I Become Sect master In Another World

The world had become nothing but impact and echo.

At the center of devastation, two forces clashed—Shaurya and Yang Ling—moving like storms given flesh. Every collision carved new wounds into the earth; every breath they took carried the weight of gods.

Shockwaves erupted in wild succession, scattering dust and debris through the air. Each explosion left a fresh scar on the battlefield; each sonic boom reshaped the broken sky.

The ground was no longer solid—it breathed, quaked, and screamed beneath them.

Shaurya burst through the haze, his figure half-shrouded by golden light. Blood streaked down his torso, dripping rhythmically against the cracked earth. His breath came heavy but steady, his grip firm on the hilt of his blade.

Ahead of him, Yang Ling emerged from the voided mist, levitating inches above the ground, black blood running down from his shoulder in thick, inky trails.

He rolled his neck, then his shoulder, letting out a low growl that curved into a grin.

And then, he vanished.

The air imploded.

Shaurya's eyes hardened. His wrist flicked—the Meteorite Sword spun once in his grip. He turned sharply, expression cooling into a blade's edge.

Behind him—

A flash of movement.

Yang Ling reappeared, a predator's grin stretched across his face as he swung his sword downward, cutting through the air with a sound like tearing cloth.

Shaurya grip tightened, and in one clean motion he swung upward.

BOOOOM!

Their blades collided mid-swing, golden radiance clashing with grey corruption. The shockwave that followed shattered the ground beneath them, turning soil into vapor and stones into dust.

The impact forced both back. Their feet skidded across the ruined earth, gouging deep lines through the ground.

They steadied themselves instantly.

Two warriors.

Two opposites.

Two truths.

They struck again.

Fists raised, a blur of motion followed—

their strikes colliding in a rhythm that broke sound itself.

Each impact was a detonation.

Each breath a quake.

They repelled each other once more, sliding backward through the rubble.

Shaurya bent down slightly, his head lowered, eyes closed. His right arm stretched out, sword at his side.

He inhaled slowly.

Exhaled even slower.

Then, his eyes opened—sharp and golden.

He rose to full height, calm once more.

Across from him, Yang Ling floated several meters above the shattered ground, watching like a vulture waiting for his prey's heartbeat to fade.

Their gazes locked.

Without a sound, Yang Ling lunged forward, a blur of shadow and crimson.

He appeared in front of Shaurya, slashing downward.

Shaurya sidestepped, his movement clean and minimal. The blade missed by inches, cutting through the air.

Yang Ling twisted with unnatural speed, reversing his swing in a sharp upward arc.

Shaurya brought his sword across his body—metal met metal with a crack like thunder. Sparks of gold and grey burst outward, lighting the battlefield.

Then, with a sudden push, Shaurya threw Yang Ling backward, his golden aura flaring.

His Meteorite Sword pulsed with divine light.

He raised it high, voice cutting through the air:

"Ultimate Sword Strike!"

He swung vertically—

A single, perfect line of light splitting through the chaos.

The strike connected.

Yang Ling's right arm flew into the air, sliced clean from the shoulder. Black blood rippled through the air, turning to smoke before touching the ground.

Yang Ling stumbled back, sneering—but before he could recover, Shaurya blurred forward using Aerial Steps.

In an instant, he appeared beside him.

Electricity crackled around his sword—gold and white lightning coiling up the blade.

Then he roared—

"Lightning Sword Slash!"

He swung diagonally.

A blinding arc of thunderous light erupted from his swing.

Yang Ling try to dodge but still that strike hit on his abdomen.

Black blood exploded outward.

Yang Ling's eyes widened in disbelief. He shot upward, trying to create distance, but Shaurya was already moving.

He sheathed his sword mid-motion.

His stance shifted—leaning forward, every muscle coiled. Lightning danced along his arms, sparks lighting the cracks of the broken earth beneath him.

He inhaled deeply.

Then exhaled.

Above him, Yang Ling gathered energy, his left hand raised. A sphere of swirling grey light—dense, unstable—formed in his palm.

Shaurya glanced up at him, his golden eyes blazing.

He roared—

"Lightning Flash Strike!"

CRACK!

The ground shattered beneath his feet as he launched forward, turning into a streak of golden lightning.

He pierced through the air in an instant, closing the distance. Before Yang Ling could even comprehend his movement, Shaurya was there.

The blade gleamed.

One motion.

One breath.

One strike.

The Meteorite Sword flashed—clean, divine, absolute.

Yang Ling's world split in two.

SHIIING!

Shaurya landed softly on the ruined ground, sheathing his sword with a crisp metallic sound. His back straightened. His eyes turned upward.

Above, Yang Ling's body—head and torso separated—floated for a heartbeat before gravity claimed them.

Both fell.

But before the impact—

they stopped.

Their descent froze mid-air.

Shaurya's eyes widened.

Yang Ling's severed head turned slowly—his mouth twisting into a grin.

The body, the arm, the head—all began to rise, drawn together by unseen force.

Dark energy wrapped around the dismembered parts like veins of liquid shadow.

With a sickening sound, they merged. Flesh knitted. Bone reformed.

Yang Ling's laughter split the silence.

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

Shaurya's hand tightened on his sword hilt. His eyes narrowed.

"How's this possible?" he demanded, his tone sharp, disbelief seeping through. "I cut your head clean off!"

