Lord of the Truth

The Soul Shard raised her right hand toward Sakaar, her voice as sharp as steel and laced with divine arrogance, "Then I shall cleanse my planet with my own hands."

Those words crashed into everyone's ears like a thunderclap tearing through silence. In that instant, the audience in the stands and the generals, all realized the same terrifying truth: things were about to spiral into chaos. The situation had just become catastrophic.

Shoo Shoo — With terrifying speed, beams of concentrated radiant energy erupted from the palm of the Soul Shard's hand. Each arrow of light was forged from pure intent and overwhelming might —no ordinary martial Emperor, no matter how skilled, could withstand even one of them unscathed. These were not attacks meant to threaten or intimidate— they were meant to annihilate.

"Hmph!" Juri, the Planet Soul, didn't hesitate for even a heartbeat. Her expression darkened as she raised her hand and swung it down like a judge delivering the final sentence. From the heavens, bolts of violet and silver lightning rained down in perfect synchronization with the arrows—each bolt a divine counter meant to neutralize the incoming attack.

"The Fourth Wall," whispered the Soul Shard, her voice barely audible but crackling with power. She raised her left hand high into the sky, and at once, four massive walls of celestial force erupted from the ground, layered tightly atop one another. They rose like mountains, towering and radiant, glowing with ancient glyphs and runes of defensive power.

BOOOOOOOOOOM

The explosion that followed was earth-shattering. The collision between lightning and barrier ignited a cascade of force and fury. The first layer of the Fourth Wall was vaporized instantly. The second shattered like fragile glass. The third groaned and buckled under the pressure, finally giving way. But the fourth—somehow—held. Barely.

"What?! What technique is that?!" Juri shouted, her voice thick with disbelief and outrage. She had invoked a second-degree planetary resistance— a force that a mere soul shard shouldn't be able to counter. And yet here stood the Soul Shard, not only alive, but smug.

Meanwhile, the arrows had not stopped. They were already upon Sakaar and the others.

Amon didn't flinch. Instead, he struck his chest twice with closed fists—BAM BAM—and then roared, "Flesh Shield!" His arms spread wide, as if to embrace the storm.

Amon's body, once a regular vessel of flesh and blood, had long transcended its former limits. During the last great battle, he had sacrificed every drop of blood within him to purify the Celestial Dome. He had returned to what many thought was his original form. But that wasn't the truth.

Not even close.

That forced expansion—when he had grown into a behemoth beyond mortal scale—had permanently altered him. His very biology had been rewritten. After that battle, when he lay broken and near death, Sakaar took him to the Sea of Blood, where he was allowed to heal by drinking its scorched, corrupted essence.

But instead of healing alone… his hunger was awakened.

No matter how much blood he drank, it was never enough. His body would swell and grow, each gulp enlarging him more, until he towered once again without even meaning to.

Of course, it hurt. Every stretch, every tear of his muscles, every repair—it all came with unbearable agony. But in time, his nerves dulled, and his body adapted. It learned.

His cultivation had stabilized at Level 50, and with it came a new gift—a mutation of immense potential. Where he once thought he would never again be able to use that monstrous form except in desperation, now it had become a trump card he could call upon at will. A gift that made him a true king among the demons.

Well, almost.

Because while Sakaar could compress his vast blood energy within a compact form, Amon could not. Not yet. His movements were clumsy, his presence enormous—too large to operate freely.

Still, Sakaar saw the spark in him. Without being asked, he extended a hand—offered guidance. Together, they trained for months. Side by side. Teacher and student. Sakaar taught him how to circulate blood through his limbs at speeds so fast it felt like fire running through veins. It was a method of control. Of precision. And slowly, Amon began to understand.

He wasn't as gifted as Sakaar. His affinity with the Blood Path wasn't natural. But as a Level 50 demon warrior, his comprehension wasn't poor either. Slowly but surely, he learned to compress just enough blood into his frame to swell to five meters tall—barely more than twice his original height, but it came with dense, layered strength.

And more than the size, what mattered was this: that compressed blood wasn't just for growth—it was armor. A protective shell formed beneath the skin and around the core. When activated, it made him near-invincible. Even Sakaar had trouble cutting through his defenses when they sparred.

So now, as the glowing arrows approached like falling stars, Amon clapped his massive hands together once more and shouted, "RAAAAAAH!" His arms opened in defiance.

Behind him, the three loyal generals stabbed their own bodies, sacrificing blood without hesitation. SHAAA—three crimson fountains burst from their backs, channeling their essence into Amon.

Then, with a single gesture, Sakaar himself sliced off a portion of the Sea of Blood and sent it flying toward Amon's back—an overwhelming torrent of ancient power.

CRAAAAAACK

Amon's body swelled rapidly. His skin expanded, muscles thickened, bones groaned beneath the pressure. In seconds, he grew so large that he blotted out the horizon from the Soul Shard's view.

SWOOSH SWOOSH SWOOSH

Four of the five radiant arrows slammed directly into his massive frame, and upon contact— BOOOOOOOOOOM —they detonated, releasing waves of annihilating force.

The earth trembled. The sky fractured. The world held its breath.

