E-Rank or SSS-Rank: I Awakened a Skill That Shouldn't Exist
Chapter 173: No More Playing

Chapter 173: No More Playing

Chapter 173

Han had sensed it from the start—Crimson Scale wasn’t fighting at full power. But the extent of his restraint was unclear... until now.

As Crimson Scale’s body became fully enveloped in thick, gleaming red scales, and his claws turned a dark, blood-red hue, everything clicked. He hadn’t been using any real skill until this moment. Now, the mask was off.

"He’s finally done holding back," Han muttered, narrowing his eyes.

Even so, Han didn’t summon his beasts—not yet. He needed to see Crimson Scale’s true power firsthand. Bending low, his spine arched like a predator about to pounce. His fingers curled like claws as heat flared around him.

"Fourth Jungle Art—Cheetah Stride: Flame Style," he whispered.

In an instant, infernos erupted beneath his feet, launching him forward like a missile. The air cracked as he blurred toward Crimson Scale, fist cocked back, ready to land a devastating blow.

But just before the punch landed—snap—Crimson Scale’s clawed hand shot out and caught it.

Han’s brow twitched in surprise.

His strength’s skyrocketed.

Without missing a beat, Han twisted violently, breaking free, and followed up with a strike aimed at Crimson Scale’s neck. Boom! A thunderous impact echoed across the room like a miniature shockwave, kicking up debris and dust.

Yet... Crimson Scale didn’t flinch. The scales where Han’s strike had landed bore no mark, no crack—nothing.

What kind of defense is this?! Han thought, his eyes narrowing sharply.

Before he could recover, Crimson Scale’s claw lashed out, catching Han’s leg and pulling him in. A blur of red sliced toward his face.

Han crossed his arms in time to block, but not completely. Multiple gashes tore through his skin. They weren’t fatal, but blood ran freely. The crimson hue of Crimson Scale’s body deepened, his scales glowing ominously brighter.

He’s feeding off my blood...! Han realized.

But his thoughts were cut short when a vicious kick slammed into his neck, sending him crashing across the battlefield. He rolled over the cracked and cratered floor before skidding to a halt.

Han groaned, pushing himself up. His hand had already healed—regenerated through his passive skills—but the HP he’d lost wasn’t coming back. Not unless he used a potion or rested, neither of which was an option.

At the far end of the battle-torn chamber, Crimson Scale stood tall, his blood-soaked aura pulsing with newfound strength.

He really does grow stronger with his opponent’s blood, Han thought grimly, flexing his fingers. If I wasn’t already at Superhuman stats, I’d be finished.

Crimson Scale was still only at the peak of Prime Human level, but the gap was closing fast. Yet Han... wasn’t afraid.

The normal Jungle Arts won’t cut it now, he thought. Time to rely on the flame styles.

Han leapt into the air, his hands curling into talons, now wreathed in flickering orange-red flames. The heat they emitted shimmered through the air like a mirage.

Crimson Scale let out a guttural laugh and lunged forward, his claws drawn and ready to slice again.

"Third Jungle Art—Eagle Pulse: Flame Style!" Han roared, slamming his burning talons into Crimson Scale.

The clash shook the room.

_ _ _

Meanwhile, back at Serenya...

Things had taken a sharp turn for the worse for Ron.

No doubt—he was strong. Incredibly strong. The fact that he had held off two Dark Emissaries for several minutes was a feat few could claim. But no matter how formidable he was, Ron was both outmatched and outnumbered—and these weren’t just any foes. They were the worst possible pair to face together.

Freak Eye was a menace from range. His ability to launch deadly, precise attacks from afar had inflicted the most damage on Ron. Ron had tried more than once to take him out first, but the greater threat demanded his attention—

Metallo. A lethal close-range combatant who could manipulate metal at will. His mastery over weapons, his agility, and his tactical mind made him a nightmare in battle. Every clash was a dance with death.

BOOM!

Ron’s body slammed into the ground, pain exploding through every inch of him. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself up, boots digging into the broken earth. He raised his massive Warhammer just in time to block a giant metallic sphere crashing down from above. The ground cracked beneath him from the force, but Ron didn’t falter.

With a defiant roar, he shoved the metallic mass aside and hurled it into the distance. But he wasn’t celebrating—he knew what came next.

A sharp whistle in the air—then FWOOM!

BOOOOM!

A searing explosion tore through Ron’s shoulder, carving a bloody crater into his flesh. Blood gushed from the wound, but Ron didn’t scream. Instead, he tore away what remained of his tattered shirt, baring a glowing, battle-scarred chest that radiated power.

Freak Eye’s expression darkened.

His Skull-Shattering Beam—a technique that had assassinated countless targets with ease—hadn’t delivered the fatal blow it should have.

What he didn’t know was that Ron had activated one of his core skills: Stone Body.

