The battle in the Netherworld had reached its fever pitch.
The whirlpools in the sky continued to churn, lightning leaping back and forth, illuminating the world in blinding flashes.
Amid the fierce clash, mountains were flattened, rivers blocked, and plains torn into canyons. The landscape was reshaped again and again, waves of heat and swirling sand covering the ground—seen from afar, it looked like a vast, ochre sea.
Yet even so, the battle between those two raged on.
Monkey charged again and again—Three Heads, Six Arms; Titan’s Ascension; clones—every technique he could muster was unleashed, yet each time, he was forced back.
Wave after wave of stone beasts summoned by Zhenyuan were torn to dust, only to rise again—endless, overwhelming. Yet not one could injure Monkey in the slightest.
Neither of them could gain the upper hand.
Another charge was broken; after smashing a hundred-zhang-tall stone giant to powder, Monkey halted and retreated at speed, escaping the ring of stone beasts to land atop a hill. Leaning on his Golden Staff, he managed to snatch a moment to recover.
He stuck out his tongue and licked the blood from his own wrist, his face twisted as he stared at Zhenyuan in the distance, letting out a raspy laugh: "You’re about to break, aren’t you? I have endless spiritual power. Yours must be more than half spent by now, right?"
His expression was even more bloodthirsty than before, looking just like a vicious spirit—yet he still clung to a shred of reason.
At that moment, spiritual energy was still flooding into his body from all directions, generating a torrent of baleful qi that seemed inexhaustible.
His heart pounded violently, his blood surging madly to his brain; every muscle in his body was taut and trembling out of control, his veins throbbing so hard that each pulse echoed like thunder in his ears.
His vision had already begun to blur.
He gritted his teeth, clutching the Golden Staff so hard it creaked in his grip.
In the distance, surrounded by stone beasts and panting for breath, Zhenyuan reached up and brushed aside the strands of hair falling over his brow, letting out a cold laugh: "How does the Netherworld’s baleful-tainted spiritual energy feel? You’re about to break too, aren’t you?"
By now, even the hairpin atop his bun had long since vanished, his long hair falling over his shoulders. His Daoist robes were badly torn.
Yet even so, he managed to maintain a semblance of his original dignity.
"Heh heh heh... My endurance is far greater than you think," Monkey snarled through gritted teeth.
"My spiritual power is far more abundant than you imagine." With that, Zhenyuan plucked three golden elixirs from his sleeve and popped them into his mouth. Instantly, his spiritual power surged again.
Monkey paused, then gave a savage grin: "Doping up isn’t exactly an honorable tactic."