Strongest Among the Heavens
Chapter 494: Coiled

Chapter 494: Coiled

Dasha Pang’s strength constantly grew. It never stagnated, he was always improving in some ways even if it did not seem like it. His dietary habits increased his mana by the day. His knowledge of sorcery increased as he studied.

Dasha understood one thing about himself: his offence was FAR greater than his defence. Far, far greater. With Eyða, his attack damage went over forty-thousand.

These supposed gods of judgement were mighty Class 5 monsters more powerful than the Scylla he faced. Dasha was hoping to incinerate them completely with Final Draw: Black Cards, an evolution of an already mighty technique. His hopes were dashed and he was forced to switch to another strategy.

’I could use that but that would put me on low performance. I’ll be down to Foundation Establishment Early or Middle Stage and this place...’ His eyes flicked left and right. ’...this Territory lets that foolish god summon and heal his monsters as he pleases. My death would be swift.’

The six monsters were still healing. Leg muscle tendons growing rapidly with layers of hippo flesh returning as it was. Dasha’s Qi was at an all time low. Tu Nu Breathing kept him afloat. In and out, in and out...

Oh?

Ah, right. Yes, perhaps that would work.

A new breathing style. If he could do Tu Na Breathing, then why not do another? Dasha Pang had no teacher and nobody to imitate and follow. His gains in Cultivation were through legend, books, and his own predictions.

Dasha Pang dropped down, crossed his legs, and spread his arms. "I speak the names of the hands who built the kingdom. The hands who bled, who toiled, who reached for eternity. Black Despair!"

One minute. He required one minute. Black tendrils that rose from the floor and chained the Ammits down like dogs. Frankly, to call them anything more would be an insult. This was not the true goddess Ammit, revered and feared as a demoness and the personification of divine retribution. These were monsters that took on her shape, nothing more.

Dasha’s hands rested upon his knees, palms upturned. The battlefield around him was loud and agitating.. The six Ammits thrashed, growling, their monstrous bodies twisting as the black tendrils of the Dark Sorcerer kept them bound.

Dasha turned them out.

One minute.

He had exactly sixty seconds.

His body ached. His Qi dwindled. His internal energy, once a vast, flowing river, had been reduced to mere droplets. With Tu Na Breathing, they resurged.

But what would change? His most powerful attack did nothing. He needed not only to destroy these things whole but to break a hole in this Territory.

He exhaled.

And stopped breathing altogether.

The world slowed. The space around him warped while his Qi Sense exploded outward. For the first time, he did not merely circulate Qi within himself. No, he did something new. Something few Cultivator ever dared to do.

Dasha dragged the Qi of the world into himself.

It was not gentle. It was not natural. It was forced.

His dantian—his core, the very center of his Cultivation—roared to life. The pain was immediate. Veins bulged. His lungs compressed. His muscles tensed so hard he nearly tore them apart.

’This is working.’

Dasha opened his eyes.

And he saw it.

Qi.

Not as an abstract feeling, not as an invisible force, but as something physical. He could see the tendrils of energy, the dense golden strands of the world’s natural power.

He grabbed them. Tore them from the air. And devoured them whole. His dantian expanded.

More.

The Ammits twisted, shrieking in fury. The dark tendrils were breaking. Forty-five seconds left. Dasha’s body contorted. His meridians burned, his nerves screamed. A normal Cultivator would have died instantly.

But Dasha was not normal.

Thirty seconds left.

The Qi he absorbed was so pure it crystallized in his veins. His flesh grew denser. His bones hardened. His power tripled, quadrupled. The ground beneath him cracked from the sheer force of the Qi condensing inside him.

His vision blurred and bled. He could feel his Qi twisting, morphing. This was not Tu Na Breathing. This was something of a new principal.

Dantian Breathing. The act of stealing the Qi of the world. Of purifying it within himself. Of forcing his body to absorb more than it should ever handle.

Dasha gritted his teeth.

It was not sustainable. He would burn out quickly.

But in exchange...

His power became monstrous.

Dasha stood.

His Qi erupted, blacker than the night. The Ammits struggled hard and harder. For the first time, their hungry, mindless eyes displayed fear.

"Engrave the laws upon me.

