The Golden-Winged Roc swooped down, its talons gleaming with a chilling sharpness, radiating an aura so fierce that even the toughest iron or a mountain peak would shatter under its grasp. The golden claws were terrifying to behold.
Little Rascal’s black hair fluttered wildly from the sheer force of the wind. His eyes crackled with lightning as he stood atop the Lion-Dragon’s Mirror, charging straight into the sky.
**”Clang!”**
He met the attack head-on with his fists. A storm of runes erupted between them, like a volcanic explosion, unleashing a blinding radiance that stretched endlessly. This was a clash of divine rune power and raw physical might—neither side gained the upper hand, both sent flying backward.
The Golden-Winged Roc excelled in rune mastery, every strike unleashing golden brilliance and resonating with the echoes of the Dao. Little Rascal, however, boasted an indestructible physique, rivaling even the pure-blooded ancient beasts in their infancy.
No sooner had they separated than the Roc circled back, its aura even more ferocious. Golden runes shimmered across its body, each feather like forged gold, brimming with power—then it unleashed its assault.
**”Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!”**
The sky became a golden ocean, a storm of feather-arrows. The Roc dove, its feathers bristling, many detaching from its body and shooting downward like golden spears, each several meters long, piercing the air with thunderous cracks.
Little Rascal’s expression darkened. His hands traced arcs in the air, conjuring a silver moon—within it stood a palace, an ancient tree, and a silhouette of an Azure-Scaled Eagle. It surged forward, radiant.
But that wasn’t enough. His hands blazed with light, runes densely woven as more and more divine moons erupted, flooding the battlefield in silver. The sky was now filled with spinning moons, each merging into silver grinding wheels, crushing the golden feather-arrows.
**”Crack! Crack!”**
Some golden feathers snapped, but a few pierced through, forcing Little Rascal to sever them with his bare hands, sparks flying. Any other being—even a berserk ape famed for its physique—would have been skewered into a golden pincushion. Yet, he survived.
The Roc shrieked in fury. The scattered golden feathers reversed course, reattaching to its body, restoring its dazzling brilliance.
**”You overgrown chicken, had enough? My turn!”**
Tired of being on the defensive, Little Rascal shot upward on the Lion-Dragon’s Mirror. In his left hand, a silver moon formed; in his right, crackling lightning. He fused them into a golden divine moon, within which an ancient demonic bird screeched.
**”Boom!”**
This was the fusion of two treasure arts—golden lightning coalescing into a sphere, merging with the silver moon, birthing a golden heavenly roc that surged forward to annihilate.
The Roc’s fury ignited. The demonic bird within the silver moon resembled it—now turned into a weapon against itself. It spread its wings, its body glowing as it dove like a blade of light.
**”Roar!”**
The Roc’s cry shook mountains and rivers, utterly unlike a mere bird. Countless golden runes intertwined, forming a golden divine sword—sharp, unstoppable, its radiance piercing the heavens.
This was its treasure art, embodying its lethality and dominance, capable of cleaving through all things. In truth, a true pure-blooded Roc was akin to a deity, unrivaled in ancient times.
The golden sword blazed, its edge burning as it slashed forward, trembling the void as if splitting space itself.
**”Clang!”**
The golden divine moon erupted, lightning surging outward in defense, clashing against the sword with a deafening impact. Had Little Rascal not recently advanced in cultivation and deepened his understanding of runes, he would have been overwhelmed.
The Roc hailed from an ancient lineage, wielding peerless heritage and terrifying treasure arts. Little Rascal, however, lacked such background—his power stemmed from his own insights, gleaned from the Azure-Scaled Eagle and the Lion-Dragon’s bone.
Yet, this self-taught path granted him profound comprehension, shaping his future potential.
**”Clang!”**
The golden sword cleaved through the divine moon—but that only made it more dangerous. The sphere of lightning, provoked, detonated.
**”Boom!”**
Golden runes flooded the sky, lightning surging like an ocean, erupting from the shattered moon and filling the heavens. The divine sword cracked, fissures spreading.
Simultaneously, the ancient demonic bird within the moon—its feathers azure, then gilded—burst forth, growing larger as it dove toward the Roc.
**”Crack!”**
The Azure-Scaled Eagle’s talons shattered the already fractured golden sword, then plunged toward the Roc. The two birds, now of similar size, clashed with terrifying force.
The Roc raged—this was an insult. To face a treasure art mimicking its own form? Its golden eyes sharpened.
**”Hiss!”**
It spat golden heavenly flames, diving into a brutal exchange. The sky erupted in golden storms as they collided.
**”Boom!”**
Finally, after a blinding explosion of divine light, the battlefield fell silent.
The Golden-Winged Roc hovered, its feathers slightly ruffled but its radiance undiminished. Little Rascal stood atop the mirror, grim-faced. This was a true rival—no victor yet, only a grueling battle ahead.
**”Kill!”**
They charged simultaneously.
The Roc’s eyes became golden whirlpools, attempting to devour Little Rascal’s essence. Its wings blazed, slamming down with such force that the stone mountains below cracked.
In ancient times, the Roc’s wings had swept aside gods.
Little Rascal retaliated, his eyes blazing as he met the attack with his palms, channeling the simplest runes from the *Primordial True Record*, yet unleashing earth-shaking force.
