The stage became a sun.
Huo Wu's hands, held high above her head, were the epicenter of a new, terrifying star. The brilliant, orange flames that had erupted from her palms coalesced, condensed, turning from a chaotic, licking fire into a perfect, stable sphere of pure, incandescent heat. The light was so intense it bleached all other colors from the stage, turning the vibrant uniforms and the grim faces of the Shrek team into stark, overexposed silhouettes.
The roar of the crowd, which had been a constant, deafening wave, died in an instant. A collective gasp, a sound of thousands of people sucking in their breath at once, was the only sound in the vast plaza. The air itself began to shimmer, to warp, like the heat haze over a desert. People in the front rows flinched back, not from a sound, but from a physical wave of pure, searing heat that washed over them, making the hairs on their arms stand up and their skin feel tight and dry.
Tang San was in motion, a ghost weaving through the chaos, his mind a brilliant, flashing chessboard of angles and opportunities. He had just taken down the two Fire Crane brothers. He was a step away from dismantling their entire backline. He was winning.
And then, the sun fell.
It was not an impact. It was not a projectile he could dodge. It was a change in the very fabric of the world. The heatwave hit him not as a blow, but as an environment. The air he was breathing turned to fire.
His clothes, the simple, practical robes of Shrek Academy, began to smoke, the edges charring, turning to black ash. The intense, suffocating heat overwhelmed his senses. His Purple Demon Eye, which could see through illusions and perceive the flow of spirit power, could not see through a wall of pure, blinding light. His Ghost Shadow Perplexing Track, which could evade any physical attack, could not evade the very air itself.
A wave of dizziness washed over him. His lungs burned. His spirit power, the cool, controlled river of the Mysterious Heaven Skill, was thrown into a chaotic, boiling turmoil. He took one more, stumbling step, and then his legs just… gave out. He collapsed to the stone stage, his body scorched, his mind a white, blissful void of pure, unadulterated pain.
High above the stage, a different, more personal tragedy was unfolding. Oscar, who had been a panicked, flying squirrel, a desperate, flapping target for Huo Wu's Fire Shadow, was now a perfect, helpless moth drawn to a new, far more deadly flame.
The superheated air that had engulfed the stage rose in a massive, thermal updraft. His Flying Mushroom Sausage, which relied on a delicate, magical manipulation of air currents, failed catastrophically. The wings of his flight simply… melted away.
He let out a small, surprised yelp as he began to plummet from the sky. He fell like a swatted fly, his body tumbling end over end, before he landed with a sickening, boneless crunch in a crumpled, unconscious heap.
Ma Hongjun, whose own Evil Fire had been a sputtering, pathetic thing against the Blazing Aura, felt a new, far more profound kind of suppression. The pure, ultimate-level heat of the Brilliant Sun did not just suppress his spirit; it annihilated it.
He felt a violent, tearing sensation in his soul as his connection to his Phoenix spirit was forcibly, brutally severed. The backlash was a physical, tangible blow. A wave of pure, spiritual agony washed over him, and his eyes rolled back in his head. He collapsed without a sound, his chubby form hitting the stage with a soft, pathetic thud.
Xiao Wu, who had been a blur of motion, a beautiful, deadly ghost dancing through the chaos, was caught by the sheer, indiscriminate radius of the blast. She was in the middle of a teleport, a flicker of pure, spatial energy. The heatwave hit her mid-jump, the superheated, distorted air a physical, tangible wall that slammed into her.
She was thrown back violently, her small body tumbling through the air like a rag doll. She crashed near the very edge of the stage, the impact a jarring, painful jolt that sent a wave of dizziness through her. She tried to stand, to get back into the fight, but her legs would not obey. She was a dazed, broken doll, her world a spinning, painful haze.
And at the forefront of the battle, the two titans of the Shrek team, the twin hammers that were supposed to shatter any defense, were facing their own, personal apocalypse.
Dai Mubai and Yu Tianheng, wreathed in the golden light of the Vajra Transformation and the crackling, blue lightning of Thunder Fury, bore the brunt of the explosive force. Their own powerful, defensive auras, the White Tiger Shield and the Lightning Barrier, protected them from being incinerated. But they could not protect them from the sheer, overwhelming, and almost physically tangible wave of concussive heat.
