Void Cultivation-Chapter 187- The Foundation Establishment Realm (15)

Grey’s eyes narrowed as the Seven-Colored fog and the Transparent bottle surged toward him, their movements sharp and precise. But unlike what anyone might expect in the face of such an ominous attack, Grey’s expression remained eerily calm. It was the kind of calm that could swallow fear itself, a quiet confidence that emanated a sense of inevitability.

As the Seven-Colored fog drew closer, its form rippled violently before condensing, coalescing into a hand several meters long. It was delicate, slender, and unmistakably feminine in its contours. Every finger seemed carved with precision, every curve exuding an almost ethereal grace. This was no ordinary attack, it bore the mark of intent, of malice, and of refined skill.

Yet, Grey did not flinch. Instead, threads of faint purple light flickered into existence around him, weaving themselves through the air with a serpentine fluidity. They were thin, almost intangible, ghostly in their illusionary state. But the moment they intertwined around Grey’s body, they solidified into a shimmering armor of violet brilliance. The armor pulsed softly at first, then radiated an aura that was at once domineering and suffocating, an oppressive presence capable of suppressing life itself, a force that demanded submission.

The Seven-Colored hand, suspended midair as if frozen by some unseen power, shuddered violently. The lady controlling it, her face twisted in hatred mere moments before, blinked in stunned disbelief. Her eyes widened, her sharp expression melting into one of confusion. The aura emanating from Grey’s armor was not merely strong, it was overwhelming, a force that hinted at secrets far beyond her comprehension, pressing down upon her like the weight of an entire battlefield.

But her daze was brief. Awareness flared back in her eyes, sharp and dangerous, snapping her out of her momentary paralysis. That single heartbeat of hesitation, though, was all Grey needed.

In that instant, Grey’s figure blurred, destabilized in appearance, though in truth, his speed was incomprehensible. To the lady’s eyes, he seemed to flicker, a phantom dancing between reality and illusion. A moment later, he reappeared with a cold glint in his eyes, his movements deceptively simple. No divine arts, no overt manipulation of spiritual energy, just a fist.

And yet, that fist carried the weight of inevitability. As it thrust forward, the air itself tore with a shrill, slicing sound, as though reality itself protested his strike. The afterimage of his fist lingered briefly in the air before a deafening impact rang out. The lady was flung backward violently, her body tumbling like a ragdoll through the air. Blood trickled from the corner of her lips, her expression frozen in shock and disbelief.

Almost immediately, Grey’s violet armor dissipated, breaking apart into sparks of ethereal light that vanished into nothingness. He remained still, expression unchanging, though a faint pallor had crept across his face. Manifesting the armor, even for such a fleeting moment, had drained him, its absorption of spirit power was insatiable, a hunger that rivaled even the most voracious of spiritual entities.

It was more pronounced than when he had faced the shadow. Then, the Spirit energy within the Soul Pill had fueled its endurance, sustaining it beyond its natural limits. But now, with his aura stabilized and his Foundation Establishment Realm solidified, the excess energy in his body had already been exhausted. Even a momentary invocation of the armor left a terrifying imprint on his vitality.

Grey’s thoughts flickered inward, sharp and analytical. It didn’t consume as much as it did against the shadow... that must have been because I was still in the process of breaking through, and the Soul Pill’s energy supplemented the armor. But now... with my Foundation Establishment Realm fully consolidated, my reserves are finite. Its hunger... is still monstrous.

A shadow of curiosity and a touch of awe passed through his mind. The question that had been gnawing at him for some time rose again, insistent... ’How did Caster manage to keep his battle armor active for such prolonged periods?’

After Grey knocked the lady backwards, the Seven-Colored hand and the Transparent bottle didn’t stay down for long. They twisted in mid-air like furious spirits and shot back toward him with a pressure so heavy it made the very air ripple.

Grey looked calm, unfazed even, but the slight pallor on his face gave away his fatigue. His breath was steady, but his essence was stirring too violently inside his body. He was pushing his limits, and he knew it.

Just as he was about to intercept the incoming attacks, a streak of crimson tore across the battlefield. A flash so sharp, fast, domineering. The Seven-Colored hand staggered as if slapped by an invisible force, and the Transparent bottle was sent spinning like a toy.

Roxanne appeared a short distance away, her expression a mix of confusion and something deeper... something fierce. Despite the haze clouding her mind, determination burned in her eyes. With a single, fluid motion, she raised her hand.

Nine fire ghosts erupted into existence.

They didn’t look human. Each ghost resembled some distorted, nightmarish creature, twisted limbs, elongated faces, and flames that flickered between scarlet, gold, and deep violet. Anger and pain radiated off them like a suffocating aura.

The world’s temperature spiked instantly. Even Grey felt the sting of heat against his skin.

With a chorus of agonized roars, the nine ghosts surged forward. The Seven-Colored hand trembled violently under their pressure, its structure unraveling. Within seconds it crumbled back into a chaotic Seven-Colored fog.

As for the Transparent bottle... its surface splintered. The sweet, tempting fragrance that leaked from it suddenly twisted into something rotten and nauseating. With a sharp crack, the bottle shattered completely, scattering traces of corrupted essence into the wind.

High above, Grey let out a silent breath of relief. Only he knew the truth, Roxanne’s cultivation had silently risen to the Late Stages of the Foundation Establishment Realm after she awoke from her deep sleep. She wasn’t just supporting him; she was turning the tide of the battle by herself. One ability from her was enough to flip everything.

Grey revealed am expression filled with gratitude.

But the moment the Seven-Colored hand and Transparent bottle were destroyed, Grey’s eyes sharpened. His pupils constricted into a cold glint.

Without hesitation, he moved.

His body blurred, leaving an afterimage in the sky. In the blink of an eye, he crossed the distance between him and the young woman as if space itself bent beneath his feet.

The woman’s eyes widened. She hadn’t expected the situation to devolve this quickly. Her divine abilities had been powerful and deadly even, but they weren’t her only cards.

Still, when she sensed Grey closing in with that aloof, merciless aura, fear rippled through her heart.

She bit down on her lip. Hard.

A mouthful of blood sprayed into the air, but instead of forming droplets, it twisted unnaturally, condensing into a broken fingernail that began to burn with a frightening glow.

Her complexion instantly drained. The bloody nail ignited, and her aura surged violently like a volcanic eruption.

"You think you can kill me? I come from the Nine-Colored Sect, and I have mastered their—"

Grey didn’t even slow down.

He didn’t care. His expression remained cold, expressionless, unwavering. His speed didn’t falter for even a heartbeat.

Seeing his indifference, her face contorted.

The burning fingernail shattered into sparks of multicolored flame, and a roar of power erupted from her body. In that moment, two brilliant lights, dazzling and ethereal, burst to life beside her. Her figure straightened, her aura transformed, and the atmosphere trembled from the sheer force of it.

She had entered her Special Brilliance Form.

The battlefield shifted once more, tension stretching to a razor’s edge as two cultivators, each burning with their own rising intent, prepared to collide head-on.