The blood hole was translucent, with gushing crimson—the only relief being that it hadn’t struck the heart or head, or it would have been an instant kill. Little Rascal was drenched in blood, the battle arduous, yet he showed no fear, his gaze fixed ahead. Repeated injuries had stoked his fury, but his eyes remained clear, his mind unclouded as he sought the pangolin’s weakness, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Golden light rained down, growing ever more dazzling, howling through the air like a meteor shower from the heavens—both breathtaking and terrifying. Little Rascal dodged, but the light was too dense, blanketing the sky and earth, engulfing him entirely! This attack was the most fearsome, penetrating every gap, each golden mote a razor-sharp scale capable of piercing mountains and shattering metal, unstoppable. A single hit would leave a bloody hole in flesh.
With a resonant hum, Little Rascal withdrew his silver millstone, activating an extraordinary defensive stance. Silver radiance enveloped him, coalescing into a divine moon that hovered behind him—a sacred silver disk, as if burning with argent flames. Standing at its center, he appeared divine and majestic, like a young deity.
“Shh—shh—” The golden light surged, pouring down like a deluge, countless scales flashing as they sought to pierce the divine moon and turn Little Rascal into a sieve. The moon pulsed, not large but just enough to shield his entire body, silver radiance swirling to repel all incoming light.
He had blocked it! Yet this defense was incredibly draining, consuming his energy at an unsustainable rate. Even with three “volcanic vents” replenishing him, he couldn’t hold out forever.
The pangolin, now stripped of its golden scales, stood bare and grotesque, confident that victory was near. It narrowed its eyes, cold light flickering as it awaited the final outcome.
Then—just as the Sacred Guardian relaxed—a terrifying ripple erupted. The divine moon exploded, holy brilliance boiling forth, scattering the golden scales in all directions, leaving them unable to regroup.
Little Rascal shot forward like an arrow, fingers splayed toward the Sacred Guardian, disrupting the very flow of the world’s energy.
“Boom!”
Golden lightning erupted from his palms, blindingly radiant, like the light of annihilation. It struck the pangolin’s skull, nearly splitting it open. Blood gushed as the beast staggered, almost collapsing.
The sudden counterattack stunned the Sacred Guardian. Little Rascal, seemingly at a disadvantage, had unleashed a devastating blow—one that nearly killed it.
He had wielded his strongest treasure art, derived from the Lion-Dragon’s bone, honed over years into a terrifying technique.
The pangolin roared in fury. Without its scales, its body was defenseless, and the golden lightning had left it severely wounded, flesh charred. It had underestimated its foe, never imagining such a reversal.
Little Rascal had bided his time, waiting for this exact moment.
The golden scales, once a disaster, had become his opportunity.
With the pangolin’s defenses gone, he struck relentlessly.
“Crack!”
Lightning danced as Little Rascal charged, unleashing thunderous might. The strikes rained down, each one landing on the Sacred Guardian’s body.
Finally, the scorched form swayed, chunks of flesh sloughing off to reveal bone beneath. The lightning had crippled it.
“Rooooar—!”
The pangolin bellowed, enraged by this tiny, cunning foe who had hidden such power. It summoned its scales back, but lightning was faster.
Another bolt struck, sending it flying, bones snapping, flesh blackening. Its organs were on the verge of rupture.
Fear flashed in the Sacred Guardian’s heart. This human was far more dangerous than expected—especially with the Lion-Dragon’s treasure art, resonating with thunder and mist.
“Clang!”
Seeing the pangolin recall its scales, Little Rascal unleashed another ultimate technique—a silver moon rising, within it a shadow of an ancient demonic bird. It slashed downward.
“Thud!”
Flesh flew. The strike was earth-shaking, silver radiance exploding as the demonic bird’s phantom nearly cleaved the pangolin in half.
Finally, the golden scales returned, clattering as they reforged its armor. The pangolin steadied itself and let loose a deafening roar, shaking mountains and sending boulders tumbling. Its murderous gaze locked onto Little Rascal.
Unfazed, Little Rascal channeled lightning once more, fingers crackling with golden runes that pressed down like a storm.
“Boom!”
Thunder roared, golden energy flooding the battlefield. Wrapped in lightning, he resembled a thunder god incarnate, battling the pangolin head-on.
The Sacred Guardian’s scales glowed, but many were blasted apart, leaving it bloodied.
In the distance, the bandits trembled, unable to believe their invincible guardian was being pushed back.
“Die!”
A divine thought echoed as the golden pangolin unleashed its ultimate attack—a radiant orb from its maw, so bright it blinded, accompanied by the roars of dragons and flood dragons.
The world turned cold, and visions of slaughtered tribes and blood-soaked earth resurfaced.
Little Rascal’s eyes widened.
It wasn’t just an attack—it was the pangolin’s jawbone, its sturdiest part, now reforged into a weapon.
The two golden bones connected, forming a pair of shears, their light eclipsing the sun. They didn’t stab—they snipped, aiming to bisect him.
Little Rascal’s hair stood on end. This was death incarnate.
He dodged, barely evading as the golden shears shot past—and cleanly severed a hundred-meter-tall stone peak in half. The upper half collapsed with a thunderous crash.
The power was staggering.
And the bones themselves felt even more terrifying than the pangolin, radiating the slaughter of countless lives.
“This… isn’t its own bone. It’s from another ancient descendant—something far greater!”
The golden shears were made of two bones, their gold deeper and richer than the pangolin’s own pale scales.
“It’s been trying to revive this bone, to make it part of itself… but it backfired.”
Little Rascal’s eyes gleamed. This was his chance.
The pangolin had weakened itself trying to master this relic.
“Final battle!”
Little Rascal shouted, his youthful face alight with battle fervor.
He would risk everything to claim this bone—a treasure beyond measure.
But the pangolin was still formidable.
With a roar, it sent the golden shears spinning again, their dragon-patterned edges slicing through rock and wood alike.
Little Rascal vanished, replaced by thick mist—the Lion-Dragon’s art, concealing him within thunderclouds.
The pangolin raged, slashing wildly with the shears, felling trees and cleaving hills in half.
Yet each strike drained it further.
Little Rascal moved silently through the fog, waiting.
Then—a misstep.
The pangolin sensed movement and unleashed the shears, only to bisect one of its own bandits.
In that instant of distraction, a beam of light lanced from the mist—a spear of divine radiance piercing the pangolin’s chest.
“Sizzle!”
Flesh charred, scales cracked, and bone was laid bare.
Little Rascal stood in the distance, holding a palm-sized mirror of polished bone—the Lion-Dragon’s brow relic, now refined into a weapon.
He struck again, the mirror’s light carving into the pangolin’s exposed weak point.
“Crunch!”
Bones shattered. Organs ruptured.
The pangolin howled, enraged and desperate.
But before Little Rascal could deliver the final blow—
“Bang!”
The Sacred Guardian’s body split apart, golden runes flickering before it exploded into pieces.
Its ambition had been its downfall.
The golden shears clattered to the ground.
Victory was his.
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