My Milf System-Chapter 344. Cornored! Me?
"HELL FIRE NUCLEAR BLAST!"
BOOOOOOOM!!!!!
Asher’s sword roared, unleashing a tidal wave of incinerating heat toward Genzai. The flames compressed into a massive, roiling sphere of white-hot plasma before detonating. The arena was instantly transformed into a furnace, a pillar of fire erupting toward the sky.
The announcer and the spectators dived for cover, shielding their eyes from the blinding glare and the singeing heat.
As the inferno began to fade, Asher stood panting, his lungs burning. But then, a sound cut through the crackle of cooling stone: Genzai was laughing.
Asher’s brow furrowed. Genzai stood at the epicenter of the blast, the ground around him slagged into a molten crater. Yet, the man was unfazed.
His mythril suit hummed with a high-pitched mechanical whine as the cooling fans worked overtime to vent the lethal heat.
"Hah!!!" Genzai’s voice boomed through his helmet. "Is that the best you’ve got? This suit is forged from mythril! It’s light as a feather but harder than your destiny. Measly fireballs like that won’t do shit! But I wouldn’t expect a low-life like you to understand high-tier metallurgy when you spend all your time chasing skirts."
Asher didn’t take the bait. Instead, a grin spread across his own face. "Well, I didn’t think one hit would do it. That would’ve been boring, considering I walked three days just to reach this kingdom to kick your ass!"
Inside his helmet, Genzai smirked. "You’re a battle maniac, aren’t you?"
The stands erupted. The crowd was bloodthirsty, screaming for their champion.
"I knew that tickle wouldn’t phase Lord Genzai!"
"Five gold coins. The kid won’t be standing in five minutes!"
"Wait, Bob—didn’t you just lose that same bet five minutes ago?"
"Shut up! I’m winning it this round!"
The atmosphere was lively, and while not a single soul was cheering for Asher, he didn’t care.
His sword began to rattle in his grip, its temperature rising.
*"Calm down..." he hissed at the blade.
’I’ve never felt the urge to kill someone as much as I do right now!’ The sword’s voice echoed in his mind, dripping with malice. ’Release my ultimate form! Erase this insect! How dare he mock my hell-flames calling them measly fire balls? He will pay in blood! He. Will. PAY!’
"Geez, I get it, you’re pissed, but stop screaming in my head! You’re distracting me!" Asher shouted aloud, narrowly dodging a searing beam of energy fired from Genzai’s palm.
He glanced at the crowd. If he unleashed the demon sword’s ultimate form, the entire arena—spectators and all—would be reduced to atoms. He couldn’t go that far.
’I’ll find a way to break him without the ultimate form!’ he shot back internally.
’Then use my other toys, you coward!’ the sword shrieked as its tendrils burrowed deeper into Asher’s wrists, greedily guzzling his lifeblood.
Asher winced. He could feel the cold creep of exhaustion as his blood was drained, but he gritted his teeth. He stopped running and slammed his blade into the cracked stone floor.
"HELL FIRE MANIFESTATION!"
A thick, viscous pool of lava surged from the point of impact. It swirled around Asher—lethal to anyone else, but warm as a blanket to him.
"Oh, Gods... what is this?! What kind of power are we witnessing?!" the announcer shrieked into her amplifier.
The arena fell into a stunned silence.
"Are those... clones? Clones made of living fire?!"
These weren’t mere illusions. Five humanoid figures rose from the magma, their bodies glowing with a terrifying internal light. Each clutched a blazing weapon forged from pure heat.
And this skill used imagination, manifesting into anything Asher thought of. He willed the clones to grow obsidian salamander wings, and they took to the air with a roar of displaced oxygen.
Without moving from his spot, he sent them screaming toward Genzai.
Genzai braced himself, firing a concentrated beam at the lead clone. To his horror, the beam passed right through the fire-being, doing negligible damage. The clone didn’t even stop, it lunged, its flaming blade aimed directly at the glowing blue core in Genzai’s chest.
The glass over the core cracked with a sharp ping as the clone hit it. Genzai cursed and rocketed backward.
"Mother...fucking!!!!"
Asher’s grin widened. "Gotcha!"
Genzai’s mythril suit was impenetrable, but the core was the suit’s heart. He just had to shatter it.
Controlling five winged entities while the sword feasted on his blood was an agonizing mental strain, but Asher pushed through.
Genzai – realizing Asher had discovered the weak spot in his suit – began flying across the arena, dodging and weaving. But he couldn’t hide forever.
One clone dived from Genzai’s blind spot, wrapping its blazing arms around his neck in a lethal chokehold.
The sound of sizzling mythril filled the air. The suit held, but the heat was conductive; Genzai was being roasted alive inside his own armor like a turkey in an oven. His cooling fans began to sputter and fail.
Two more clones intercepted him from the front, their swords leveled at his chest.
"I’ve got you now!!" Asher roared. He channeled some of his power into the ground, causing lava chains to erupt from the rubble. The chains lashed around Genzai’s legs, anchoring him in place.
The twin clones drove their molten blades into the core. It’s glass shattered as the blades bit deep into the humming blue heart of the machine, producing a violent sound of hissing steam and screaming metal that drowned out the crowd’s fading cheers.
A series of erratic sparks surged across the mythril plating. The suit jerked, its mechanical limbs seizing before the power died completely.
With a heavy hiss of hydraulics, the helmet split open, retracting to reveal the man hidden within.
Asher stared, his breath hitching.
Genzai looked to be in his late fifties, his frame soft—not the body of a man fit for a battlefield. His hair was a sharp, short black, interrupted by a singular, striking streak of white at the temple. It was hard to tell if it was the mark of age or a calculated bit of style.
"It’s over, Moriel. Give it up!" Asher rasped, his legs trembling. He willed the magma clones to dissipate, cutting off the connection before the demon sword could drain the last drop of his lifeblood. "Without that suit, you’re nothing but an old man in a tin can!"
Genzai didn’t look afraid. Instead, a low chuckle vibrated in his chest. "You’re right... it IS over," he wheezed, his eyes glinting with a disturbing light. "But look at you. You can barely stand. That cursed blade of yours has taken a heavy toll, hasn’t it?"
Asher spat a glob of blood onto the charred stone. "It’s funny. You’re the one cornered, stripped of your toys, and yet you’re still trying to taunt me? It’s pathetic."
That only made Genzai laugh louder, a mocking sound that echoed through the silent arena.
"What? Me? Cornered?! Hahaha! Oh, Asher... I truly love your sense of humor!"
The spectators watched in stunned confusion. Their golden hero, Lord Genzai, was defenseless. Without the mythril suit, he was a lamb among wolves against the remnants of Asher’s hellfire. So why was he laughing like he’d already won?
High in the upper stands, Joyce finally arrived and slipped into a seat, her chest heaving. She looked down at the devastation below—the melted stone, the craters, the lingering smoke. She realized she’d missed one hell of a battle while she was cooped up in Asher’s room.
Her eyes locked onto Genzai, and her blood turned to ice.
"Allow me to enlighten you," Genzai said, a victorious, manic grin stretching across his face. "You’ve been dancing in the palm of my hand this entire time. You, that Tama girl—everyone. Everything is proceeding exactly according to my plans. Bwahahahaha!"
He began to howl with laughter, his eyes bulging and his grin widening until it looked more demonic than any lord of the underworld.
From her seat, Joyce felt a violent shiver crawl down her spine. "They... they weren’t lying," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the madman’s roars. "Genzai really has become some kind of a sociopath!"
TBC
