Genetic Ascension novel Chapter 1472

Overloaded, the Ouro, with a head full of blue-scaled hydra, didn't even know when he died. When his eyes cleared, he found a claw phasing through his chest, splicing into his cells as though vibrating its way through, and then suddenly solidifying.

PCHU.

Blood spurted, and crimson bubbled up from his mouth, spilling over his jaw and falling in a waterfall.

The eyes of the Ouro suddenly widened as he snapped out of it. His Will surged, and his body sent out a wave of violent aura in all directions, only to find that he had been trapped in an illusion of what might happen, as though Schrédinger's cat.

However, when he picked the path of life, he found Sylas' fist right in front of him.

He hurried to try and dodge, but as fast as he was, he was still a beat slow, the side of his nose and a single cheek suffering a devastating blow.

In that moment, his entire world was consumed by the sight of Sylas' eyes. His Charisma pulled him in until his senses weren't capable of feeling anything else.

Just... what level of Rune Master was this? This wasn't a battle against a man—it was a battle against a god capable of bending reality itself.

He barely completed the thought before his head snapped back in pain.

Green flickered along Sylas' body, and he was instantly coated in his F-Grade and E- Grade Scorpion Warlord Armors. They melded into one, and the latter took another step forward.

Before, it provided him "just" 20,000 Physical stat points when combined. Now, it had been doubled as his Mastery took a step forward, leaving Breath behind and entering Flesh.

The world felt as though it was in the palm of Sylas' hands, his body flowing faster than it ever had before. It was still too slow to keep up with his mind, and yet he was so far ahead of his opponent it didn't seem to matter.

He saw counters and counters to counters. He played a game of chess a hundred moves ahead, his body twitching, dancing, and shifting to timelines that his opponent hadn't even felt play out yet.

But he had.

His opponent was more than twice as fast as him, more than twice as strong, and had treasures and trump cards an infinite span beyond his adornless body.

Yet, it looked as though Sylas was taking a stroll through the park, dodging before punches were thrown, attacking locations without opponents, only for them to suddenly appear in his path as though to present themselves to death.

The combination of strikes started with just a single punch, but the moment it began, it was as though the blue-scaled Ouro was trapped in an illusion he couldn't peel himself out of.

Fists, knees, elbows—every attack began to layer the sense of danger in the man's mind once again.

He couldn't sense the constant shift in the timeline, but his Luck could. Every time Sylas attacked, it was as though the blue-scaled Ouro was facing every timeline of failure all at once... And it was overwhelming.

Sylas exhaled a mouthful of air so heated it steamed out of the corners of his mouth, and yet to the Ouro it looked little different from a dragon breathing out its flames, lifting its head to the skies and roaring at the puny, insignificant creatures beneath it.

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