They were blasted backwards, their feet skidding across the stone stage, leaving two long, smoking furrows in their wake. They slid and slid, their heels finally catching on the very edge of the platform, their bodies teetering on the precipice of a long, humiliating fall.
Their spirit power, which had been a raging, roaring inferno just moments before, was now a flickering, pathetic ember. Their magnificent, powerful spirit possessions were gone, leaving them in their human forms, their clothes scorched, their skin a patchwork of angry, red burns. Their faces were masks of pure, unadulterated shock and a deep, profound, and almost comically tragic disbelief.
They were beaten. They were broken. And they were barely, just barely, standing.
The referee, his own face beaded with sweat from the residual heat that still shimmered in the air, finally stepped forward. He was a seasoned Spirit Emperor, a veteran of a hundred battles. But he had never seen anything like this. He scanned the carnage. Four members of the Shrek team were down, unconscious, or incapacitated.
In the center of the stage, a new, fragile kind of calm had settled. Huo Wu stood there, her chest heaving, her beautiful face as pale as a winter morning. The massive expenditure of spirit power had drained her, leaving her weak, her legs trembling. She stumbled slightly, a single, graceful falter.
Her brother, Huo Wushuang, was at her side in an instant. He wrapped a strong, supportive arm around her shoulders, his own face a mask of concern and a deep, profound pride.
The crowd, which had been a roaring, chaotic sea of sound just a few minutes before, was now a vast, silent ocean of pure, unadulterated shock. They had just witnessed the complete, and utter, dismantling of the seemingly invincible Shrek Academy. They had seen a rising star, a team of monstrous geniuses, be snuffed out in a single, brilliant, and terrifying blaze of glory.
Huo Wushuang looked at the two struggling, pathetic figures who were still teetering on the edge of the stage. His expression was not one of gloating, of triumph. It was one of a calm, respectful finality. He was a kind man, a gentle leader who cared deeply for his sister, for his teammates. But this was a competition. And it was over.
He gave his sister, Huo Wu, a gentle, reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. "You did well, little sister," he said, his voice a low, warm sound that was for her ears alone. "Rest now. I'll finish this."
He turned to the struggling Dai Mubai and Yu Tianheng, who were trying to muster the last, pathetic dregs of their spirit power for a final, hopeless stand.
"It's over," Huo Wushuang said, his voice firm, but not unkind. It was the voice of a victor speaking to a vanquished, but respected, foe. "You fought well. Surrender now. There is no more shame in it."
Dai Mubai just looked at him, and a raw, guttural snarl was torn from his lips. His evil eyes, which had been filled with a dazed, shocked confusion, now blazed with a new, wild, and utterly suicidal fury.
"Surrender?" he roared, his voice a raw, ragged sound of pure, wounded pride. "To you? Never!"
He tried to summon his White Tiger spirit again. He reached deep, into the last, dying embers of his spirit power. A faint, flickering, and almost transparent phantom of the great beast appeared around him for a single, pathetic instant before sputtering and dying.
Huo Wushuang let out a long, slow sigh, a look of genuine, profound regret on his handsome face. He had offered them an honorable way out. They had refused.
"Then I will grant you a warrior's end," he said, his voice a low, somber sound.
He opened his mouth. And he unleashed his Second Spirit Ability, a technique he had not yet had the need to use in this entire tournament.
"Second Spirit Ability: Dragon's Breath Volley."
It was not a single, powerful, and all-consuming torrent of draconic fire. It was something far more controlled, far more precise. A rapid-fire barrage of a dozen fist-sized, and intensely compressed, fireballs shot from his mouth. They screamed through the air like a volley of crimson meteors, their target the two struggling, defiant figures at the edge of the stage.
Dai Mubai and Yu Tianheng, their spirit power exhausted, their bodies a canvas of pain, could only raise their arms in a futile, almost childish, attempt to block the oncoming storm.
The fireballs did not explode in a shower of incinerating heat. Their force was purely concussive. The two powerful, but now utterly defenseless, Spirit Ancestors were not burned further. They were simply… blasted.
The overwhelming, concussive force of a dozen rapid-fire explosions slammed into them, lifting them from their feet and sending them flying off the back of the stage.
They landed in a tangled, undignified heap on the ground below, their bodies a broken, crumpled mess. Unconscious.
The referee's arm shot up, a swift, final gesture.
"The winner of this match is… Blazing Academy!"