It allowed him to draw in and condense his essence, hardening his flesh to nearly unbreakable levels. Years of breaking and rebuilding his body through brutal training had pushed this ability beyond its natural limits. Ron’s defense had become something few could comprehend—let alone overcome.

But even so... his breath was labored. Essence flowed sluggishly now, fatigue crawling over his body like chains. The Warhammer’s active skills burned through his reserves. Fighting one emissary was already pushing it. Fighting two?

Hopeless.

Yet Ron didn’t waver.

He raised his Warhammer high—not in surrender, but in resolve—and hurled it straight at Metallo.

Metallo extended his hand to control the weapon mid-air... but then his expression twisted.

The gravity...

It intensified suddenly, anchoring him in place. For a brief moment, he was trapped—unable to move. That second was all Ron needed.

He flashed forward, grabbing the hammer mid-flight, and channeled a massive surge of energy into it, igniting its offensive skill. His eyes blazed with defiance.

"I will never give up!"

With a mighty roar, he swung the hammer into Metallo’s jaw—the impact sent shockwaves across the battlefield as Metallo was flung like a ragdoll.

Ron charged after him, preparing to strike again—

But AGHH!

A sharp, blinding pain tore through his left side. Freak Eye had struck.

The wound sizzled, burning deep. Ron staggered, but didn’t fall.

It stings like hell... but I’m not done yet, he thought, forcing himself to his feet once more.

Bloodied. Exhausted. Outnumbered.

But never broken.

Laura watched from a distance, her face etched with pain and hopelessness.

Ron was giving it his all, but the truth was impossible to ignore—if this battle dragged on, he would lose. No one could stand against two Dark Emissaries for long, not even someone like Ron.

Her fists clenched tightly at her sides, trembling with helpless rage.

"Where are you... big brother?" she whispered to the wind, eyes searching the horizon.

---

Meanwhile, back at ARC—

The battle between Han and Crimson Scale had reached its peak.

Sparks flew, fists clashed, and the ground trembled beneath their feet. Han had already used several of his Flame Style: Jungle Arts, but Crimson Scale didn’t seem to notice—or care. He was faster, stronger, and deadlier than anyone Han had faced before—excluding Striker.

But the real problem wasn’t his speed or strength.

It was his defense.

The crimson-hued scales covering his body were unnaturally durable. Even after Han landed a series of well-placed Tiger Punches, he’d only managed to crack a few. Crimson Scale looked like he still had plenty of fight left in him, while Han’s energy reserves were quickly draining.

If he didn’t end this soon, he’d run out of essence.

Yet—Han was enjoying himself.

Brutal as Crimson Scale’s attacks were, Han could tell—there was no killing intent behind them. The strikes were savage, yes, but not meant to kill. That gave Han the space to push himself without holding back.

But then—things changed.

Crimson Scale’s claws glowed ominously before extending and slashing forward. Han’s eyes widened—too late.

SHRRK!

A deep gash split across his cheek, blood dripping down his face.

He leapt back several meters, hand pressed to the wound, his gaze locked on his opponent.

Crimson Scale tilted his head. That attack should’ve been blocked. Why didn’t the kid avoid it? Was he slowing down?

But then—he saw Han’s expression shift.

The playfulness was gone. His jaw clenched, his eyes darkened—cold and razor-sharp.

Crimson Scale felt something unfamiliar crawl down his spine: unease.

Han raised his hand. His voice was low, calm, and absolute.

"I’m done playing. Let’s finish this."

A thunderous crack split the air as a colossal bolt of lightning erupted behind him. From within the storm, something emerged—coiling, massive, and alive.

A lightning dragon roared into existence, crackling with raw power as it hovered beside Han.

Crimson Scale’s eyes widened. Two skills? How—?

Before he could finish the thought, Han pointed to the dragon.

"Merge."

The lightning dragon descended, its form spiraling into Han’s body in a blinding flash of light. Crimson Scale shielded his eyes, and when the radiance finally faded—

He froze.

Floating above the battlefield was Han—transformed.

His skin now bore a faint silvery sheen, with black lightning-like stripes streaking across his arms and chest. A radiant black tattoo burned across his forehead, and arcs of electricity hissed around him like wrathful serpents. He no longer looked human—he looked divine.

An ethereal storm incarnate.

But Crimson Scale didn’t have time to admire the sight.

Han’s eyes were glowing, intense and unreadable.

He extended both hands, lightning swirling and converging into his palms with terrifying pressure. Then, in a voice cold and resolute:

"I’ve got no time to waste. Hope you survive this."

The storm obeyed.

Lightning surged violently into both hands, the air around him distorting from the sheer voltage. His aura pulsed like a war drum.

Then—

"Lightning Force: THUNDERCLAP."

---

To be continued...

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