Three of the blazing soul-arrows struck Amon head-on—one pierced clean through his broad chest, another drilled into his side, and the third dug deep into his abdomen. The fourth arrow exploded violently against his right thigh, reducing a good portion of his leg into smoldering chunks of flesh. The force behind them was not just devastating—it was apocalyptic.

The result was an utter catastrophe.

Amon's body, once standing as a towering symbol of raw power and primal defiance, was torn apart on the spot. Muscle shredded, bones fractured, and dark blood rained down like a thunderstorm of gore. His colossal figure was ripped to pieces, his limbs blown away like twigs in a hurricane. By the end of it, the only part of him that remained intact—barely—was his massive, bloodied head.

He was, for all intents and purposes… gone.

SWOOOSH!

But the fifth arrow… it did not stop there.

It continued its deadly arc through the chaos, carving a path through blood mist and drifting sparks. Its trajectory never wavered. It was aimed with surgical precision toward the one who stood at the heart of the resistance—Sakaar.

ZZZZNNN ZZZZNNN

But Sakaar wasn't idle. The instant his senses registered the incoming threat, thousands of underworld chrysanthemums bloomed into existence around him. They spun, interlocked, and fused into a single, breathtaking construct—an enormous spectral flower glowing with deep violet and black.

"Sun-Seal Daisy!" Sakaar roared, his voice echoing like a divine command across the battlefield.

BAAAAAAAAAAM!!

The arrow met the flower in a spectacular collision. The explosion that followed was blinding—blotting out the sun for an instant. The blast shattered the flower, tore through space, and sent Sakaar's body flying backward like a falling star. He spiraled through the air, blood gushing from his lips, already wounded from before, and now hurled like a broken weapon into the void.

"...Filthy. You creatures reek of corruption," the Soul Shard muttered with cold disdain. She flicked her fingers as though brushing away dust and then gave a smile—one filled with condescension and absolute certainty. "No matter. With the Red Plague cleansed, the rest of you can rot in silence."

Her words, though quiet, struck the crowd like hammer blows. The battlefield seemed to freeze for a second.

"YOU DARE?!"

It was Caesar.

His voice broke the stillness like a thunderclap. His fury surged like a tidal wave, crackling in the air as his polearm ignited with black fire—flames that consumed even light itself. With a primal war cry, he dashed forward, cleaving toward the Soul Shard with everything he had.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, surprised but unimpressed. A human? Charging her?

As his weapon neared, she prepared to catch it with her bare hand—a statement of overwhelming superiority. But then—her expression changed.

Her fingers faltered mid-air, refusing to touch the weapon.

"Eh…?"

Within the flames of Caesar's polearm, something stirred. A power ancient and vile. Something born not from training, but from death and despair. It was as though her soul—so old and untouched—recognized it. Feared it. She refused to make contact.

"Soul-Seal Net!" she barked, instantly releasing a glowing white lattice of energy from her palm. It shot forward, wrapped around Caesar's weapon mid-air, and SNAP—dragged it away.

WHOOOSH!

Caesar was pulled with it, hurtling backward.

"DAMN IT!!" he shouted, trying to resist, to fight the net.

But in that single instant…

She felt it.

A killing intent—raw, direct, and sharp enough to flay a god. It smothered her like a cloak of daggers. Her body froze.

From above, a young man descended like a meteor streaking through crimson skies. White hair wild in the wind, sharp eyes burning like twin stars of fury and judgment. There was no fear in his gaze—only determination and an almost suicidal courage.

He was going to punch her. Not hurt her. End her.

"Fourth Wall!" she screamed, fear finally tinting her tone. Four massive barriers burst into existence ahead of her—each layered behind the next, each forged from her soul force, lined with the same runes that had just blocked the divine wrath of a Planet Spirit.

But Richard?

He didn't slow down.

He cocked his fist back and—

BOOOOOOOOOM!

The first two barriers exploded on contact.

Then his other fist followed—like a comet laced in wrath.

BOOOOOOM!!

The third and fourth walls shattered like porcelain.

He tore through them all.

The Soul Shard staggered back, genuine alarm on her face. "What—what is this?! A mortal?! A human who hasn't even reached peak Martial Emperor Realm—how can you possess this kind of strength?!"

But even as panic flared, she didn't lose focus. Her palms snapped down. "Tidal Waves."

FROOOOOOOM!

Invisible ripples of pure soul force exploded downward. The very air screamed. Space warped. The attack smashed into Richard mid-air like a meteor of gravity itself.

"AAAGH!!"

Richard's vision spun. Blood sprayed from his nose and mouth as pain lit up every nerve in his body. He clenched his fists harder, trying to endure, but the blow was too sudden, too overwhelming.

CLANG! CRAACK!

His body hit the ground hard. The skies above twisted violently, turning a bloody crimson. A cyclone of soul energy began swirling, and from the center of it…

Juri. The Planet Soul raised a single finger, pointing it downward like a judge issuing the final sentence.

"You wield fine soul techniques, intruder," she said coolly, her voice cold as space. "But now let's see how you fare against the third degree of planetary defense."