The battlefield was chaos.
Steel clashed, Qi ruptured the air, and the scent of blood mixed with the dirt beneath their feet. Screams echoed from all sides as the Silver Lotus warriors fought tooth and nail to hold their ground. But amid the carnage, there was one man who seemed entirely out of place.
Atlas.
Ducking. Dodging. Smiling.
Chong's staff came crashing down, fast and ruthless, aiming straight for Atlas's skull. But with a slight tilt of his head, Atlas let it pass harmlessly by, whistling as if admiring the scenery.
"Oh wow, that was close. Almost felt the breeze on that one."
Chong swung again. Faster. Harder.
Atlas leaned back, letting the staff barely graze his nose before he hopped to the side, effortlessly avoiding a follow-up strike.
"Do you even lift that thing properly? Looks kinda heavy. Need help?"
Chong's grip tightened in rage, his Qi surging. "Stay still!"
Atlas grinned. "Oh, but then I'd get hit and I don't like that."
A sudden blur of motion—Commander Linghu entered the fight.
Atlas barely ducked in time, Linghu's palm strike passing a hair's breadth away from his face. The moment it missed, the ground behind Atlas cracked and shattered from the force.
If that had landed, I would've been turn to orange pulp.
"Oh. So that's how it is, huh?" Atlas straightened, still grinning but with calculating eyes.
"Two against one. That seems unfair."
Linghu's cold gaze didn't waver. "This is war."
"Tch. Alright, fine. But just so you know—"
Chong lunged again, his staff spinning with deadly precision. Atlas sidestepped at the last moment, barely missing a palm strike from Linghu that displaced the air itself.
"—I have no idea what I'm doing."
And yet, despite his words, Atlas never stopped moving.
He weaved between them like water slipping through cracks, always a fraction of a second ahead of every strike. His movements were unpredictable, absurd even, bordering on comical as he narrowly avoided attacks by the smallest margins.
And the worst part? He kept talking.
"Oof, that was close."
"Nice try, but no."
"Did you just trip, or was that your form? I can't tell."
Chong's fury built, his attacks becoming wilder, more reckless. Linghu, however, remained composed—but Atlas could see the flicker of irritation in his gaze. They were getting frustrated.
And that was exactly what Atlas wanted.
They didn't realize it, but he had been absorbing their Qi this whole time.
With every glancing parry with Atlas own staff, with every brush of contact, Atlas siphoned bits of energy from their strikes, letting it seep into his own reserves. It was like letting a cup fill drop by drop—slow, but inevitable.
And then, suddenly, Atlas stopped dodging.
He parried Chong's staff—not to deflect, but to return the force.
A burst of stolen Qi sent Chong flying backward. He barely managed to flip midair and land, his grip on his staff unsteady. He felt it—the unnatural sensation of his own energy being used against him.
Linghu frowned and launched forward, his palm glowing with pure, condensed destruction. Atlas met him head-on.
At the last possible second, he redirected the strike—twisting it back toward Chong.
The impact tore through Chong's ribs, sending him crashing through several broken pillars before he skidded to a halt, coughing violently.
Linghu's eyes narrowed. He felt it too.
This wasn't just technique. This was something dangerous.
Atlas twirled the staff he had swiped from Chong, tapping it against his shoulder casually.
"I understand it now. You hit me, I hit you back—just a little harder."
Chong was shaking as he slowly stood. "What… What the hell are you?"
Linghu didn't speak, but his posture shifted slightly—his weight adjusted, his stance lowered. He was taking Atlas seriously now.
Atlas's grin widened. "What's the matter? You scared?"
"KAI, NOW!" Atlas bellowed.
A deafening boom erupted behind him, sending a shockwave across the battlefield. Kai's explosion.
Atlas didn't flinch. Instead, he absorbed the Qi in an instant, his body tensing under the sheer force.
Then, he redirected it.
Linghu and Chong barely had a second to react before the air around them detonated.
The impact sent them skidding backward, their limbs trembling as they felt the sheer force reverberate through their own bodies.
Atlas still stood, staff in hand, but inside, he was dying.
Every muscle screamed. Every nerve burned.
He had no Qi of his own—every absorption, every redirection tore at him like a blade against raw flesh. He had only gotten better at hiding the pain. The countless midnight practices alone in his quarters had paid off.
Still grinning, he tilted his head at them. "What's the matter? You look like you just saw a ghost."
Before they could react, Chong charged at Atlas once more, refusing to be humiliated any further.
Chong's staff came swinging again, forcing him back into evasion.
At the same moment, Linghu turned sharply, but instead of re-engaging Atlas, his eyes locked onto Layla.
She was moving with the second step of Gale.
She closed the distance in an instant, blade aiming for Linghu's throat.
But he saw it.
With inhuman reflexes, Linghu parried her strike, redirecting her momentum with a counterforce so intense that it sent a visible shockwave ripping through the battlefield.
Atlas, who had just ducked under Chong's latest swing, was caught in the blast.
"Ah, sh—"
He was launched into the air, tumbling several meters before crashing into a shattered stone pillar. Dust and debris exploded around him.
Groaning, Atlas sat up, blinking through the dirt cloud. "Okay… I definitely felt that one…"
Atlas barely had time to recover before Chong was on him again, staff spinning in rapid arcs. But something was different now. Chong was hesitating and his attacks weren't as relentles.
Atlas smirked. "Oh? You felt it, didn't you? That little twist in your soul? Your own fucking powers."
Chong clenched his jaw, refusing to acknowledge the unease creeping up his spine. His Qi had never felt foreign before—never betrayed him. And yet, when Atlas redirected it, he had felt something unnatural, like his own essence had been momentarily wrenched from him and thrown back twisted.
Atlas pressed the advantage. His stance became sharper, more aggressive, pressing Chong into a defensive retreat. Every parry, every redirection sent jolts of unease into Chong's core, making him fight sloppier, more desperate.
Atlas was winning.