Earth's Greatest Magus

Chapter 2631: Asura

”How is he resisting my spirit attack?!” Hera’s thoughts raced in growing frustration. ”He’s barely a half-moon magus... He’s not even a spirit master, is he?!”

Her hands trembled slightly. Sweat began to bead on her brow. Again and again, she tried to pierce the monk’s spiritual defenses—but his mind remained a void, serene and unreachable. No fear. No hesitation. Not even a ripple of doubt.

”Hmph... must be some hidden artifact or something,” she muttered under her breath, attempting to rationalize it. ”It doesn’t matter. I still have something far better to break him...”

Hera activated her power, the feathers of omniscience shimmered and swirled, converging mid-air into a glowing form. Slowly, feathers merged and coalesced, building flesh, cloth, and presence—until an all-too-familiar silhouette emerged.

Ashaka.

The elderly monk. Damo’s master.

His expression was calm. His hands were folded behind his back.

A cruel smile curled across Hera’s lips. ”Be grateful... You get to meet your master again.”

A ripple of outrage spread through the Earth faction. Klea stood, fists clenched.

”That witch... how dare she use the dead like that!”

But in the center of the coliseum, Damo did not flinch.

No sadness.

No fear.

He merely exhaled slowly and dropped into his martial stance.

And the fight began.

Master and disciple clashed—palms, fists, and kicks moving like flowing water. Damo met Ashaka’s mirrored technique head-on. Each blow resounded with the clang of reinforced bodies as their golden bell auras collided.

It was eerie.

A perfect imitation.

The puppet even summoned the twin elemental strikes Ashaka was known for—one arm blazing with solar fire, the other crusted with lunar ice.

But Damo was faster.

More fluid.

He danced through the attacks with [Hexagram Steps], gliding left and leaping right as if each motion had been prewritten by the stars. Sacred glyphs formed beneath each step, glowing in rhythm, locking the puppet’s movements in predictable patterns. ṜÅ𝐍ỘβĚS̈

Then came the counterattack.

Thrust—strike—palm—spin.

Damo slipped past the puppet’s guard and landed several clean hits. The illusory monk staggered.

”Your puppets are far to compare with my master,” Damo said calmly.

Hera’s smile twitched.

He was right.

Her feathers of omniscience had not absorbed Damo’s memory of Ashaka—only shallow echoes from the older monk’s soul. The construct had the shape, the strength, and even the techniques... but none of the intent. None of the fluid unpredictability that had made Ashaka truly dangerous.

And Damo—who had trained beside Ashaka since childhood—read the puppet like a familiar scripture.

”Tch...,” Hera snarled. ”If you like this one so much, then let’s see how you fare against them all!”

She stretched her hand forward, and the remaining feathers shimmered.

One by one, four new figures took shape—each clad in monk’s robes, each with the solemn aura of a seasoned fighter.

Damo’s breath caught in his chest.

He recognized them instantly.

Arjuna. Bima. Nakula. Sadewa.

Ashaka’s sworn brothers. Heroes of their order. Each one a master of a different martial path.

Damo bowed his head, not in fear, but in reverence.

Then he raised his fists again.

All five second-generation Earth Warriors were now converging on Damo, attacking in perfect synchronization. Their bodies moved with speed and ferocity unmatched by most living magus, their styles deadly and refined.

The audience gasped as Damo was swiftly cornered, hemmed in from all directions. Blows came from above, below, each side—palm strikes that split stone, sweeping kicks that cracked the marble arena floor. There was no space to breathe, let alone counter.

But then—his steps flared.

The [Hexagram Steps] burst to life beneath his feet. Runes carved from pure golden light formed complex symbols around him, creating shifting circles and arcs that adapted to every incoming strike. His movement became a radiant dance, each step landing with divine precision.

Damo slipped past Bima’s crushing fist, twisted around Arjuna’s piercing palm, and intercepted Nakula’s spinning kick with a spiraling counter. His movements were no longer defensive—they were transcendent.

”How... How is he countering all of them?” Hera muttered, her brow furrowed in disbelief. ”He can read the old monk moves, fine. But... the other four died centuries ago! How?!”

A question that weighed heavily in her mind.

In the Earth faction’s corner, Klea’s eyes widened. Then, slowly, a proud smile touched her lips. She understood.

”He carries the memory of the one who taught them all.”

Damo wasn’t just reacting. He wasn’t mimicking.

He remembered.

Damo was the inheritor of Fuxi’s legacy. The sage’s fragmented soul resided within him—its wisdom, its techniques, its will. Klea could almost see it now—see the great Sage standing behind Damo, moving in perfect sync.

A master, reunited with his five disciples, across time and death.

The image brought a tear to Klea’s eye.

Around the arena, the crowd began to stir. Even the proud Olympians found themselves rising to their feet, drawn by spectacular sights.

But Hera seethed with rage.

”This is it. This stops now!”

Her voice cracked like thunder. Blood trickled from her lips as she forcefully pushed her spirit energy to the brink. Her feathers, once elegant and precise, now exploded in a chaos of color—red, violet, gold, black, each vibrating with madness.

The melody returned, but it no longer sang—it howled. A twisted rhythm surged through the arena, warping the very air.

The puppets jerked violently. Smoke erupted around them, thick and black, coiling like vipers. The five monks summoned a terrifying deity with four grotesque heads. Their eyes glowed red, their mouths screamed with voiceless fury.

[Asura Awakening].

Their aura turned monstrous as they leapt toward Damo.

But the young monk... remained calm.

He raised one palm to the sky. His eyes shut gently.

And he whispered, ”Master... this is for you.”

The glyphs around him surged. The Hexagram rotated faster, forming into a brilliant golden circle. His body slowly rose into the air—his robes fluttering, his silhouette radiant.

From behind the spinning glyphs, a massive figure began to form—a towering being cloaked in divine gold, seated calmly upon a lotus platform.

It mirrored of the Asura... but where they exuded chaos, this being radiated calm, purity, holiness..

[Deva Awakening]