Genetic Ascension

Chapter 1226: Ninety-Nine

Sylas felt his legs fracture on impact. He barely managed to catch himself, his body swaying wildly as the pain ravaged his mind. His expression, though, remained mostly unreadable.

He stood, forcefully stabilizing his body.

Unfortunately, his healing factor had yet to be recovered by him. Becoming a D Grade Race was amazing, it was just unfortunate that that also meant his Genes carried much less weight and his body was far harder to heal.

BANG!

Ebison landed, his expression eager and his face practically languishing in the opportunity before him. It was like he wanted to savor the moment—the chance to impress a woman by killing an F-tier didn’t come every day.

However, he was forced to snap out of it.

“Do I have to repeat myself?” the Duchess’ father spoke again, and he was shaken awake.

That was right, he had already said to begin, so why hadn’t he?

Ebison’s body suddenly flashed forward, his palm and fingers flattening into a spear point. Claws extended from their tips, his body cutting a bloody red line across the air.

He could already see images of Sylas’ chest being torn through.

—

[Ebison Blazara]

[Level: 77]

—

The world slowed around Sylas and he could see every aspect of Ebison’s attack. Every twitch of his muscles, every pulse of Aether, every slight twinge in his veins—it all reflected.

He thought about what Skills he wanted to show and what abilities he wanted to hide. Defeating an opponent like this—from a powerful Race and also a powerful Tier—should take him everything he had, but he couldn’t afford to do that.

In that case, he needed another method, something that could allow him to bridge the gap without giving too much of his hand away.

He took a breath and exhaled, his eyes sharpening. Mixed Demonic Arts activated, the reflections of Ebison’s movements in his eyes becoming even sharper than usual.

PUCHI.

He swayed to the side, Ebison’s spear-hand ripping into his shoulder. Just when it seemed it would tear through his collarbone and out the other side, he shifted, the slice cutting across and revealing bone. It almost looked like one could take a spoon and scoop out his shoulder joint, the attack so fast that the blood didn’t have a chance to cover up the flash of white bone for several moments.

Sylas took a step forward rather than retreating, unleashing a hook at Ebison’s blind spot.

Ebison felt a hint of surprise that he missed at all, but he didn’t take it seriously. Even if his eyes couldn’t see the strike, he could feel it coming, see it through his own visualization range.

That was what made the fact it landed all the more shocking.

Ebison thought he blocked with a drop to his elbow, only for it to look as though he had purposely lowered his arm to let Sylas land a hook right across his chin.

Blood spurted from Sylas’ own wounds, but Ebison’s brain was rattling around in his skull.

Sylas didn’t even see a living being in front of him. He saw a series of levers and pulleys. He might not be as strong as Ebison—not by a long shot—but what would the man do when Sylas applied his stronger strength to Ebison’s weakest points?

The punch was perfectly timed, using Ebison’s momentum against him, and all the leverage Sylas could muster. If not for the strength of Ebison’s body, his head would have practically spun off his shoulders. But precisely because of that strength, his head whipped back as though pulled by a string, sending his brain into an even fiercer rattle.

Ebison stumbled forward, his body swaying right into a shin-kick to the nuts.

His already weak knees crumbled, his body collapsing forward into a knee to the nose.

**BANG!**

The Mesh of Reality weighed heavily around Sylas, increasing his weight as he pulled on the Gluttony and Lust Seeds, using his telekinesis to further increase his power.

Every strike landed like heavy stone smashing against stone, one combination after another spiraling into the next.

It was a single mistake. No, it was hardly considered a mistake—there was little wrong with Ebison’s form of attack. Though he had underestimated his opponent, he had still been aiming to kill Sylas in a single strike, not toy around with him.

And that was what made the subsequent beatdown all the worse.

Ebison wasn’t even leaking blood or fracturing bone. The gap between their strengths was as obvious as the difference between the murky ground and the bright skies.

And yet, it hardly mattered as his brain was rattling around his skull. He couldn’t focus even if he wanted to, the world continuously spinning around him. He didn’t even know what combination number Sylas was on, his body ping-ponging around like a doll being rough-housed.

But even that didn’t make any sense. The brain was surely an important part of the body, but as one evolved, it became interlinked with one’s soul and Will. Even if the brain was rattling around, someone with decent Will should still be able to focus enough to gain a moment to breathe.

All Ebison should need was a single instant of time—a brief gap to use a Skill or Gene Talent to reverse the situation. Clearly, he was inferior to Sylas in close combat, but he should be able to easily overwhelm him in terms of power.

But he couldn’t. As for why, only the most powerful here could tell.

Sylas was suppressing his Will with his own. It was such a delicate usage of Will—just a slight leak pooling over Ebison’s own to disorient him into being unable to use it—that it shook the heart.

This Sylas wasn’t powerful, but his control was immaculate, and he seemed to have all the right in the world to be arrogant.

“Ninety.” Sylas said calmly, counting it out for Ebison and filling his skull with despair. “Ninety-one.”

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

“Ninety-five.”

Ebison roared out in defiance, or maybe that was what he thought was happening. In reality, he sounded a lot more like a dying pig, his voice coming out in a half-squeal, half-groan.

BANG!

“Ninety-nine.”

Sylas said calmly before he felt his body freeze in place entirely.

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