Genetic Ascension

To say that Sylas under-reacted was ironically an overstatement. One would have thought that he didn't sense the difference at all.

Maybe that wasn't a huge improbability. After all, how could a D-tier tell the difference between an A-tier and S-tier? Or even a B-tier for that matter?

For most, the difference was so large even to the C-tier that it would all feel like an endless tsunami.

For Sylas… he could clearly tell.

He simply did not care.

His fingers spread out and flexed, his claws unsheathing with the momentum of a sword pulled from its scabbard. The world whined and the sparse Runes in the air that weren't that of Death screeched like metal against metal.

Chi.

The air shattered and Mosun appeared before Sylas.

It was simply too fast, too quick.

A fist slammed into Sylas' chest, pushing forward with the momentum as though he was ripping through nothing but air. The give might as well have been the same to an S-tier. What was the worth of the sturdiness of a D-tier body.

And yet… Sylas somehow went flying.

Mosun blinked in confusion, looking at his fist. With his speed and strength, his arm should have gone through Sylas' chest. This wasn't what should have happened.

It was… peculiar.

Still, to say Sylas flew kilometers was far too much of an understatement. He flew forward and completely straight for so protracted that he ended up being ripped from the atmosphere, his body burning up and nearly appearing outside the range of the planet itself before he finally came to a slow stop.

If this was the mortal plane, that punch alone would have ripped the planet to pieces.

Yet, despite the near-death state of the world they were on, it did little more than quake for a moment. Granted, that was for the same reason Sylas' chest was intact and not a mass of pulp, but the shocking sturdiness of this plane spoke for itself.

Sylas finally came to a stop and he looked down at his chest, rolling Death Runes eating away at the rest of the kinetic energy. He had had no choice but to allow himself to fly this far before he could finally dissipate the energy.

If he tried to stop any sooner, he would have died without the slightest shadow of a doubt.

But, it was impossible to continue fighting like this. If he had to fly this far every time just to survive, he would never be able to get a hit in. And part of the reason he was even able to was because Mosun wasn't ready for his method.

Next time he would be, and even if Sylas managed to find a way to do this, there was a bigger problem…

The possibility of accidentally flying outside the range of the world.

If he flew out too far, the World Spirit's support would disappear, and then he would die just the same.

There was only one solution to this. The Death Runes and Aether alone weren't enough, not quite like this. Not until he could form something on the level of a Rune Armor based off of it, and he was still a ways off from that. Or, more accurately, even the likes of Sylas needed time to craft one good enough to be used in a battle at this level.

As such, the only solution was…

Don't get hit.

Sylas vanished.

BANG.

Mosun's eyes widened, confusion playing around his face. Did he just… get hit?

He keeled over, feeling his Aether leaching out of his body.

Sylas' eyes were radiating something completely different. It was as though he wasn't focused at all before, but had decided that right this moment… he would lock in.

He completely forgot about the rage bubbling up within him, he forgot about the eyes he could still feel on him, he forgot about the situation his sister was probably in right now, and even about his true purpose here.

The only thing he could think of was the person in front of him.

No, not the person.

The target he was going to rip to pieces.

Sylas' limbs moved like they had minds of their own, gravity, momentum, and coordination almost becoming worthless things of the past to him.

The basics of martial arts flew out the window. Telegraphing attacks? A strong base to punch or kick from? Combinations and rhythm?

Sylas forgot them all, or maybe he had simply evolved beyond the need for them.

What was the need to worry about telegraphing attacks when his angles were incalculable, random and untraceable?

What was the need to have a strong base to attack from when he could gather momentum and strength regardless of where he attacked from? He didn't need a back foot to drive from when his telekinesis could drive his fist forward for him. He didn't need his hips to torque when his telekinesis could slash his foot across the air like a whip. He didn't need his core to brace when he could solidify it with his Will alone.

Mosun had never fought such an expert of telekinetic martial arts. He tried to track and react to what was happening, but his senses were eroded away by Death Runes.

He felt a kick to his inner thigh and a punch to his temple at the same time. A sweep at his ankle on the same leg and a palm to his chest in unison. A pair of fingers gouged at his eyes as an uppercut slammed his jaw shut.

His power spilled out of him, only to be crushed by one deluge of Death Runes after another, a relentless barrage burying the sandy dunes around them into endless craters until the so-called S-tier could only be ravaged again, and again, and again.

And then the fog around Sylas suddenly solidified. Shingles of black armor took shape, and the fog vanished into obsidian steel.

Sylas landed a fist and it blasted a hole through Mosun's chest, the corrosion of death and destruction left in its wake.

Sylas had turned his mind off to everything but battle. To keep up, he used 100% of his mind. He didn't have the bandwidth to comprehend a Rune Armor.

This one… had surfaced spontaneously.

A level of Spark Mastery in a realm all its own.