My Charity System made me too OP-Chapter 329: Fighting VI

Destruction aura flared around his limbs—punches now cratered the ground, his feet leaving molten dents in the obsidian stage. He used Gold Magic to reinforce his body, Aether Blood to blur his own time-frame and match Zor'Khul's speed.

The arena erupted in shockwaves as the two clashed midair, weaponless now. Fist to claw. Nail to carapace. Shell Pulse—Tripart Echo mirrored Zor'Khul's patterns once. Twice.

But Zor'Khul adapted—his axes moved in sequences that hadn't even occurred yet.

Leon was slammed to the ground, coughing blood. His body convulsed. His vision spun.

Then the whisper echoed inside his mind:

"Compress."

His hands trembled as he stood, swaying.

He whispered one word.

"Singularity."

His entire body collapsed inward—not physically, but temporally. Every movement, every Shell Echo he'd stored in his time as a warrior, every deflected blow, every painful lesson—compressed into one moment.

His form flickered. The entire arena dimmed. Even Zor'Khul's time-phantoms paused—instinctually recognizing annihilation.

Leon's body vanished.

Then reappeared in front of Zor'Khul.

Fist extended.

Strike released.

BOOOOOOM.

A singular point of impact. No sound. No light. Just a void implosion.

Zor'Khul's temporal armor shattered. His axes evaporated. His multiple selves collapsed into one, crumpling backward.

Silence.

Then the shell of the arena groaned.

The light returned.

Zor'Khul lay unconscious, unmoving.

The crowd didn't cheer.

They stood.

They watched.

They remembered.

Then the voice finally spoke:

"Victory… Challenger Leon. Rank 37 Defeated."

Leon dropped to one knee, every muscle in his body screaming. His knuckles bled. His breath came in ragged gasps.

[Shell Reverb: Mastery +4%. Total: 87%.]

[Aether Blood: Sync Rate Increased.]

[You have received: Timefang Fragment – Left.]

As medics rushed toward Zor'Khul, an elder stepped into the ring, bowing low to Leon.

"You carry destruction, time, and reflection within one soul. Take this mark," he said, handing Leon a shard carved with golden script. "This is your key to the Inner Sanctum of Reflection. You are approaching the Final Ten."

Leon barely had time to breathe before the next gate rumbled open. His wounds were still fresh, his mind only beginning to settle from the distortion of time and space from Zor'Khul's defeat. Yet, he didn't stop. The shard he had just received pulsed in his hand, faintly glowing—a token of passage deeper into the path few ever walked.

From the gate, a calm, eerie wind blew. No war cries. No thunderous steps.

Only silence.

And then it emerged.

"Vaer'Zhul… the Dreambane."

Unlike the previous champions who exuded raw force or elemental distortion, Vaer'Zhul was draped in something else entirely—tranquility. Its body shimmered with stardust, half-corporeal, as if it were only half present in this realm. Its face resembled a mask carved from obsidian and amethyst, bearing no expression. Behind it, six floating sigils hovered like wings, each etched with impossible glyphs.

Leon narrowed his eyes. "Illusion-type? No—this feels deeper."

The elder voice echoed through the arena:

"Beware, Challenger. Vaer'Zhul does not strike flesh. He strikes self."

Chime. Begin.

Nothing happened.

Leon tensed, staff ready. His body still hummed with the echo of his compressed Shell Pulse, the afterimage of his Singularity form still clawing at his nerves.

Then—

Darkness.

No sound. No light.

No arena.

Leon opened his eyes—only to find himself standing on a shoreline made of glass, staring at the wreckage of himself.

Every defeat he'd ever suffered. Every loved one he'd failed. The moment Roman nearly died. The day he lost control of Tandav and burned half a continent. The guilt of power too great to hold.

Vaer'Zhul's voice came from nowhere and everywhere:

"You ascend, but your mind is anchored. Your spirit breaks long before your bones."

Leon's body moved instinctively—he swung his staff, but it passed through illusions. No effect. His Shell Reverb couldn't lock on.

He clenched his teeth, blood vessels in his eyes breaking from the psychic strain.

"Not this time," he muttered.

He dropped to his knees and activated Absolute Return.

The glass-shore shattered. Reality fractured—his real body screamed in response as he began reasserting his true self. Every memory Vaer'Zhul weaponized was pulled into the Shell Pulse's memory ring, compressed into counterforce.

Then he roared.

Abyssal mana flared out like a black sun. Gold Magic wrapped around it like a divine exoskeleton. Destruction crackled at his fingertips, Aether Blood pulsing in tune with his soul's heartbeat.

"I don't need to destroy you," Leon said, voice layered with echo and fury. "I need to destroy the version of me you think is weak."

He lunged.

The arena returned to clarity—but now Leon was the distortion.

Vaer'Zhul tried to retreat, sigils forming layers of psychic barriers.

Leon crashed through them.

First, a blow to the chest—Shell Reverb: Tripart Echo. The second and third hits struck from slightly different timelines, all in unison.

Vaer'Zhul reeled, mask cracking.

Next, a burst of destruction magic from the staff-tip—Golden Comet Break. The explosion ripped through the dreamlight shielding.

And finally—

Leon's palm struck Vaer'Zhul's head directly, channeling Singularity Echo.

One focused pulse of all suppressed trauma. Not avoided—accepted.

BOOM.

A geyser of distorted space and psychic backlash erupted. The six sigils shattered. Vaer'Zhul's body crumpled into motes of dreamstuff, dissipating like mist at dawn.

Silence.

Then, a soft chime.

[Victory: Challenger Leon. Rank 36 Defeated.]

[Shell Pulse Mastery increased to 90%.]

[You have received: Dreamer's Seal – Fragmented Lucidity.]

[New Memory Thread Unlocked: Echo of Identity.]

Leon stood still, trembling, drenched in sweat and psychic fatigue.

Naval rushed into the arena, catching him as he collapsed.

"I'm fine," Leon rasped.

"You're insane," Roman added, shaking his head.

"I saw that thing unravel your soul," Roselia whispered. "And you still stood."

Leon looked up at the dark sky of the arena.

"One more. Just one more."

Then he smiled—bloody, tired, and defiant.

Leon sat beneath the obsidian spire marking the center of the arena, wrapped in silence as Roselia gently wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. The others stood a few paces away, respecting the moment. Even Naval, who usually cracked a joke or two, stayed quiet—his sharp eyes reading the tremors still flickering beneath Leon's skin.

Roman was the first to break the silence.