HAAAH… HAAA… HAA…
Mateo's breath came in ragged bursts, each inhale like knives tearing through his lungs. His chest heaved, rising and falling as blood flooded his airways. He was choking on his own blood.
His once-proud figure—lightning incarnate, a storm given flesh—was now reduced to a broken shadow. His face was disfigured, swollen and mangled, his abdomen split wide by the gaping wound Ali had burned into him. Blood poured freely onto the grass where he lay, soaking the soil until it was more red than green.
From above, he no longer looked like a warrior. He looked like lightning drowning in blood—electricity still sparking desperately across his failing body, trying in vain to knit him back together. But the light was fading.
HAAAAAH…
UGH—COUGH, COUGH, COUGH—UGH.
He hacked up a torrent of blood, the gurgle wet and sickening as it spilled from his lips and nose. His body trembled, but his will forced his hand to rise. Between his middle and index fingers, an object shimmered into existence—a card. Its surface glowed faintly, and drawn upon it was the image of a man, kneeling, praying desperately to the sky.
Mateo's broken gaze fixed on it.
"I'm—COUGH—sorry… Brother. I… COUGH—COUGH—I wanted to—" His voice cracked, drowned in blood. His eyes lifted weakly toward the sky above. His throat burned. His words cut short as more blood bubbled up, spilling down his chin. Most of his life was already leaking away from the hole in his torso.
But he was not done.
'Activate Skill: Barbarian Heart', he commanded silently.
Suddenly—BA-BUM!
The heartbeat that was sputtering, weak and fading, roared back to life with unnatural power. It thrashed in his chest like a war drum, faster, harder, fuller—forcing vitality into his dying body. His veins surged, his lungs expanded, and air tore violently into him as though his body had been shocked awake.
The Barbarians were unique among species. Their hearts were not simply organs—they were living relics, gifts of their ancient gods. Each tribe bore a different legacy. Some hearts blessed their bearers with monstrous strength. Others with speed. Some with elemental affinity. And among all of them, the oldest tribe's heart was the most coveted. A heart that granted not power, not might, but a longer lifespan and a surge of vitality—the ability to claw back from the brink of death itself.
Mateo's eyes snapped open wide. He could feel it—the rush of life pouring through him—but he also knew the truth. This was nothing but borrowed time. A stay of execution. He had already spelled out his fate. Whether he won or lost, today would be his last. Such was the price of a non-apostle daring to borrow the power of a god.
He pressed the card between his fingers tighter, his teeth clenching, blood running down his chin. His voice broke into a scream that shook the forest:
"My name is Mateo… listen to me—COUGH—COUGH—LISTEN TO ME AND GIVE ME…"
His irises shifted, fading from stormy lightning back to the eyes of a simple human. Mortal. Fragile. But his roar carried across the worlds.
"LIGHTNING!"
Back in Paradise, the sky was endless—an infinite ocean of black storm clouds writhing with light. Bolts of lightning the size of mountains tore between the clouds, painting the heavens in streaks of blinding blue.
Beneath the storms, a colossal fragment of land floated endlessly in the sky. At its summit rose a Greek-like temple, its marble cracked and glowing with veins of power. At the very centre stood a throne—not stone, not gold, but forged entirely of living lightning, ever-shifting, ever-burning.
Upon it sat a god.
He was vast beyond measure, an ancient giant woven from pure electricity. His beard was thunder, his body a storm, his very form pulsing with a power that could level worlds. His eyes—two orbs of merciless blue—looked downward. Looked not at Paradise, but through it, across the veil, toward the mortal who dared to cry his name.
He saw Mateo. Broken. Bleeding. Dying. Yet shouting for him.
A former apostle, a discarded servant. And yet still calling upon him.
The god felt the tug of the card in Mateo's hand. It was not a prayer alone—it was law. A law of Paradise itself. The item bound him, compelled him. Even a god must obey.
The ancient giant moved. Only slightly. Just a pinky finger raised off the armrest of his throne. But in that motion, entire clouds split apart. Power flooded the air, and his focus became absolute. His eyes pierced through realms, burning straight into Mateo's soul.
On the battlefield below, Ali slapped away another spear of lightning—the last from Mateo's coin. The spinning relic flickered one final time in the air before vanishing into nothing, its energy completely drained.
Ali straightened, fire still crackling across his silver-burned body. His dragon eyes tracked the space where the coin had been, and his mind counted with cold precision.
'Ninety-five thousand.'
That was the number of lightning spears Mateo's coin had unleashed. Ninety-five thousand strikes of electric wrath, each capable of tearing through armies. And Ali had weathered them all. Untouched. Not a single scratch marred him from that storm.
He exhaled slowly, the heat rippling from his breath distorting the air around him.
That much lightning could have wiped kingdoms from the map. Armies would have been annihilated, fortresses levelled. But for Ali—it had been nothing but training.
Ali heard Mateo shout "LIGHTNING"—and at once, the air changed.
A crushing pressure fell over the battlefield, thick and suffocating. Ali's eyes sharpened , his instincts screaming.
'This presence…' His mind raced. 'It's the same as the Ancient Dragons… no—worse. It's like… Veska.'
His dragon eyes widened as he saw the card in Mateo's hand dissolve into motes of blue light. They scattered like fireflies into the air before vanishing completely.
And then—
The world froze.
The sky split.
Directly above Mateo, space itself tore apart, ripped open like fragile fabric. From within that rift—a single, impossibly thin line of lightning descended. It was no ordinary thunder. Its colour was deeper, its vibration heavier, its essence wrong. Ali could see it crawling downward, inch by inch, as though time itself was moving slower just to witness it.
Mateo's dying eyes reflected the streak, their fading light barely hanging on. And then—
The lightning touched his forehead.
