Chaos' Heir
Chapter 1587: Twenty-eight

Time finally caught up with the assault. Reality acknowledged what had landed on the King, replaying each kick and making him experience their might.

There had been seven phases, each featuring an additional kick, adding up to a total of twenty-eight. They had been sparse but strangely precise, as if following a specific strategy and pattern, which their joint discharge revealed.

Despite occurring at different times and phases, the King experienced the effects of those twenty-eight kicks simultaneously, enduring blows that somehow enhanced one another as their energy spread within him.

Shockwaves with precise purpose spread from where the kicks had landed, diving inside the King and joining themselves, forming an array of some sort. A spiderweb that radiated a constant, destabilizing influence took shape, taking control of the King’s body and pushing outward.

An internal pressure that the King failed to contain expanded within him, pushing on his tissues and bloating them until they reached the critical point. His skin blew open all over, spurting black blood, followed by unrestrained tides of True Chaos.

That violent discharge affected the area, too. The air that had fallen under the King’s control slowly relaxed, escaping the forced condensed state to return to its previous, normal texture. Even the pitch-black darkness that had fused with it retreated, dispersing into the atmosphere.

Meanwhile, Dean kept rising into the sky, catching his breath before ultimately stopping when he felt he had put enough distance from his opponent. His tired eyes fell on the world below at that point, inspecting his masterpiece.

The Ghost Steps were the culmination of Dean’s expertise and mastery over the world of martial arts and his element. They were an incredible technique that pushed the Lightning-Demon style’s grace to its utmost limit, almost turning the user into an ethereal being, hence the name.

Of course, only Dean could use that technique. After all, he had developed it around his element and lifelong training. It needed his specific use of his wind to achieve those effects, but the results were incredible.

Dean could pass through anything, attacking freely and unhindered, even slipping unnoticed through reality itself. His entire existence had culminated in that masterpiece, which obviously demanded a steep price.

Sweat accumulated on Dean’s face and back, flowing down his many wrinkles and long beard as he steadied himself. Spasms ran through his sore joints, refusing to let go of their grasp on his legs.

Dean’s element also weakened, seemingly exhausted after that specific use. His mana as a whole relaxed, needing a break after that stressful performance, but the result made it worth it.

The King had disappeared, his figure hidden behind the vast discharge of True Chaos, which had created a glowing but pitch-black cloud. That superior energy also continuously dispersed, escaping the alien’s control and vanishing in the area.

If things went according to plan, that enforced destabilization would continue until the King depleted the entirety of his existence, turning him into nothing at all. Dean obviously hoped for that outcome but remained alert, and his attention paid off.

Theoretically, the seven phases were a perfect technique that could kill virtually anyone. However, Dean had devised it with humans in mind, while the Scarlet Eyes were much more, especially their Kings.

A familiar pressure started to form around Dean, giving the ethereal air a dangerous weight, prompting him to retreat. Despite the still-ongoing discharge, it seemed the King was ready to counterattack, so Dean resorted to his previous strategy.

Nevertheless, a deep sense of weakness suddenly invaded Dean. His mana retreated, making his feet fail to kick the air to push him upward.

The event shocked Dean deeply. He had spent decades honing his flying ability, which had long since become as natural as breathing for him. The sky was his domain, but his feet failed him nonetheless.

As experienced as Dean was, that abrupt betrayal from his body and a world he had welcomed as his own made him panic. He kicked the air again, only for his legs to pierce that ethereal substance, failing to gain any foothold from it.

Dean also tried to summon his mana, only for nothing to come out. His energy was literally disappearing from his body and very existence, emptying him completely.

The air around Dean finished condensing at that point. He only had the time to lift his right leg before his left ended up trapped in that closing pressure.

A crunching noise followed, triggering a scream that remained stuck in Dean’s throat. He held his breath as he looked down, and his eyes widened when he found that his left leg was no more, squeezed into a vertical, gory pulp that hung in the air.

"[Your iteration of the mana is weak, child of the mana]," An alien whisper resounded through the area while a fuming figure pierced the cloud below, rising to reach Dean.

That sharp rise created a pillar of glowing smoke in the sky, its tip opening when it stopped before Dean. The King came out of it, and his hand promptly snapped forward, clinging to Dean’s throat.

The King clearly wasn’t fine. Torn pieces of his flesh still released True Chaos that had escaped his control. His wings had also disappeared, but he seemed to have stabilized himself enough to finish that fight.

"[Your mastery is praiseworthy]," The King declared, "[But you remain a child of an inferior energy]."

Naturally, Dean wanted to escape, but was powerless to do so. His masterpiece had made his mana relax to the point that the True Chaos could rely on its annihilating properties to vanquish it.

That feature was even more evident now due to the King’s vicinity. Dean felt as if his entire being was disappearing while the King held his throat. His mana never had any chance to come out or do anything at all, which could mean only one thing.

Still, right as Dean began to accept his death, the King’s head exploded, launching blood and gore all over his face.

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