For a single, heart-stopping moment, the entire arena was silent. And then, it erupted. A deafening, world-shattering roar of pure, unadulterated, and almost religiously profound excitement. They had just witnessed a legend being born. And they had just witnessed another legend, fall.
High above the roaring crowd, in a private viewing room that was a pocket of serene, soundproofed silence, a very different kind of celebration was taking place.
Ning Rongrong was not cheering. She was laughing. A loud, delighted, and almost cruelly beautiful sound of pure, unadulterated glee.
"Hahaha! I knew it! I knew they'd lose!" she shrieked, her body shaking with the force of her mirth. She clutched her stomach, tears of pure, malicious joy streaming down her beautiful face. "Oh, you should have seen the look on that arrogant prince's face when he went flying! Priceless! Absolutely priceless!"
Zhu Zhuqing, seated beside her, did not laugh. She simply smiled. A small, sharp, and incredibly, beautifully, and satisfyingly cruel expression. "Tang San's arrogance was his downfall," she said, her voice a low, cool, and analytical murmur. "He relied on his clever tricks, his hidden weapons. He thought he could outsmart a pure, elemental counter. A fatal mistake."
Qian Renxue, who had been a silent, regal observer throughout the entire, beautiful spectacle, delicately sipped her tea. A look of cool, aristocratic amusement danced in her violet eyes. "A predictable outcome," she stated, her voice a smooth, melodic melody. "Brute force and clever tricks cannot overcome a true elemental advantage. They were outmatched from the beginning. It was a simple matter of… superior breeding."
And Ah Yin, standing silently behind them, a perfect, humble shadow, had the most genuine smile of all. She had watched the imposter, the creature that wore her son's face, be publicly, brutally, and beautifully humiliated. She had seen him fall. And she was reveling in it.
'This is only the beginning of your suffering,' she thought, her crimson eyes gleaming with a cold, maternal fury that was for her, and her alone. 'You have taken my son's life. And I… I will take everything from you.'
Zhang Tian just let out a low, appreciative chuckle. "Well," he said, his voice a calm, satisfied sound. "That was entertaining. It confirms my theory. Tang San's reliance on his hidden weapons is a crutch. A useful one, yes. But a crutch nonetheless. When faced with true, wide-area elemental power, a power he cannot dodge, a power he cannot outsmart… he was rendered useless."
He stood up, stretching lazily, a picture of casual, sated contentment. "The main event is over. Shall we leave? I've seen enough for one day. I have no interest in watching the other, lesser teams."
The three women all agreed. The thrill of the victory, the sheer, delicious schadenfreude of it all, had left them feeling energized, celebratory.
"Dinner!" Ning Rongrong declared, her eyes sparkling with a new, brilliant idea. "We should go for dinner! At the Celestial Pavilion! My treat!"
The Celestial Pavilion was the most exclusive, most expensive, and most ridiculously opulent restaurant in the entire city. A single meal there cost more than most commoners earned in a lifetime. It was the perfect, beautiful, and wonderfully arrogant way to celebrate their enemy's downfall.
Zhu Zhuqing's own, cruel smile widened. "An excellent idea, Rongrong," she purred, her voice a low, husky sound. She then added, a mischievous, predatory glint in her dark eyes, "And on our way there… perhaps we should 'accidentally' walk past the Shrek Academy's exit. I would very much like to see their defeated, pathetic faces up close."
Zhang Tian grinned, a wicked, beautiful, and utterly, completely, and joyously evil light in his eyes. He reached out and wrapped his arms around both of his beautiful, vicious fiancées, pulling them into a tight, appreciative hug.
"An excellent idea, my love," he said, his voice a low, appreciative purr. "An absolutely excellent idea."
~~
The journey back to their temporary quarters at the Shrek Academy was a funeral procession. The usual boisterous energy of the Shrek team, the loud jokes of Ma Hongjun, the cheerful banter of Oscar, it was all gone, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence that was more oppressive than any of Teacher Zhao's gravity fields. The setting sun painted the sky in shades of bruised purple and angry orange, a fitting backdrop for their defeat.
The tournament's healers had patched up their physical wounds with practiced efficiency. Bandages were wrapped, minor burns were soothed, and potions were administered. But their pride was a far deeper wound, a gaping, festering injury that no healing spirit could touch.