**”Boom!”**
The shockwave scattered the clouds. Their battle raged in the skies—a dragon versus a tiger, blood and golden feathers raining down. Both wounded, yet fighting fiercer, locked in mortal combat.
**”Hiss!”**
A golden claw swiped down. Little Rascal dodged, then leaped onto the Roc’s arm, slashing at its abdomen with a blade-like palm strike.
**”Splash!”**
Blood gushed. The Roc shrieked, its body erupting in golden light, blasting Little Rascal away, making him cough blood.
This was a fight to the death—retreat meant defeat, a blow to their spirits that would haunt them forever.
The battle raged on, two blazing meteors colliding—treasure arts clashing, bodies straining, a war of attrition where only one would survive.
Hundreds of exchanges later, both were grievously wounded, yet neither relented. The Roc, burning with golden flames, pressed its advantage, nearly overpowering Little Rascal.
They fought from the heavens to the earth, into the abyss, then back into the skies. The Roc dominated, adding wounds to Little Rascal’s body—one strike nearly gutted him, intestines almost spilling out.
Yet, his monstrous physique held. A deep breath, divine energy circulating, and his wounds sealed.
Exhaustion set in, especially for the Roc—its runes dimmed, its speed waned.
Then—Little Rascal erupted.
Golden light surged as he rode lightning, reversing the tide, now overwhelming the Roc.
**”I’ve endured enough! This ends now!”**
Though fatigued, his physique remained peerless—his true advantage. The Roc, however, relied on runes, now depleted.
He seized the Roc’s golden talon, vaulted onto its abdomen, and struck the same wound—**harder.**
**”Boom!”**
Blood sprayed. The Roc shrieked, a gaping hole torn in its belly, golden feathers scattering. It flared its radiance, trying to shake him off.
But Little Rascal clung to its feathers, climbing onto its back, unleashing his full power.
The Roc retaliated, ancient golden runes encasing its body, attempting to refine him into nothingness.
Yet, Little Rascal resisted, pouring all his strength into countering, then hammering the Roc’s spine.
Both blazed with power, runes clashing, flesh tearing—blood rained down.
The ancient beasts below watched in awe. None could survive such a battle—this was beyond mortal limits.
**”Die!”**
Little Rascal, bloodied but unbroken, wrapped his arms around the Roc’s neck, squeezing with bone-crushing force.
**”Boom!”**
Golden runes erupted, feathers standing on end as the Roc shielded its vitals.
**”Break!”**
Little Rascal roared, hammering the Roc’s skull with fists like mountains.
**”Refine!”**
The Roc countered, runes swarming its head, attempting to dissolve him.
They were locked in a death struggle—whoever faltered first would perish.
But Little Rascal’s physique was unmatched. The Roc weakened, its runes fading after eight hundred exchanges.
**”I’ll make chicken stew out of you!”**
His fists grew heavier, each strike shaking the Roc, forcing blood from its beak.
The ancient beasts below trembled—what kind of human was this? How could his body be so monstrous?
**”Boom!”**
Another punch. The Roc swayed, vomiting blood, on the verge of collapse.
It knew it had lost.
Above, the battling treasures descended—the broken sword, the Golden Crow Wings, the Magnetic Peak.
**”Return! Slay him!”**
The Roc summoned its treasures. The Magnetic Peak, refined for years, and the newly acquired Golden Crow Wings flew back.
Little Rascal, unafraid, wielded the broken sword—refined over days—to meet them.
**”Boom!”**
Golden flames surged as the Golden Crow Wings flared, the Magnetic Peak distorting space.
But then—the broken sword awakened.
It trembled, shedding rust, its power skyrocketing. The Roc paled—its treasures were outmatched. If the sword fully awakened, how terrifying would it become?
**”Suppress!”**
Fear gripped the Roc. It no longer cared for pride—survival mattered. It summoned its treasures to blast Little Rascal away, then fled.
In ancient times, the Roc’s wings could rend space, crossing galaxies in moments. If it escaped now, none could catch it.
But—
The broken sword deflected the flames, its power only growing.
Unnoticed, another artifact stirred—a tiny pagoda, barely an inch tall, hidden in Little Rascal’s hair.
It shimmered, silently devouring fire essence, sword energy, and magnetic light.
The battlefield was too chaotic for anyone to notice—except the treasures themselves.
The Golden Crow Wings trembled—then fled at blinding speed, vanishing into the horizon.
**”What?!”**
Everyone gaped. A treasure had abandoned its master!
The Magnetic Peak shuddered, attempting to escape next.
**”No!”**
Little Rascal roared, slashing with the broken sword—now too powerful.
**”Crack!”**
The Magnetic Peak shattered, fragments raining down.
**”Damn it! My treasures!”**
Little Rascal howled in frustration.
The Roc, enraged, coughed blood—but seized the moment, blasting Little Rascal away and spreading its wings to flee.
**”Chicken stew, stay right there!”**
Having lost one treasure and destroyed another, Little Rascal refused to let the Roc escape.
The broken sword flashed—
**”Splash!”**
Blood sprayed. The Roc’s wing was severed. It plummeted, its fate sealed.
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