Kirin opened his hand.
Liang's body fell. It didn't arc or tumble; it dropped like a sack of wet grain, hitting the scorched earth with a final, sickening *thud*. Dust puffed up around him. He did not move.
Kirin looked down at his own palm, the one that had caught the heart of Liang's lightning. Thin tendrils of pale smoke curled from the skin, which was red and blistered. He flexed the fingers slowly, massaging his wrist. "Lightning," he mused, his voice conversational, as if commenting on the weather. "Forged from pure will, not the sky. That is indeed something to be wary of."
A sound tore from Madame Su's throat—not a scream, but a raw, guttural vibration of pure rage. The last of her restraint shattered. Her Qi, which had been guttering like a dying candle, **flared**. It was not the controlled power of a master, but the wild, desperate eruption of a wounded animal. She shot into the sky, a streak of grey and furious pink. A storm of petals, not beautiful or precise, but ragged and screaming, erupted around her in a deadly, spinning maelstrom.
Gen's body moved without his conscious command. Seeing Liang fall, seeing Madame Su's final, hopeless charge, something primal overrode his duel with Yuan. His focus snapped. He **blurred**, leaving a sonic crack in the air as he abandoned Yuan and shot towards Kirin. He stepped on nothing, using **Shidow** to reinforce the very air beneath his feet into temporary platforms. His **Eternal Body** ignited anew, the jade-white light blazing with a ferocity he hadn't mustered before, fueled by a terrifying cocktail of grief and fury.
He arrived, a sun-fisted avenger, driving a punch meant to obliterate Kirin's smug face.
Kirin simply sidestepped. It wasn't a dodge; it was a dismissal, as effortless as avoiding a falling leaf. He smiled, a flash of genuine interest in his cold eyes. "How interesting. I remember the Eternal Body. A fortress of the self."
As Gen's momentum carried him past, Kirin reached out. Not to strike, but to **touch**. A single finger tapped Gen on the shoulder.
There was no sound.
The blazing, jade-white light of the **Eternal Body—First Door** simply… vanished. Not dimmed. Not cracked. **Dissolved**. The intricate, internal reinforcement that was the foundation of Gen's power was **severed** at the point of contact by a perfect, localized pulse of **Fendow**. The Ripple didn't attack Gen; it attacked the *principle* of his reinforcement, unmaking its structure.
Gen's heart skipped a beat, then hammered against his ribs in frantic, terrified rhythm. A cold void spread from his shoulder where his power had been. *Impossible.* Never, in his wildest dreams, his deepest fears, had he imagined his father's legacy technique could be defeated. Not by overpowering it, but by… erasing it. The shock was a physical blow.
But the anger was stronger. The frustration, the image of Liang's still form, boiled over the shock. He didn't care. He would avenge him, even if he had to do it with his bare, un-reinforced hands.
With a snarl, he shifted his energy flow. **Jingdao** was poisoned, useless. He poured everything into **Shidow**. He gathered the air around his ankles, compressing and shaping it into solid, swirling platforms. He spun in mid-air, his body a lever, and his leg came around in a devastating, whip-like kick amplified by the vortex of wind he dragged behind it.
Kirin took a single, graceful step back, letting the hurricane-force kick pass a hair's breadth from his nose.
Gen didn't let up. He dropped, landed, and his hand found the **Bamboo Cane** on his back. It wasn't just a focus now; it was a weapon. He poured his **Shidow** into it, making the air around the cane scream as it spun, forming a cutting tornado along its length. With a cry, he lunged, thrusting the cane-turned-drill straight for Kirin's heart.
Kirin's hand shot out. Not to avoid, but to **catch**. His palm closed around the humming, wind-wreathed tip of the bamboo rod. The shrieking vortex of air around it snuffed out instantly, severed. He held it effortlessly, his smile never fading as he stared straight into Gen's wide, furious eyes.
"Is this all?" Kirin asked, his voice soft, almost pitying. "Is this all the son of the Immortal is capable of? Pathetic."
With a contemptuous flick of his wrist, he tossed Gen—cane and all—back across the clearing, not towards Madame Su, but directly into the path of the advancing Yuan. "Young brother. Why not entertain this fool for now?"
Yuan's face darkened into a scowl. He had wanted to be the one to overpower them all, to claim the glory. But the order was clear. He intercepted Gen's flight with a brutal shoulder-check that sent them both crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs and explosive Qi.
"Madame Su! Lorel! Chubbs!" Gen gasped, scrambling back from Yuan. "Liang—!"
"Take care of Liang!" Madame Su commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos as she landed, putting herself between Kirin and the others. Her breathing was ragged, her aura fluctuating wildly. "Chubbs, get him to cover. Lorel, with me."
She kept her eyes locked on Kirin, speaking rapidly to Lorel. "Kirin is in the same state as myself. He looks perfectly fine, but I learned from the Immortal Jiang: the **Fendow** wheel is one of the hardest to control. Not just because its principle is profound, but because it consumes *tanks* of energy—physical and mental. He used a major technique to sever Gen's Eternal Body and dispel Liang's lightning. He wants this time to regain his strength." She met Lorel's eyes, her gaze desperate but clear. "In my state, I cannot win against him without recovering, too. But he recovers faster. We cannot give him that time."
Lorel's heart skipped a beat, then sank like a stone into a frozen lake. Her eyes darted—to Gen, locked again with Yuan; to Liang's motionless form; to the faintly smiling, calculating Kirin. The weight of the realization crushed her.
*Everything was now resting on her shoulders.*
Their entire safety. Their only chance to turn the tide. It all depended on her, on her **Supremacy Sword**. The sword she had just failed to wield with the necessary ruthlessness.
*Can I really do this?*
Fear, cold and paralyzing, dawned in her chest. It was the same fear that had lived in the estate of her father, that had followed her like a shadow. But she had faced challenges. She had risen. In the dark of the Tower, she had found a spark. Today… today she would have to become a flame.
She balled her fists, the knuckles white. "Madame Su is right," she said, her voice trembling but gaining strength with each word. "We cannot drag this on. We fight together. We use this moment. We kill Kirin."
Yuan, hearing this, let out a furious curse. "And what am I? Decor?!" His aura flared wildly, a storm of corrupted wind and dark intent, as he forced Gen backward in a deafening clash of reinforced fist against shimmering bamboo.
Chubbs, heaving Liang's limp form over his broad shoulder, glared at the scene. His usual theatrical flair was gone, replaced by a soldier's grim assessment. "Three against two," he grunted, cracking his own knuckles. "Doesn't sound like a bad deal to me."
Kirin smirked, turning his gaze from the recovering Madame Su to the determined Lorel and the glaring Chubbs. "The fatty doesn't even count as a fighter. So it is two against two. Let us see how you young ladies fare."
He raised his hands, palms open to the sky.
Above them, the air **rippled**. Not with Separation, but with **Creation** and **Manipulation** fused into something obscene. A dazzling, sickly-green flame burst into being, not from his body, but from the space itself. It was the **Despair Flare**, but magnified a hundredfold. It burned not with heat, but with a palpable, soul-crushing **intent**. This fire was not born from Kirin's own despair. No. The intent applied to the flames was a tapestry of every agony, every shattered hope, every final scream he had witnessed—and caused—in all the souls he had touched with his Severing techniques.
From the depths of the churning, green inferno that now dominated the sky, **shrieks** could be heard. Faint, echoing, countless. It was as if a thousand trapped souls were burning within, their despair the very fuel.
Kirin stood beneath his masterpiece, a conductor before a symphony of suffering. "The real fight," he said softly, "is only just starting."