Chaos Heir

Chapter 1584: Overwhelmed

The opportunity to counterattack never came. Ilman’s offense was unending, spotless, and increasingly deadlier. Still, the King finally understood why.

People had limits. Even evolved warriors did. Only Gods could ignore those, but they also had to work to achieve that. The True Chaos would have taken over the universe already otherwise.

However, Ilman seemed to be an exception to that rule. His speed increased after every exchange. Each following strike hit harder and deeper than the previous. His physical condition kept worsening, but his performance steadily improved, turning his initiative into an insurmountable advantage.

That made no sense, unless Ilman’s element played a role in the unreasonable development. Only something as magical as superior forms of energy could create that impossible trend, finally solving the doubt that had nagged at the King since the beginning of the battle.

It seemed the heart of passion Ilman had mentioned wasn’t a figure of speech. It was what his existence was all about, at least his interpretation of it.

In practice, that element served as an empowerment, a constant one at that. No matter the specific attack, Ilman grew stronger. He got better at whatever he needed to do, and that trend seemed to have no limit.

Still, a limit did indeed exist. Such incredible power also demanded a steep price to be paid. Ilman would have been unbeatable otherwise.

The empowerment wasn’t seamless. That superior amount of energy and sheer strength remained something Ilman had to control and redirect. Since his element had pushed them far beyond what he was used to unleashing, his brain was basically in overload, burning itself to keep up with the battle’s demands.

The same went with Ilman’s body. He was sturdy, and he had mutated through the new old ways, but that reckless empowerment had long since pushed him beyond his physical limits.

That normally wouldn’t be a problem. The sole fact that Ilman was managing to keep up at a pace that went beyond his level vouched for his mastery over his mana and his martial arts.

A capable warrior like Ilman could have easily found a balance between the level of empowerment he needed and what his mind and body could handle.

Ilman also didn’t need to get any stronger. He was already overwhelming the King, leaving no room for counterattacks, escape, or even defense. He had long since crossed the point where his empowerment was still needed.

Yet, that trend didn’t stop. Ilman continued to grow faster and more powerful despite the increasing toll on his existence, and the King could only find a single answer to that recklessness.

Ilman didn’t stop empowering himself because he couldn’t.

The increasingly heavier toll on Ilman’s existence was only the superficial drawback to his element’s power. Its true curse seemed to lie with the fact that he was forced to empower himself endlessly, without ever being able to settle at a satisfactory level.

That flawed but endless potential was probably also why Ilman had looked relatively weak at the beginning of the battle. His element required time and multiple exchanges to turn on the heat, making its basic level so insignificant that it almost looked as if he was holding back.

And, in a way, that discovery was quite liberating for the King. He already couldn’t do anything but take that beating. Still, it had turned out that he didn’t have to do anything at all in the first place.

Ilman was basically killing himself and couldn’t stop doing that, so the King just waited.

Profound, soul-crushing pain that reached as deeply as the very core of King’s existence had long since filled him, never numbing him to it. He was coming undone under that endless assault, but he didn’t attempt anything anymore. He couldn’t, and there was no point to it.

It wasn’t up to the King whether Ilman lasted long enough to kill him. He was overwhelmed and powerless, unable to move or even summon an ounce of his diminishing energy. Still, the torture eventually stopped.

The assault culminated in a simple, straightforward punch. Ilman hit the King’s chest before falling to his knees, unable to stand anymore. Grey smoke escaped his heated figure, trying to hide his dried-up, wriggling muscles, and his disheveled red hair covered his sweaty, caved-in face.

Ilman looked and was completely done, emptied of whatever energy had once filled him, his body only having enough strength to keep itself together.

Meanwhile, the King was still on his feet. The last punch didn’t lead to any discharge of True Chaos, either. He had survived that one-sided clash, and awareness slowly returned to him, telling him that the time to counterattack had come.

Nevertheless, when the King tried to lift his arm, it fell apart, shattering into dust that dispersed into the now-clear environment. That started a chain reaction, and cracks soon covered his entire figure.

A red glow shone on the King in time to catch the moment his whole body crumbled apart. Ilman gasped loudly, peeking past his long strands, feeling too tired to enjoy that victorious sight but forcing himself to witness it.

When the last of the dust that had once been the King vanished, Ilman sat down, wanting to stabilize himself, but ended up having no strength to remain straight. His back gave in, making him fall to the ground, where he lay motionless.

Ilman’s vision grew blurry, prompting the urge to rub his eyes, only for his arms to ignore that command. He was truly done, but a loud crash resounded somewhere behind him, forcing him to at least tilt his head in that direction.

A second crashing noise resounded by the time Ilman’s vision focused. His huge Thilku companion had arrived on the scene, landing before the kneeling, bald King. The latter still looked angry for some reason, but his condition left a lot to be desired.

One of the bald King’s wings was gone, while the other had shrunk so much it barely extended past his arms. Actually, one of those was gone, too, his bleeding right elbow leaking blood nonstop.

Meanwhile, Lord Mighty was burned all over, but looked overall fine. A broad grin still filled his face as he crossed his thick arms in confidence, his body already fixing those injuries.

"Blue’s friend, that was a great battle!" Lord Mighty shouted. "I’m almost done, too!"

"[You might defeat me, child of the mana]," The angry-looking King said through a strange, feeble whisper, his weakness conveyed in his voice, "[But your Emperor will crumble before our God]."

"[Ah]!" Lord Mighty cried, switching to his native language to add emotions to his voice. "[My Emperor is the strongest being in the universe. He will have his fun before crushing your God]!"

The statement ended the time for words, and Ilman’s vision blurred once again, only for a white flash to blind him temporarily. A roar even ran through the sky, accompanied by a shattering earthquake and winds violent enough to blow his exhausted figure away.

Ilman flew while the world rumbled, eventually crashing limply on the ground and rolling over it. It took him some spins for his body to finally come to a stop, sadly ending belly down and with his face buried in the cracked surface.

The position made it hard for Ilman to breathe, but something soon pulled him up, showing him how the sky had gone from white to black before a half-burned, huge face filled his vision.

"Blue’s friend," Lord Mighty said as the burns on his face healed, releasing some grey smoke, hiding his slight embarrassment. "Don’t tell my companions that I spoke for the Emperor."