Time snapped back. The tear sealed itself shut in an instant.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
The sound erupted everywhere. The unique crackle of godly lightning, sharper than blades, heavier than mountains. Ali's body tensed—every inch of his skin felt like it was being sliced open by invisible knives.
He didn't hesitate. His muscles coiled, and he exploded backward, rocketing away from the forest clearing until the sensation dulled. His instincts screamed at him like never before.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
The crackling grew louder, louder, until the noise consumed everything. Ali's dragon ears caught every fluctuation, the rhythm of divinity itself.
Then it began.
Mateo's limp body, still pouring blood, lifted from the ground. Slowly, eerily, it floated upward. His arms dangled, lifeless, his head bowed as droplets of red continued to fall from the gaping wound.
Ten meters… twenty… fifty… a hundred meters into the air.
Ali stood far back, but his eyes never left him.
CRACK!
Lightning burst from Mateo's body in every direction, striking the air, the trees, the earth. Sparks carved through the atmosphere itself as if the world could no longer contain him.
And then—
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM.
A column of lightning roared down from the sky, engulfing Mateo. It swallowed him whole, stretching high into the sky, so wide it carved a hundred-meter circle of annihilation. Ali couldn't even glimpse its peak. His ears bloodied, his bones screamed, his vision was burned white by the endless brilliance.
Every nerve in his body screamed agony. His cells fought desperately to heal the ruptures, but even as his flesh knitted back together, he felt a deeper tremor—a voice pressing against the walls of his Spirit Realm.
"BE CAREFUL… THAT IS THE ESSENCE OF A GOD."
The Dragon Leader's voice cut through the storm. For once, it held no contempt, no arrogance—only grim severity. And beneath it… fear.
Ali's heart sank.
The Lightning God had crossed worlds. His essence was here.
The pillar thinned. Slowly. Reluctantly. Until at last, it collapsed inward and disappeared, leaving only silence and the smell of ozone behind.
Ali's vision cleared. His breath caught.
Mateo hovered in the air.
But he was no longer the man Ali had fought.
The wound in his abdomen was sealed—not with flesh, but with living lightning, stitched together by divine power. His entire body was wrapped in that same light, shaped into an armour that pulsed with unbearable radiance.
Behind him, arcs of thunder rotated in a great circle, a divine halo of storm. Each strand crackled with destructive will, an endless current channeling through him—not his own, but borrowed. Bestowed.
He looked less like a man and more like an angel of thunder.
His eyes opened—calm now, unblinking, glowing with storm-light. He raised his hands slowly, flexing his fingers, watching lightning spill from his palms as though rediscovering his own body.
Ali's dragon eyes locked on him. His chest tightened. He knew what he was looking at.
This was no longer a fight with Mateo.
This was a confrontation with the will of a god.
Mateo turned inward—into his Spirit Realm.
The sight froze him.
The once vast, boundless world inside him was crumbling. His Spirit Bolt was gone, erased without a trace. Entire landscapes dissolved into nothing. Every passing second devoured more of his realm. Far ahead, he saw the jagged edge of a cliff rushing toward him—the end of his soul's existence.
That was the price.
'Go out with a flash, huh? 'Mateo thought. No fear lingered in him. No regret either. He only felt the weight of inevitability and the bitter satisfaction of dragging his enemy down with him. He didn't dwell on death. Instead, his gaze returned to the man who had forced him here.
Ali.
No words were spoken. None were needed. Words were worthless now, and every second was worth more than gold to Mateo.
He brought his hands together. His fingers flashed through a familiar seal.
"Lightning Release: Multiple Lightning Clone Jutsu."
His voice carried not as a shout but as thunder itself, echoing across the burning forest, shaking the branches, vibrating in Ali's bones.
In an instant, four identical figures burst into existence around him. They carried his form but not the divine halo circling behind him. Their eyes glowed cold and silent. Without hesitation, they darted backwards, streaks of lightning vanishing into the forest's depths.
Ali's dragon eyes tracked them—then lost them. His Force Sense felt them slip away like smoke in the wind. The same trick Mateo had used before, cloaking himself.
Ali's attention snapped back to the true Mateo—floating high above, bathed in divine radiance. Mateo's right hand rose into the sky, palm open.
Ali's heartbeat hammered. His cosmic fire blazed to life. Silver flames spread across his body, brighter than ever, licking his skin like liquid starlight. His silvery hair lifted, dancing in the storm's pull. His heart pumped faster and faster, forcing the fire's circulation to a rhythm so violent it shook his very bones. His dragon pupils constricted to narrow slits.
Mateo's mouth opened. His voice was no longer his own—it was deeper, fuller, spoken as if the storm itself had chosen him as its tongue.
"LIGHTNING GOD SPELL.", his old arsenal from when he was an apostle returned to him.
The air quaked.
Ali crouched low, muscles tensed, his fire flaring like a star preparing to explode.
"BLUE THUNDER BLAST."
The sky cracked open.
A colossal beam of thunder crashed downward in an unbroken torrent of blue. Its thickness dwarfed the trees, a lance of pure divine wrath. It slammed into Ali before he could even shift his stance, smashing him down like a nail into the earth.
KAAAAAAAAA-BOOOOOOOOOM.
The ground ruptured.
The forest detonated outward in a ring of annihilation. Trees, stone, soil—all vaporised. The impact blasted miles of woodland into ruin, a crater carved by lightning. The shockwave swept through the earth like a tidal wave, splitting the ground and levelling everything around.
At the centre of it, Ali bore the brunt of it all. His silvery flames clashed violently against the divine lightning, straining, flaring, shielding—but the weight was unbearable.
The forest around them ceased to exist. Only fire, thunder, and ruin remained.
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