Yang Ling chuckled darkly, the sound almost human—but wrong.

"Who told you," he sneered, voice echoing unnaturally, "that you can kill me by cutting my head? You fool. I have thousands of souls—and with their help, I can regenerate or reform my body even after complete annihilation!"

Shaurya's grip on his sword tightened, knuckles whitening.

Yang Ling lunged, laughing manically, swinging his black blade downward.

Shaurya moved.

Steel met steel.

A deafening CLANG! shattered the air.

Then chaos returned.

They clashed again and again, sword against sword— golden slashes against grey.

metal screaming, sparks raining, shockwaves bursting with every strike.

Each swing painted the sky gold and grey.

Blood and sweat mingled in the air, the scent of ozone and death thick enough to choke.

Shaurya roared, his aura blazing like a sun in agony, and swung hard—

his blade slicing through Yang Ling's side.

But the wound sealed instantly.

He cut again—arm, leg, shoulder, even split the body in half—

each time, the flesh reformed, reborn in shadow.

The endless regeneration mocked the effort of every strike.

Sweat ran down Shaurya's face, blood mixing with it, his breath growing ragged.

Still, he moved forward.

He refused to stop.

Yang Ling laughed louder, descending from the air, his dark energy twisting into a cyclone.

They met again—two forces colliding, grey against gold.

They roared together, their auras fusing into a single swirling beam of opposing light.

In that instant, Shaurya and Yang Ling vanished into light.

The world erupted.

Golden radiance and ghostly grey energy tore through the battlefield, twisting and colliding like two divine tempests fighting for dominion over creation itself.

The very air screamed.

Golden arcs of divine aura streaked across the ruins, fluid and serpentine, their movements graceful yet unstoppable—each line a thread of sunlight burning through the gloom.

Opposite them, streams of shadow surged forth like rivers of ink, dark and corrosive, snaking through the air to meet the gold head-on. The grey energy howled, its whispers echoing with the cries of countless souls trapped within.

Gold and grey collided, intertwining like serpents of heaven and hell.

Golden light intertwined with grey mist, spiraling upward in a cyclone of brilliance and corruption. Every strand of energy danced wildly, twisting and snapping like living serpents, painting the air in a thousand shades of gold and grey.

The storm of energy turned the night into a canvas of chaos—

a swirling maelstrom of color and motion,

gold slashing through grey,

grey devouring gold,

each refusing to yield.

The collision reached its peak.

The colors blurred — red, gold, black, and violet fusing into a blinding white core.

The storm pulsed once—

and then exploded.

KAAAAA-THOOOOOM!

From the chaos, Shaurya emerged—his body wrapped in golden energy lines, eyes blazing brighter than before.

Opposite him, Yang Ling radiated grey light, his laughter growing unstable.

They screamed, charging at each other once more—

their blades swung in perfect unison.

BOOOOOOM!

A detonation split the earth.

The forest vanished in light and noise.

The Graveyard Forest trembled, cracks spreading like lightning through the land

From afar, the disciples could only stare.

When the smoke cleared, both stood—barely.

Their auras gone.

The ground beneath them had collapsed into a crater of molten earth.

Shaurya fell to one knee, gasping for air, blood dripping from his lips. His hands trembled against the sword.

Yang Ling, still standing, grinned. His wounds began to heal once more.

"I told you," he said, his voice dripping arrogance, "no matter what you do—it's worthless. You can't kill me."

Shaurya pushed himself upright, using his sword as support. His body shook, but his eyes—his eyes burned.

He clenched his teeth, voice rough with fury.

"And how many times," he growled, "do I have to tell you…"

He lifted his sword, both hands gripping it tight.

"…Evils are destined to fall."

He roared, golden light bursting from every pore.

The aura surged outward like a divine storm, splitting the ground anew.

He closed his eyes, lowering his hands in calm.

Inside, his voice echoed in his heart:

No. I cannot lose. Even if my chances are zero. I will never accept defeat in front of evil.—I will fight. I am Shaurya the Great. The destroyer of evil. Nothing is impossible for me

His eyes snapped open—two blazing suns.

"JAI SHREE HARI!"

He roared again.

The forest trembled as golden aura erupted like a volcano. The entire Graveyard Forest was bathed in divine radiance.

The shockwave tore through the world, turning darkness to light.

Far away, under the protective barrier Elder Wan had raised, the disciples of the Sanatan Flame Sect and Moonlight Pavilion watched in awe.

Their eyes widened. Their jaws hung open.

Shaurya's body had turned completely golden once more. His roar tore through heaven and earth alike.

BOOM!

The very sky shook.

His eyes burned brighter—twin suns of judgment. His expression was calm, unwavering. Blood no longer flowed from his wounds; his Sudarshan Chakra mark glowed brilliantly on his forehead.

A pulse of light rippled from him—

the sign of breakthrough.

Shaurya had ascended—

Nascent Soul Level Seven to Level Eight.

He exhaled softly, golden mist leaving his lips.

Across the crater, Yang Ling froze, eyes wide in disbelief.

Shaurya's head lowered, his breath calm. He raised his gaze once more—

their eyes met,

gold against crimson.

The air grew still.

The next exchange would decide everything.

One a living sunrise—

the light that burned the abyss.

The other a wound in creation—

a shadow that refused to die.

The world held its breath.

To be continued....