He... he cultivated that to the adept stage? That’s a Sky-tier art!
Li Wuji exhaled lightly, stepping forward upon the broken stone. Each step echoed with slow doom. Though unhurried, there was sothing inexorable about his gait—like a blade being drawn an inch at a ti.
In that crushing silence, Wei Dong’s thoughts clawed for escape.
I just broke through to the 5th Qi Shattering Stage... after ten years of stagnation! Yet this monster—he’s not just above —he’s beyond ! I must use the array—there’s no other path!
His hand dove into his robe and erged with a pulsing black crystal. As he held it aloft, it began to hum—a low dirge—and the skies above the temple turned a sorrowful gray. WHUMMMMM
Around them, the air thickened. The ground trembled faintly. Other prisoners fell to their knees as the crystal siphoned Heaven and Earth Qi from every corner of the sanctuary, pouring it into Wei Dong.
His aura flared violently. Cultivation surged like a dam bursting. From 5th stage, he rocketed to the pinnacle of the Qi Shattering Realm.
"I warned you," Wei Dong growled through clenched teeth, eyes bloodshot. "This is my domain, and you shall not walk free."
Li Wuji narrowed his gaze, unfazed.
"Borrowed might is still borrowed. A crow may steal an eagle’s feather, but it cannot soar as one," he intoned.
Then Wei Dong struck again—this ti his aura vast and unbridled. His palms glead with trembling earth-light as he invoked the second form: Extinguishing Earth Palm. The blow ca like an avalanche—cracking the stone beneath him as a pulse of raw might split the space between them.
Yet Li Wuji smiled, almost gently.
"A feeble echo... Allow to show you a palm worthy of Heaven’s wrath."
His body twisted, one hand slowly opening outward. A baleful red glow erupted around him. The temperature dropped. Bloodlust oozed into the air as his fingers flexed—then slamd down.
KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKE!
The laughter of a Yaksha spirit echoed across the walls.
A crimson palm, monstrous in proportion and wrought of nightmare energy, materialized above him and streaked downward like judgnt itself.
The Devouring Yaksha Palm—the first form of the Five Yaksha Palm Art.
BOOOOOOOM
The two palms collided. The shockwave split the air—stones shattered, bodies flung like leaves in a storm. The very walls of the courtyard quaked as if they’d known war in another lifeti. Prisoners scread and ducked as the debris-laden wind scattered them like dry husks.
Wei Dong’s palm disintegrated under the crushing malice of the Yaksha’s will. His right arm followed—a twisted burst of flesh and bone blown back by the sheer force.
He flew across the yard and smashed into the far wall—THUD—slumping in a heap, his robes torn, his blood soaking into the ancient stone. His breathing slowed. One eye twitched. He looked upon Li Wuji, the conqueror, with the awe of a dying man glimpsing the abyss.
"S-sky-tier... martial... art..." he rasped, before the world swallowed his consciousness.
A silence fell then, broken only by the groaning of stone and the panting of those who had survived the blast. From amidst the gathering dust, Lin Feng collapsed to his knees.
"That was not a man’s strength," he whispered. "That... was the wrath of sothing far greater."
Near the wall, a prisoner stared at the fallen warden. "H-he lost an arm... because of one palm? Brother Li... fate favors him indeed."
And in the center of that broken field, Li Wuji stood alone, his robes fluttering in the fading wind. He looked at his own hand—at the faint red smoke curling from his palm.
This was no victory. This was... a lesson.
"The gap between us is vast," he declared coldly. "This was not a battle—it was but correction."
He turned from the ruin without a backward glance.
A child with a scroll of heaven’s script could command storms, so long as he could read. The martial path cared not for age or title—only the truth within one’s qi. That was the aning of Sky-tier mastery.
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