Shen Zong stood among the ruins, dust and debris clinging to his robes, chest heaving with exertion. The shadow whip and black gauntlet hummed, yet even their power could not mask the toll of the battle. His muscles screamed, and the cursed lotus pulsed violently in his chest, each petal a reminder that its hunger was growing faster than he could feed it.
Across the battlefield, Elder Qingfeng and Xian Mo struggled to rise, bruised and bloodied, but not defeated. Their eyes burned with renewed determination.
"You've grown," Xian Mo said through clenched teeth, summoning qi to his palms. "But you've also overextended."
Elder Qingfeng nodded. "We misjudged you. No longer a boy… yet not invincible. Let's see how you handle the combined assault of two masters."
Shen Zong's eyes narrowed. He could feel the limits of his body—his Third Stage cultivation foundation shaking under the strain, the cursed lotus threatening to consume him from within.
Patience… control… ruthlessness, he muttered. I must survive. I must grow.
---
The two cultivators attacked simultaneously. Xian Mo's green qi surged like a tidal wave, while Elder Qingfeng's jade sword slashed with precision that cut through air itself. Shen Zong moved with speed, but misjudged a subtle angle; Xian Mo's blade grazed his shoulder, sending a jolt of pain that made him stagger.
Damn it… The phantom lotus quivered, responding violently. Tendrils lashed outward instinctively, but Shen Zong struggled to maintain control. His body screamed as he pushed beyond its limits.
A second strike from Elder Qingfeng knocked him off balance, sending him skidding across shattered stone. Pain shot through his ribs, but his mind remained sharp. Every second I survive… every blow I endure… makes me stronger.
Shen Zong twisted, using the shadow whip to latch onto a broken column, swinging himself into the air. Tendrils lashed out, blocking the incoming qi surge from Xian Mo. He barely deflected the attack, feeling the strain of controlling both relic and lotus simultaneously.
---
Blood dripped from his lips. "Pathetic," he muttered softly, though his voice was more determination than scorn. "I will not fall. Not yet."
With a deep breath, he let the lotus consume a fragment of his life force, stabilizing his qi. The petals glowed brighter, but the strain intensified, searing his veins. His body shook violently, yet his eyes blazed with a ruthless calm.
He lashed out with the shadow whip, tangling Xian Mo and Elder Qingfeng in a web of black tendrils. But the two cultivators moved with experience, countering and breaking free, their attacks relentless.
Shen Zong's face was pale, sweat and blood mixing. The lotus's hunger clawed at him, demanding more. He gritted his teeth.
Endure… outlast… adapt…
---
Finally, seizing a brief opening, Shen Zong struck both relics' power simultaneously. The gauntlet enhanced his strength; the whip struck like a shadow consuming light. Elder Qingfeng and Xian Mo were thrown back, crashing into broken pillars.
Breathing heavily, Shen Zong fell to his knees, black tendrils twitching around him. Pain seared through his body, his chest burning as the lotus pulsed wildly. Yet within that agony, a grim satisfaction surfaced: he had survived. He had grown.
This… is the price of power, he whispered. And I am willing to pay it… again and again.
---
From afar, hidden sect disciples and demonic observers witnessed the struggle. They saw a boy—an orphan, a cursed mortal—pushed to his absolute limits, yet still standing, still growing, and still ruthless beyond reason.
The world had learned something vital: Shen Zong's power came at a price. But his will… was untouchable.
And somewhere deep within the ruins, the phantom lotus pulsed violently, as if approving the lesson of struggle.