A/N: Heyya. Question here. Does anyone know what the requirements are to get into those power ranking thingies here on Webnovel 🤔.
I ask this because I get a lot if powerstones for my fabrics, yet my novels have never made it there.
I mean it's not like the end of the world if it doesn't happen, but it would be cool to see my work out there. It would certainly make myself proud.
Just asking tho.
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Clayman moved first.
Not because he had a plan.
But because standing still now meant accepting what had just happened.
And he refused.
His aura exploded outward, threads of magicule weaving into existence around him like a web spun in fury.
"You think—!"
He lunged again.
Faster this time.
Sharper.
His fingers flicked.
Threads shot forward.
Thin.
Invisible to most and deadly.
Marionette Dance.
His body twisted unnaturally mid-motion, joints bending at impossible angles as the threads pulled him into a perfect attack vector. Faster than his natural limits allowed.
A strike aimed directly at Ultima's throat.
Precise and lethal.
—
Ultima didn't move.
Not at first.
She watched it come.
Watched the threads.
Watched the angle.
Then—
She stepped.
A small shift to the side.
Barely anything.
And the strike missed.
Completely.
Clayman's eyes widened.
'Impossible—'
He twisted again, threads pulling harder, forcing his body to pivot mid-air. His leg snapped out in a kick aimed at her ribs—
Ultima caught it casually with one hand.
"…That's it?"
Her voice was soft.
Almost disappointed.
Then—
CRACK.
She twisted.
Clayman's body spun violently as she redirected the force and flung him across the chamber again.
He crashed, rolled, and barely recovered his footing before she was already in front of him.
Too fast.
A palm struck his chest.
The impact folded him.
Air blasted from his lungs as he skidded backward, boots carving into the floor.
He forced himself upright.
Breathing hard now.
'What, what is this—'
Just—
Pure physical dominance.
Ultima tilted her head slightly.
"…You're a Demon Lord?"
The question wasn't genuine.
It was mockery.
Clayman snarled.
"Don't look down on me!"
His threads surged again. This time spreading wide, filling the space around them. Dozens, hundreds. Binding, cutting, controlling.
Marionette Dance: Full Control.
His body moved like a puppet freed from human limitation.
Faster.
Sharper.
More unpredictable.
He vanished.
Reappeared behind her.
Strike.
Missed.
Reappeared to her left.
Strike.
Blocked.
Above—
Below—
Every angle.
Every direction.
A relentless assault.
Threads snapping, pulling, redirecting his limbs into perfect killing motions.
And yet—
Every single one—
Missed.
Or was deflected.
Or stopped.
Ultima moved through it like she was dancing.
Effortless.
Lazy.
Her expression didn't change.
"…Too slow."
She stepped inside his guard.
Too close.
His threads couldn't adjust in time—
Her fist drove into his stomach.
A dull, heavy impact.
Clayman's body lifted off the ground.
Then—
She grabbed his face mid-flight.
"…And too weak."
BOOM.
She slammed him into the floor.
The impact cracked the stone beneath them, spiderweb fractures spreading outward.
Clayman choked, his threads faltering for a split second.
Just one.
That was enough.
Ultima planted her foot on his chest, pinning him down.
She looked down at him.
And smiled.
A wide, sharp and cruel smile.
"…I thought this would be fun."
There it was.
The shift.
Her eyes gleamed.
Not with anger.
Not with irritation.
With enjoyment.
Pure.
Sadistic enjoyment.
"But you're just breaking too easily."
She lifted her foot—
And kicked.
Clayman's body shot across the room again, slamming into a pillar this time, cracking it on impact.
He dropped to one knee.
Barely.
Shaking.
Blood at the corner of his mouth.
His threads trembled.
Unstable now.
'This… this can't be happening…'
He forced himself up again.
Forced the threads to move.
Forced his body to respond.
"I am—!"
He lunged again.
Desperate, angry and broken.
"I am a Demon Lord!"
Ultima sighed.
Then—
She disappeared.
Clayman's attack passed through empty space.
His eyes widened—
Too late.
She reappeared above him.
Heel dropping.
CRASH.
His body was driven straight into the ground again, the floor caving beneath him.
Dust exploded upward.
Silence followed.
Then—
Ultima stood over the crater, brushing imaginary dust off her shoulder.
"…Are you done?"
No response.
Just the sound of broken breathing.
She tilted her head slightly.
Then looked back toward Loki.
"So?"
Her tone was casual.
Like asking about dinner.
