The moment Malikai stepped into the Battle Tower chamber, the world around him twisted.
Then reshaped.
Blue skies stretched wide overhead like polished sapphire, while beneath his feet, the earth burned a muted, lifeless red. The ground cracked in dry veins, like ancient blood had soaked it centuries ago and never quite dried. There were no trees. No mountains. Just endless flat plains and open sky.
A perfect place to fight.
A voice echoed inside his mind—neither male nor female, but calm and ancient.
"Designated terrain complete. Now, imagine your opponent. One with a registered imprint. State their strength."
Malikai closed his eyes.
He pictured a face. Sharp features, black horns, crimson eyes. That same dark nobility… and that same overwhelming presence.
He chose.
"Late Core Formation Asura. Male.Astaroth."
A flash of light flared before him. And then—it appeared.
The clone.
It looked like his father—Astaroth—when he was younger.
Tall. Lean. Power coiled under every inch of his frame like a compressed storm. He had no weapons. Just fists. Thick bone gauntlets wrapped around each hand, extending past the knuckles like fangs. His jet-black wings unfolded with a heavy gust. His tail swayed behind him, long, flexible, dangerous.
And his eyes… blank. Soulless.
But deadly.
The moment it formed fully—it moved.
No hesitation. No stance. No words.
Just a blur of motion.
Malikai barely tilted his head in time to dodge the first punch. A sonic boom cracked the air as the clone's fist flew past.
"Fast—!"
Before Malikai could blink, a second fist slammed into his guard, forcing him back.
He dug his heels into the ground and twisted, bringing his tail around like a whip.
Crack!
It lashed toward the clone's ribs—but the Asura raised his wing, blocking it like a shield. The two wings clashed with a low, bone-deep thud. Malikai's arm snapped up, deflecting a rising knee just before a hook smashed toward his cheek.
He ducked.
Countered.
Boom!
His fist met the clone's jaw—but the thing didn't budge. It just grinned slightly.
Malikai jumped back just as the clone's tail whipped across the red plains like a spear, missing his gut by inches.
The fight erupted from there—fast, brutal, unrelenting.
They clashed in the open, limbs a blur of raw speed and power. No fancy techniques. No glowing artifacts. Just instinct and violence.
Malikai threw a right hook—blocked.
Elbowed the clone's side—countered with a spinning kick that forced him to backflip midair.
Wings beat furiously behind them as they launched into the sky.
CRACK!
They collided midair—fist to fist. Shockwaves burst from the clash, scattering clouds overhead.
Then came a flurry of blows.
Right. Left. Uppercut. Knee. Wing bash. Tail whip.
Both of them used everything—fists to punch, knees to slam, wings to parry, tails to sweep and stab like spears. It was savage. It was elegant. It was like watching two wild beasts in perfect sync—each trying to rip the other apart.
Malikai's jaw bled from a grazing jab. He spun, elbowed the clone's temple—got slammed with a rising knee to the ribs for his trouble. He dropped, caught himself with a wingbeat, and rushed back in.
Every exchange drew blood.
But neither retreated.
Midway through, Malikai's grin widened. His blood burned hotter.
He didn't realize it at first—but he was matching the clone now. Step for step. Blow for blow.
They fought like demons forged for war.
At one point, they both punched at the same time.
BOOM—!
Their fists collided and shattered the air between them. A shockwave spread across the crimson earth, cracking the ground for dozens of meters in every direction.
Malikai's arm trembled—but so did the clone's.
Both paused.
Stared.
And then—charged again.
Malikai ducked low, swept the clone's leg, rolled, came up with a savage uppercut.
The clone tanked it—but Malikai was already behind him, tail wrapping around his ankle and yanking.
The clone stumbled, just for a breath.
And Malikai took it.
BANG!
He soared into the air and dove, driving his knee into the clone's chest. The impact echoed like a drumbeat across the plains. They crashed into the dirt together, and before the dust could settle—Malikai roared and slammed his fist straight into the clone's jaw.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Until the clone's head finally snapped back, body twitching once—and then dissolving into motes of glowing red light.
Silence.
The whole battle took less than fifteen minutes to end.
Malikai stood in the dust, breathing hard.
Fists bloody. Wing torn in one spot. Ribs bruised. But still standing.
He spat to the side.
"…Not bad, i'm stronger than my dad when he was at the late core formation, and i just entered core formation," he muttered.
The voice in his head returned.
"Battle complete. Core Formation – Late Stage clone defeated."
Malikai tilted his head back toward the blue sky, chest still heaving.
Then he smirked.