Bolster my strength.

Etch the Sin’s Will upon my soul."

Dasha crossed his arms, palms facing forward and above his shoulder. From between his fingertips, six enormous cards burst forth. Each one was larger than a building. Larger than the Ammits.. Their edges dripped with black shadows.

"Final Draw: Black Cards."

Dasha flung them.

Like judgment descending from the heavens, the cards slaughtered.

The first struck. An Ammit roared as the force obliterated half its body. The second struck. A second Ammit was ripped apart. The others tried to run, breaking from their chains. Too late. The rest of the Black Cards fell and slaughtered them. Nothing was left. Nothing to regenerate from.

A cacophony of shrieks, explosions, and shattered reality filled the amphitheater. The amphitheater collapsed inward and Dasha was suddenly falling.

Through the falling rubble, he saw it—

A gap.

A way out.

With a mix of Qinggong and Electr-step, he propelled himself forward, twisting and turning through rubble, and soared through the collapsing reality.

Dasha did not look back. He rolled and landed, a hand down flat. The ruins of the battlefield crumbled behind him. He had won.

’Hrm. Such a strange castle.’

Suddenly, he was completely elsewhere. It didn’t make logical sense. To go from a corridor to a ruined throne room to an amphitheater and now this? The architect didn’t make sense. Perhaps it was not supposed to.

Dasha was in a huge ballroom. The floor was marble to the point of reflection and the space itself stretched outward in all directions, vast and empty. Red chandeliers hung from the ceiling like skeletal remains. Red velvet curtains swayed from the unseen breath of the castle itself.

Ahead of him stood a grand staircase, its gold-lined railing leading toward an upper level that was obscured by shadows.

He placed a foot upon the first step.

A deep, growling voice stopped him in his tracks.

"You reek of stolen power."

Dasha’s gaze rose upward.

A figure stood at the top of the stairs. Tall. Imposing.

His lower half was human, clad in ceremonial linen wraps, decorated with gold rings and faded hieroglyphic markings. His torso, however, was covered in coarse, jet-black fur, his arms ending in clawed hands. His head—that of a jackal—stared down at Dasha with piercing yellow eyes, ancient and unwavering.

"My name is Khamose," he declared. "Mehen’s first and oldest disciple. My ancestors once stood at the feet of Anubis. They were blessed with the sacred duty of shepherding souls to the afterlife."

Khamose slammed his spear down.

"But we were forsaken. Forgotten. And now you, intruder, would dare step into my master’s domain?"

Dasha kept his hands to his sides. His Qi, though low, was still stirring within him. He breathed. He regrew. "If your god is so mighty," he said, "why was he abandoned?"

A low growl rumbled from Khamose’s throat.

"You will not leave this place alive."

He spun and raised his spear. A black sigil ignited at the tip.

"Sacrament of the Jackal."

The sigil shattered. A golden blur flashed—Khamose vanished from sight.

’Behind me.’

Dasha pivoted, raising his arm in time to block the incoming strike. Claws, burning with divine energy, raked across his black gauntlets. Consequently, he took no damage.

Dasha used the momentum for a spin and elbow elbow, lancing forward toward Khamose’s ribs—only to hit nothing.

The jackal-man had already teleported.

A claw carved through the air beside Dasha’s face, missing his eye by inches. He ducked low, sweeping his leg out—

But Khamose leapt, twisting mid-air, his inhuman agility allowing him to land gracefully several feet away. Teleportation and a decent reaction speed. A dangerous combo.

’Is he truly teleporting—warping space and time—or is it something else?’

To be able to control space-time was complicated. To do it once was said to be immensely difficult. Analyze, analyze, analyze. His shadow disappeared, that much was certain. Was it possible he simply outran his shadow?

Or was the simple option truly the correct one?

"You react well," Khamose admitted, his jackal snout breathing smoke as if amused. "But let us see how you fare against this."

His spear glowed. His other hand was clenched into a fist. He was about to use a technique.

Dasha’s eyes flickered. ’I cannot allow that—’

The sheer amount of power did not reflect how fast he cast it. Dammit, this was Mehen’s Territory! He was amplifying his eldest follower in every conceivable, agitating method.

"Ka’s Judgment!"