Conqueror of the Lost World

BE SOMEBODY, NOBODY THOUGHT YOU COULD BE.

Unknown:

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"Probably myself," she admitted at last, her voice carrying a weight even heavier than the oppressive, fiery atmosphere around them.

"I see," the boy replied, his tone calm, as if her admission answered more than just her words. He didn't press her further. He didn't need to. What little she'd shared was enough.

"Come, then," he said, his voice steady and resolute. "I'll grant you your death."

And so, the dance began—a clash between an anomaly and a singularity.

The pink-haired woman allowed herself a faint smile, bittersweet and fleeting. The air around her began to shimmer and distort as the heat grew more intense, rising to unbearable levels that would have reduced most to ash. But for these two, it was merely a prelude.

The boy, seeing her power manifest, responded in kind. The cold, blue flames on his hands roared to life, their icy glow a direct contradiction to her fiery aura.

It was a paradoxical sight—hot flames and cold flames surging, battling for dominance before the fight even truly began. Neither of them moved at first, their gazes locked as they waited for the other to make the first move.

And waited.

Until finally, the silence broke.

As if her admission had truly marked the beginning, the battle erupted.

But it wasn't the woman who struck first—it was the boy.

In an instant, he seemed to vanish before her eyes. But he hadn't disappeared. His speed was simply beyond her perception, and before she could react, he was already behind her, his fist poised to strike her solar plexus.

Yet, before the blow could connect, tendrils of molten energy erupted from the ground, intercepting his fist. There was no resistance, no shockwave—nothing. It was as if the tendrils absorbed the force entirely, dissipating it into the air.

Before he could withdraw, a punch aimed for his chin came from the pink-haired woman. He raised his free hand just in time, blocking her strike. The collision sent a sharp, sizzling sound through the air—a clash of cold and heat battling for dominance. The tendrils gripping his other hand fractured and crumbled under the intense chill radiating from his icy flames.

The boy, now free, didn't waste a second. He launched another punch with his freed hand, this time aiming directly at her face. But instead of tendrils rising to block his path, it was her own hand that intercepted his strike. As another sizzling sound erupted.

Their powers were equally matched—at least, that's how it seemed.

As they reached a standstill, it was unclear whether the boy had genuinely met his match or was merely allowing the stalemate to happen. The truth was a mystery yet to be unraveled.

The woman, not one to wait for answers, tightened her grip on his fist. With a sudden burst of power, she swung him into a circular motion and hurled him through the air. The force of her throw sent him hurtling upward, soaring toward the sky's fiery embrace.

The boy, caught in the momentum, didn't resist. He allowed himself to be flung higher, carried by the strength she had unleashed. Tumbling through the air, he steadied himself mid-flight, his balance returning as quickly as it had been lost.

The woman didn't follow him. Instead, tendrils of fire extended from her fingertips, transforming into blazing whips that sliced through the air with lethal precision. She slashed them toward his vulnerable form, their searing edges cutting through the space between them like molten blades through butter.

As the fiery whips closed in, they collided with an unexpected resistance—a shield of ice, conjured in an instant by the boy. Instead of slicing through him effortlessly, like a hot knife through butter, the whips were halted. The hiss and sizzle of fire meeting ice echoed through the fractured battlefield.

Anticipating the counter, the woman shifted her stance. With a swift change in her hand movements, she vanished, reappearing an instant later directly in front of the boy. Her fist drove into his stomach, carrying the weight of flames burning at thousands of degrees.

The searing heat rippled through his body, but instead of agony or screams, there was only a slight cough. His lips curled into a smirk.

"Coungh…That was AMAZING." he admitted, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

He swatted her hand away with surprising ease.

"My turn," he declared, vanishing from her sight in a blur of speed.

In an instant, he reappeared behind her, his movements fluid and calculated. Before his attack could land, tendrils of fire erupted once more to intercept him. But the boy's form flickered out of existence again, only to reappear where he had initially stood.

This time, he launched a palm strike aimed directly at her stomach. The strike wasn't merely physical; it carried an energy that plunged the surrounding temperature into a deadly chill. The attack was designed not just to freeze her external form but to encase her very insides in solid ice.

The women tried to block it frantically. But it was in vain.

As the palm connected, her body reacted instantly. A sharp, stifled sound escaped her lips—a brief "Aaa"—before the frost silenced her voice entirely, freezing the scream in her throat before it could fully form. Her body shuddered as the chilling force spread through her, rendering her motionless for a fleeting moment, encased in a glacial grip.

Just as it had happened to the boy, she too melted in an instant. Her form disintegrated, revealing that it was merely a decoy—a body double. The real woman stood grounded, her next move already in motion.

With a deliberate motion, she brought her hands together, and an intense beam of heat erupted from her palms. The laser shot forward with blinding speed, too fast for sound to even register its presence.

The boy reacted instinctively, raising his hands to intercept the scorching beam. As it collided with his palms, the force and temperature behind it pushed him to the brink.

"Arragh!" he grunted, the strain evident in his voice. The sheer weight of the attack bore down on him, searing heat radiating outward. Drops of molten lava splashed onto the ground below, hissing and sizzling as they cooled.

Despite the overwhelming intensity, the boy held his ground, his hands absorbing the brunt of the laser. His feet dug into the air as if finding invisible footholds, refusing to let the force overwhelm him.

The woman watched, her fiery eyes alight with amusement. This was a rare moment—a traveler capable of withstanding her assault. A grin crept onto her face, the thrill of the battle igniting her spirit. She reveled in the spectacle, savoring the rare opportunity to truly unleash her strength….

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