Tang San walked at the front of the miserable procession, his face a mask of stone. His mind, however, was a raging storm. He was replaying the match, every second, every decision, on an endless, torturous loop.
'The elemental suppression,' he thought, his fists clenching at his sides. 'I knew it was a factor. But I underestimated its totality. My Purple Spirit Grass… it was useless. Not just weakened. Useless.'
He had relied on his hidden weapons, on the secret arts of the Tang Sect. And it had not been enough. He had taken down two of them, yes. But it had been a desperate, reactive move. He had lost control of the battle from the very first second. And as the team's core, as their leader, that was his failure. And his alone.
'I was arrogant,' he concluded, the thought a bitter, self-recriminating taste in his mouth. 'I thought my clever tricks could overcome any obstacle. But I was wrong. Raw, overwhelming power, perfectly applied… it is a wall that cleverness alone cannot break.'
Walking beside him, a mirror of his own grim silence, was Yu Xiaogang. The Grandmaster's face was a thundercloud of cold, silent rage. But his anger was not directed at his disciple. He was not angry at the team for their loss. He was angry at the world. He was angry at the fundamental, unfair laws of spirit attributes that had so thoroughly, so publicly, humiliated his theories.
'It shouldn't be possible,' his mind, a fortress of pure, unshakeable logic, raged. 'A perfectly balanced team, a combination of power, agility, control, and support… it should be able to overcome a simple, mono-attribute team, no matter how powerful. The variation, the tactical flexibility… it should have been enough.'
But it hadn't been. The Blazing Academy's pure, overwhelming fire had not just been an advantage; it had been an absolute. It had created an environment where their own, more varied, abilities simply could not function. His theories, his beautiful, intricate, and perfect theories, had been proven insufficient. And that, to a man like Yu Xiaogang, was a failure more profound than any simple loss.
Flender trailed behind the group, his face a mask of pure, economic despair. He was not thinking about theories or about strategy. He was thinking about money.
'Our winning streak… it's over,' he lamented, his heart a cold, heavy stone in his chest. 'The sponsors… the potential new students… the reputation of Shrek Academy… it's all been damaged.' He could practically hear the sound of gold spirit coins flying out of his pockets.
But the most tormented soul in this miserable procession was Dai Mubai. He was a walking inferno of shame and a deep, profound, and utterly all-consuming rage. He was not just thinking about the loss of the match. He was thinking about the bet.
He could feel Zhang Tian's mocking words echoing in his mind, a cruel, relentless litany of his own impending doom.
'Feeling a little… lighter, Princey?'
'Shall we schedule your… appointment?'
He could feel a cold, phantom ache in his groin, a terror so profound, so visceral, that it made his stomach churn. The thought of it, of the cold steel, of the final, irreversible act… it was a nightmare that was now a very, very real possibility.
The others followed in a miserable, silent line. Xiao Wu reached out and took Tang San's hand, her own pretty face a mask of worried concern. But he did not seem to notice. He was lost in his own, dark world of analytical fury.
They finally reached the familiar courtyard of their academy, the place where, just a few short weeks ago, Tang San had so confidently, so masterfully, defeated their two strongest members. The memory was now a bitter, ironic joke, a cruel reminder of a confidence that had been so brutally, so publicly, shattered.
Yu Xiaogang finally broke the suffocating silence. He stopped in the center of the courtyard, his back to his defeated, broken students.
"To your rooms," he commanded, his voice a low, cold sound that held not a hint of its usual, academic authority. It was the voice of a defeated general. "All of you. We will have a debriefing in one hour. And," he added, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl, "it will not be pleasant."
The team began to disperse, their shoulders slumped, their feet dragging. They were a flock of wounded, broken birds, seeking the solace of their own, private misery.
And it was at that exact moment that a new group entered the courtyard, their movements a fluid, graceful dance of casual, almost bored, amusement. Their presence was a sudden, jarring note of vibrant, triumphant life in the funeral-like atmosphere.
It was Zhang Tian. And his four goddesses.
~~
A/N: Check out my other novels like "Douluo Dalu: Time Travel", "Harem Master: Seduction System" and the "Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist" and I hope you like this story and those stories as well.
Check out more chapters on my P.atreon. The P.atreon will have 20+ Chapters ahead for this story. I hope you like it.
The link of p.atreon is: bit.ly/evildragon