"Tsk tsk… so this is your true form," Sanjid muttered, stepping back and squinting up through the swirling black mist. "Disgusting."
The demonic figure standing before him towered over everything. It was the first time Sanjid had ever laid eyes on a real demon—and it looked just as monstrous as he had imagined. But beneath his sharp tongue and calm expression, Sanjid's heart beat faster. This thing wasn't just terrifying in appearance… it was immensely powerful.
The demon snarled, its voice no longer human. "You insolent brat. I gave you chances—backed down because I didn't want to draw the attention of the one behind you. But now you've killed my vessel and ruined everything! Your soul will rot in Hell for ten thousand years!"
A roar burst from its throat, shaking the air itself. The black mist it controlled exploded outward, filling every crevice, consuming every broken beam and tattered cloth of the destroyed textile factory.
The demon had lost all reason. It was pure rage now.
With a deafening BOOM, the creature unfolded its massive wings, blotting out the moonlight, and launched its enormous body into the air. It crashed back down like a meteorite, the force of its landing shaking the earth. The hurricane-like gusts from its wings tore apart what little remained of the factory walls.
A titanic fist, covered in jagged black scales, slammed toward Sanjid.
But Sanjid didn't freeze. With a swift step and a flash of blue light under his eyes, he darted backward like an arrow from a bow. His silver cross sword flickered in the moonlight as he moved—elegant, fast, focused.
The demon, however, reacted just as fast. As soon as Sanjid dodged, the demon followed up, swinging its massive arm again in a sweeping arc.
Sanjid raised his sword in time, blocking—but the force behind it was monstrous.
The blow sent him flying like a rag doll.
He crashed through the remaining factory wall, slammed into a brick building across the street, and embedded into its outer wall, leaving a deep crater where he hit. The wall groaned, then cracked further from the impact.
RUMBLE!
That final hit was too much for the weakened structure of the textile factory. With a roar and a groan of metal and concrete, the entire building began to collapse.
Dust and debris billowed into the air, covering everything in a ghostly haze. Through the thick mist, the outline of the demon could still be seen—enormous, monstrous, alive.
Even miles away, the residents of Chicago took notice. Some had already been watching the strange glow in the distance. Now, they stared out their windows, unsure of what they were witnessing.
"Was that an earthquake?"
"No… that's the textile factory over there, right? It just crumbled!"
"What's that huge shadow in the fog?! Is that… Godzilla?!"
The area around the textile factory had long been abandoned, but the nearby neighborhoods were waking up to the horror. In a city that had recently seen alien invasions, supervillain battles, and demonic sightings, most people knew better than to ignore the signs.
Some brave (or foolish) souls tried filming the scene on their phones.
Others grabbed their children, jumped in their cars, and fled.
And amidst the chaos, another thunderous roar shattered the silence.
"YOU'RE STILL ALIVE?! GOOD! I HAVEN'T EVEN STARTED YET!"
The demon ripped a stone boulder—nearly ten meters in diameter—from the debris and hurled it straight at the building Sanjid had crashed into.
The air around the flying rock rippled violently, the wind it carried knocking over trash cans, street signs, and even a few parked cars.
In the crater on the building wall, Sanjid pulled himself out slowly, dust and blood coating his silver hair. His breath was steady. His grip on the sword, firm. His blue eyes gleamed—cold, sharp, unshaken.
As the massive boulder roared toward him, he exhaled calmly and let the sword guide him.
A faint trace of blue mist rose from beneath his feet.
Then—he moved.
In less than a heartbeat, the silver cross sword slashed through the air dozens of times, creating a grid of shimmering light. The silver arcs danced through the sky like ribbons, cutting with divine precision.
CLANG! SHING! SWISH!
The massive boulder stopped in front of him. Suspended. Motionless.
Then—cracks formed across its surface, clean and orderly. Within seconds, the giant rock collapsed into perfectly cut cubes, each falling harmlessly to the ground.
The boy stood tall, sword still raised, hair swaying gently in the wind. He hadn't taken a single step back.
This wasn't luck.
This was mastery.
The demon paused.
Sanjid didn't even blink as the pieces of the shattered boulder clinked around his feet.
The demon stared at him—startled.
Then Sanjid whispered, more to himself than anyone else:
> "A sharp sword must be matched with sharp eyes."
> "To master the blade… instinct, awareness, speed, vision, and strength must become one. Then, no enemy shall stand."
He remembered those words.
His mentor's voice echoed in his ears again.
He saw himself again—on the island—cut off from magic, wearing a weighted vest, surrounded by incoming boulders launched at him like artillery.
There had been no escape, only practice.
Only pain.
Dozens of times he'd failed, gotten injured, broken ribs, bruised arms, bloody noses. Sometimes he even passed out.
But now, a ten-meter boulder was nothing.
This was why he had trained.
BOOM!
He twisted his neck casually, cracked his knuckles, and slammed his foot into the ground. The concrete beneath him cracked as a shockwave rippled out. A streak of silver light erupted upward as he launched himself toward the demon.
The fight was back on.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
They collided again—flesh against blade, fury against calm, darkness against light. The demon's claws scraped across Sanjid's sword, but they couldn't break his guard. Sparks flew every time steel met scale. Each strike lit the sky like fireworks.
In the middle of suburban Chicago, two silhouettes danced across the battlefield—one enormous and grotesque, the other small, precise, and unrelenting.
And somewhere in the rubble, unnoticed by either combatant…
A third figure slowly rose.
Shadowed, wounded, silent.
Its eyes glowing with unnatural darkness, it watched the duel unfold—waiting.
---
(End of Chapter 145)
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