Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

434: A Clash of Physical Strength

434: A Clash of Physical Strength

BOOM!

Another thunderous explosion cracked through the mist-filled world as their fists collided once again.

But this time, the impact wasn’t just loud—it was destructive.

The very ground beneath their clash didn’t just crack or ripple—it disintegrated, turned into fine dust and shattered earth across a mile-wide radius.

Waves of wind exploded outward like shock bombs, parting the mist like curtains drawn open by an invisible hand.

And when the dust settled… the result was clear.

Both figures were pushed back again, sliding across the broken, lifeless ground.

But while the mist warrior staggered slightly, his figure rippling with instability, Max stood calm—unmoved, his breathing steady, his eyes burning with clarity and power.

Then Max noticed something—a faint shimmer of gold on the mist warrior’s lips.

A single drop sliding down his chin, glistening unnaturally in the grey world.

“Wait a minute…” Max muttered, his gaze narrowing.

“Is that blood?

Golden blood?”

His voice was low, but edged with realization.

“So… he really isn’t human after all.” The color, the weight, the very presence of that blood—it screamed of something ancient, something divine, that was not human at all.

The mist warrior’s stance shifted ever so slightly, but Max’s sharp eyes caught the change instantly.

The air around the warrior began to tremble, his body still as a statue, yet his right arm began to swell subtly with pressure—a colossal amount of raw strength slowly condensing into his fist, like a black hole collapsing in on itself.

The very mist surrounding him warped from the density of his power, the ground beneath cracking and groaning in protest.

It was clear he was no longer holding back.

Max’s lips curved into a grin, his eyes flashing with fiery excitement.

‘He may be of the Primordial Race,’ he thought, ‘but he’s using physical attacks—and physical strength is my forte.’ A low hum echoed from Max’s body as he began drawing upon the deepest reserves of his power, his frame glowing gently with a dark radiance.

Fwoosh.

From both of his arms, scales began to emerge—not ordinary scales, but black glowing scales, forged from essence and energy, shining like starlit obsidian.

They wrapped around his arms from shoulders to fingertips, interlocking like divine armor.

A golden shimmer followed, each scale starting to glow with golden light, infused with the pure, unrelenting force of three hundred Draconic Essences roaring through his bloodstream.

‘This is my peak physical state,’ Max thought, his body now a vessel of raw might.

‘Dragon Scales Transformation.’ He raised his fists, muscles bulging beneath the armor of scale, his breath deep and composed.

‘Let’s see who’s still standing in the end.’

And then—they clashed.

In the blink of an eye, both figures vanished, reappearing between shattered echoes of light and sound as their fists collided with brutal force.

BOOM!

The first collision shook the world.

As their fists met, an explosion of raw force erupted outward, sending a circular shockwave screaming through the misty realm.

The ground beneath their feet cracked open like glass struck by a hammer, fracturing in all directions.

Trees—if any had existed in that realm—would have turned to splinters.

The mist that cloaked the world was instantly vaporized in a wide radius, revealing the cracked, lifeless terrain beneath.

Max gritted his teeth as he was forced a half step back, his heels digging trenches into the earth.

Across from him, the mist warrior skidded just as far, his robes fluttering madly in the backlash of wind, his white hair streaking like fire against the grey void.

Both figures froze for a second, standing upright, fists still faintly glowing with the aftershock of that first titanic impact.

And then—

BOOM!

The second clash came just as quickly.

Their figures vanished again, blurs of black and white, and reappeared only for an instant, just enough for the thunderous collision of fists to shake the world once more.

This time the impact was even greater—the cracked earth split open entirely, chasms tearing through the ground beneath them.

Dust spiraled into the air like tornados, and lightning, black and gold, flickered through the shattered sky.

The mist world had become a battlefield of gods.

Max’s eyes burned with intensity.

Every fiber of his being screamed with energy, his Draconic Essences coursing like volcanic fire through his veins.

He didn’t hesitate—didn’t even think.

He surged forward again, and the mist warrior met him with equal fury.

BANG!

BANG!

BOOM!

Fist met fist again.

And again.

And again.

Ten times.

A hundred.

A thousand.

They clashed like meteors in human form, bodies blurring, flickering, disappearing and reappearing across the battlefield.

Each collision was a violent burst of energy, shaking the terrain, flattening hills, carving deep ravines.

Time lost meaning in that endless exchange.

Their fists became storms.

The air between them turned into a vortex of destruction, constantly reset and shattered by every new impact.

Max felt his muscles burning, his scales holding strong, his blood boiling—but his grin never faded.

He could feel it: his strength matching the Primordial, blow for blow, shockwave for shockwave.

He wasn’t just surviving—he was fighting.

Every clash was a declaration: I am still standing.

And though the mist warrior never spoke, every punch he threw was an answer.

Then prove it.

They clashed again, and again, and again, their fists slamming into each other with such force that the very sky above their mist world began to crackle, threads of gold and black lightning flickering across it.

Each punch sounded like thunder.

Each collision sent sonic booms across the realm.

The mist was no longer soft and formless—it was shredded and vaporized every time they met, and the once-solid ground was nothing more than crater-riddled wasteland.

Max moved like a comet, his fists cutting arcs through the air, breaking the sound barrier with every swing.

The mist warrior, equally fast, countered each attack with precision and brutality, his fists glimmering with destructive might.

The force of their battle shattered the laws of balance, sending wind tunnels spiraling in every direction, twisting the landscape with chaotic beauty.

Their arms blurred.

Their bodies flickered like afterimages.

Every strike was lethal.

Every block cracked the air.

Time itself seemed to slow and speed around them.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

Their fists clashed in the air, beneath their feet, over their heads.

At times, they were airborne, trading blows mid-flight.

At others, they were buried beneath debris, only to explode out of the rubble and resume the exchange.

Neither held back.

Neither relented.

Until—

Max felt it.

An opening.

A shift in the mist warrior’s rhythm.

‘Now!’

He summoned every last ounce of force, pouring his Draconic Essences into his right arm.

The scales shimmered with golden brilliance, crackling with destructive energy.

With a roar that shook the heavens, he swung.

BOOOOOOM!!!

His fist struck the mist warrior square in the chest with a sound like mountains colliding.

The impact was catastrophic.

A massive shockwave tore across the horizon, creating a deep vacuum of silence—then a blast of energy followed, obliterating everything in a five-mile radius.

The ground cratered, and the air turned to steam.

The mist warrior’s body held for only a breath—then exploded into streams of grey mist, his form completely disintegrated, torn apart by the sheer force of Max’s blow.

Max landed hard, his knees bending, breathing ragged, his arms still glowing faintly gold beneath the now-fading black scales.

His body trembled, but his gaze was sharp, unyielding.

Around him, silence reigned.

He had stood tall.

He had endured.

And he had won.

CREATORS’ THOUGHTS

ShinGotLost

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