"Can I kill him?"
Across the room, Loki sat exactly as he had been.
Watching and unbothered.
Like this was entertainment.
Beside him, Testarossa smiled faintly.
"…She's enjoying herself."
There was no concern in her voice.
"She rarely gets the chance to stretch like this."
Loki hummed lightly.
"Yeah."
He didn't move.
Didn't answer immediately.
Because before he could—
"Hold it."
Guy's voice cut through the room.
Ultima's foot paused mid-step.
The entire chamber stilled again.
Guy stepped forward slowly, his expression no longer amused.
"Enough."
His gaze flicked briefly to Clayman's broken form.
Then back to Ultima.
"If a Demon Lord is going to fight…"
His aura shifted.
Subtle.
But undeniable.
"…then it should be done properly."
The space in the center of the room warped.
Distorted.
Then—
Opened.
A separate field.
A contained battlefield.
Familiar to some.
A stage where power could be unleashed without restraint.
Guy gestured toward it.
"Take it there."
His eyes moved between them.
"Settle it the right way."
Ultima smiled.
Slowly.
"…Finally."
Clayman stirred weakly in the crater.
But the look in his eyes—
Was no longer just anger.
It was fear.
Loki stepped forward first, expression calm as ever. The air inside the barrier felt different. Denser, heavier, like it acknowledged power more honestly than the outside world.
Behind him, Ultima followed with a light step, humming softly.
Testarossa came last.
Graceful.
Composed.
Amused.
"…How exciting," she murmured.
Across from them—
Clayman dragged himself upright.
Barely.
His body trembled, cracks still running through his composure just like the fractures in the ground from moments ago.
But his eyes—
Still burned.
"I…"
He clenched his teeth.
"…am a Demon Lord."
Loki looked at him for a moment.
Then sighed softly.
"I heard you the first time."
He stepped forward slightly.
"I'll make it quick."
A pause.
"Consider it mercy."
That—
That broke something.
Clayman's lips twisted.
"Mercy…?"
His aura flared again.
Unstable and desperate.
"You think I need your mercy!?"
His hand shot outward—
And something appeared.
A small figu
A fox.
Three tails swayed weakly behind her, her body trembling as if every movement hurt. Her eyes clouded, pained. Flickered between fear and resistance.
Chains of control wrapped around her very being.
Forcing her.
Suppressing her.
Loki's gaze sharpened slightly.
'…That's—'
Recognition.
Faint.
But there.
'Kumara.'
His eyes lingered on her for a second longer than anything else in this fight.
'…Yeah.'
A quiet thought.
Calm and certain.
'I'm taking that one.'
Clayman laughed weakly.
"You see this!?"
His hand clenched.
The fox flinched violently.
"She is mine!"
The creature let out a small, pained sound.
Soft and elpless.
Loki's eyes didn't leave her.
"…You're forcing her."
Clayman grinned.
"Of course I am!"
Then—
More threads surged.
And another figure appeared.
A grotesque construct.
A Demon Marionette.
Large.
Twisted.
And made for battle.
Its presence was heavier than the fox's.
But empty.
A tool.
Nothing more.
Clayman spread his arms.
"This—!"
His voice rose.
"—is my power!"
Loki finally looked away from the fox.
Back at him.
Then at the marionette.
Then back again.
"…I don't see how this helps you."
A beat.
"I'm pretty strong, you know."
Utterly serious.
Utterly casual.
Clayman froze.
Then—
He started laughing.
At first, it was low.
Shaky.
Then it grew.
Louder.
Sharper.
Unhinged.
"Hahahaha…!"
The sound echoed unnaturally across the battlefield.
"You still don't understand…!"
His hand reached into his cloak.
Pulled something out.
A small object.
Glinting faintly.
His grin widened.
"You think I would come here unprepared!?"
Loki frowned slightly.
"…Prepared for what?"
Clayman's eyes gleamed with madness.
"For this!"
He crushed it.
The object shattered.
And then—
He turned.
Pointing.
Straight at Milim.
"Get up."
His voice was no longer frantic.
It was commanding.
Absolute.
"Fight for me."
The room outside the barrier stilled.
Every eye snapped toward Milim.
And then—
She stood.
Smoothly.
Her expression—
Blank.
Empty.
"…Okay."
One word.
Flat and obedient.
She stepped forward.
Toward the battlefield.
Toward Loki.
Toward the fight.
Inside the barrier—
Loki blinked once.
Then again.
"…Huh?"
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