Linghu stepping forward, unfazed—as if none of their attacks had even mattered.
Atlas swallowed hard. A chilling realization sank in.
We are so fucked.
And there was no one left but him.
Atlas couldn't breathe.
His entire body was frozen, his fingers twitching at his sides as he stared at the battlefield around him.
Jiang, Bao, Meilin, Lin Wuye—all of them are down.
His mind screamed at him to do something, but his legs felt like lead, his throat dry, his lungs refusing to take in enough air.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
He looked at Linghu, standing amidst the wreckage like a god of war—his Qi radiating in a deep, ominous hue, shifting between black and violet, flickering like a living entity around him. It wasn't just powerful—it was devouring the air itself, bending the very space around him. His robes were tattered, his body bled from various wounds, but his stance, his expression unshaken.
Atlas wanted to run.
Every rational part of him screamed at him to turn and flee. Every single person stronger than him had fallen. Kai, the boy he had taken in, lay face-down in the dirt, motionless. Lin Wuye, the indomitable master, was crumpled like a broken statue. Layla, her body marred by Rot Qi, barely holding onto consciousness. Jiang and Bao, warriors in their own right, unable to stand.
His stomach twisted with guilt.
This is all my fault.
I should have planned better. I should have thought ahead. I should have stopped this before it even started.
He felt sick. His hands clenched into fists so tight his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood. Fear consumed him.
And suddenly he was back there.
Cold. The filth of the streets clinging to his skin. His stomach twisted in hunger, but there was no food, no warmth, no comfort. Just the empty void of starvation. Of loneliness. Of helplessness.
I'm alone again?
Atlas shuddered as he snapped back to reality, gasping. His breath was erratic, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He couldn't move. He couldn't think.
Atlas felt himself spiralling.
He was in his Palace of Knowledge, the sanctuary of his mind, where information had always been his greatest weapon. Yet it was in shambles.
Mini-Atlases, the embodiments of his thoughts, ran aimlessly through collapsing corridors, rifling through stacks of ledgers, maps, and battle theories—but none of it mattered.
They were panicking. Just like him.
One clutched a book on Qi theory, flipping through the pages at lightning speed.
"We don't have anything on this guy! No precedent, no records—he's a monster!"
Another Mini-Atlas sat slumped against a pillar, staring blankly at the battlefield through Atlas's own eyes.
"It's over. We're dead. This is how we die."
Then, amid the chaos, one of them stopped.
With shaking hands, he pulled a document from the archives. A conversation. A memory.
Yan's voice rang through his mind, clear as day:
"One: Direct Contact. If you touch someone who's actively channeling Qi, your body will naturally try to absorb it. But without control, you could take in too much, too fast, and overload."
He lowered a finger.
"Two: Proximity. Your body already draws in Qi passively. If you were to stand in a place where Qi naturally gathers—like an ancestral ground or battlefield where cultivators fought—you'd take in more than usual. Problem is, you have no way to regulate it. You'd be gambling with your life."
Another finger dropped.
"Three: Forced Absorption. The most dangerous method. If you willingly allow someone to attack you with Qi, your body will instinctively try to take it in as a defense mechanism. But without a core to stabilize it, you'll either explode or collapse from internal damage."
Atlas had hummed at the time, nodding as if Yan had just explained the mechanics of a simple trade deal.
"So basically, I'm a sponge without a bucket."
His vision snapped back to the present only 10 seconds had passed but his body shaking.
He could feel everything inside him breaking.
My inner body is fucked right now.
His veins screamed, Qi rampaging through his system like a violent storm.
If I attempted forced absorption, what are my chances of survival?
His mind scrambled for calculations.
Direct Contact Absorption for 15 seconds? 70% chance of Qi overload.
Proximity Absorption in Linghu's radius? 40% chance of losing control.
Forced Absorption of Linghu's Qi?
...
2%.
Atlas swallowed hard, his throat dry.
I have to bet on a two percent chance of survival? What the fuck man?
His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists.
What other choice do I have?
Atlas had always believed in self-preservation. That no one was going to save him but himself.
And yet... he was about to throw that belief away.
Because if he didn't do something, they were all going to die.
Because if he didn't move now, everything he built would be reduced to nothing.
Because if he didn't kill Linghu, Meyu would die.
And that scared him more than death itself.
Atlas finally got his bearings together.
If Linghu could withstand even Step 11 then there was only one solution.
I needed to hold him down.
Atlas lunged onto him like a roach.
Okay, okay, maybe this was a bad idea.
Atlas had made a lot of dumb decisions in his life—buying an entire fleet without the funds to cover it, signing a deal that technically made him a slave for three months, convincing a warlord that he was a lost prince—but this?
This was easily in the top three.
As he latched onto Linghu's arms, he could practically hear the collective 'What the fuck are you doing?!' from every version of himself screaming inside his head.
"Fool!" Linghu shouted, his tone the exact kind of 'Are you serious?' exasperation that made Atlas grin through the pain.
"Yeah, yeah, I get that a lot" Atlas coughed, right before Linghu drove a knee into his gut.
Atlas saw stars but he held on.
Linghu's punch slammed into his ribs—once, twice, three times. A sharp crack followed. Atlas felt that one.
That was probably important.
"You are an insect!" Linghu growled, trying to shake him off.
"And you talk too much." Atlas coughed blood onto Linghu's robes.
"That dry-cleaning bill's gonna be a nightmare."
Then—he started absorbing.
Linghu struck again, trying to dislodge Atlas. A punch to his chest—Atlas didn't let go.
A knee to the gut again—Atlas gritted his teeth.
The more Atlas absorbed Linghu's Qi, the more his vision and mind turned into a nightmare.
It wasn't just energy—it was a storm, a tidal wave, a force so vast and violent that his body screamed in protest. It wasn't just heat or pressure—it was something alive.
Atlas could feel it eating at him, hollowing him out. His veins felt like they were melting, his muscles convulsing, his bones threatening to shatter under the sheer weight of the Qi now flooding through him. Linghu's Qi wasn't just powerful—it was monstrous.
His vision blurred, his skin cracked, and his face got punch so hard one of his tooth snapped loose.
He could barely form a thought through the pain, but one phrase managed to slip through.
This is it. This is all for them. For meyu.
His body wasn't built for this—he had no core, no foundation, no cultivation to stabilize what he was taking in. He had survived absorption before, but this? This was suicide.
Linghu was thrashing now, trying to shake him off, but Atlas refused to let go.
His skin darkened with Linghu's Qi hue—black and violet, a swirling chaos of destruction and raw dominance. The colours bled into his own body, flickering like cursed fire.
His entire body felt like it was tearing apart.
Meyu's voice cut through the chaos. "NO! ATLAS—STOP!"
She was running toward him, arm outstretched, desperation on her face.
But it was too late.
Atlas's lips curled into something between a smirk and a grimace, blood dripping from his mouth. His body was shaking, breaking, but he still found it in him to whisper, his voice hoarse and guttural.
"Your turn you fucker."
And he let it loose.
The explosion wasn't just energy—it was an explosion that reshaped the battlefield.
Everything—the ground, the sky, the trees, the warriors—all of it was thrown apart.
A shockwave so powerful that it sent everyone—Meyu, Bao, Jiang, Layla, the Ryl Trading workers—flying like ragdolls.
Kai was launched into the air, spinning out of sight.
Lin Wuye, despite all his experience, was blasted back like a falling star.
The battlefield was no longer a battlefield. It was an obliterated wasteland.
And in the center of it—
The figures of Atlas and Linghu still stood, barely visible through the smoke.