Divine Mask: I Have Numerous God Clones

He took a step back, his grip on his sword tightening as if it were a lifeline. "I've injected you with enough poison to take down a four-star warrior!"

Lucy's smirk widened, her confidence unwavering. She looked at him with a mix of amusement and cold disdain, her eyes gleaming like a predator toying with its prey.

"It seems I'm just too strong for your poison to have any effect," she replied, her voice calm and almost mocking. The arrogance in her tone was unmistakable, as if she found his desperation amusing.

Zilbor's expression twisted with rage, his disbelief morphing into furious denial. "No! It cannot be!" he shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of his anger.

He refused to accept the reality that was staring him in the face. "My poison works on even four-star cultivators!"

His grip on the sword tightened further, his knuckles whitening as fury surged through him. He could feel the burning humiliation of being outmatched.

"You must have some trick up your sleeve to withstand it," he growled, his voice low and seething with frustration. "But I'll make sure this time you don't survive."

With a feral growl of determination, Zilbor's voice rang out, "Poison Edge!" His sword flared to life, the greenish aura around it intensifying, pulsing with a deadly energy that seemed almost alive.

The venomous power radiating from the blade was stronger than ever, a desperate attempt to overwhelm Lucy with sheer force.

But he wasn't done. His eyes, wild with rage and desperation, locked onto Lucy as he snarled, "Poison Aura!" A toxic mist began to seep from his pores, swirling around him in a thick, noxious cloud.

The air itself seemed to shudder under the weight of the deadly fog, creating a suffocating atmosphere as it expanded outward, threatening to consume everything in its path.

Zilbor's body tensed, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. His breath came in ragged, angry bursts as he glared at Lucy, his expression twisted with a mixture of hatred and fear.

He could feel the poison coursing through his veins, empowering him, urging him to end this once and for all.

With a vicious snarl, he launched himself forward, moving with blinding speed. Every muscle in his body strained as he closed the distance between them in an instant, his sword raised high and aimed directly at Lucy's heart.

"Now take this—Serpent Strike!" he roared, his voice thick with fury as he drove the venomous blade downward, intent on stabbing her through with a final, lethal blow. His eyes blazed with a savage intensity, convinced that this strike would be the one to bring her down.

But Lucy remained completely unfazed, a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips, almost as if she were amused by Zilbor's desperation.

"Haven't you figured it out by now?" she asked, her tone dripping with mockery, her voice calm and composed as she slowly raised her fingers.

Zilbor's bravado shattered in an instant, his eyes widening in sheer terror as the truth of the situation hit him like a sledgehammer. The confidence he had wielded like a weapon crumbled away, replaced by a cold, creeping fear that slithered into his heart.

He knew exactly what was coming, and the realization drained the color from his face. "Wait!" he cried out, his voice cracking as panic clawed its way to the surface.

But Lucy's smile only deepened, her eyes narrowing slightly as she relished the fear in his voice. "Too late," she whispered, her tone almost gentle, as if she were offering him a final, mocking kindness before his end.

With a swift flick of her finger, she unleashed her devastating technique. The moment seemed to stretch into eternity as Zilbor's eyes locked onto hers, filled with a desperate plea that went unheeded.

Zilbor barely managed to scream "No!" before his body was consumed by a violent eruption. The poisonous aura surrounding him, the sword he had held so fiercely, and his very being disintegrated into countless fragments, reduced to nothing but ashes scattered by the wind.

Lucy's laughter rang out, sharp and cold, echoing through the stunned silence that followed the eruption. She watched the ashes drift away with a look of satisfied amusement, as if she had merely swatted away an annoying insect.

The audience sat in stunned silence, their eyes wide with disbelief at the carnage they had just witnessed. The tension in the air was palpable, as if the very atmosphere had been sucked dry by the sheer brutality of what had unfolded before them.

Zilbor, the tenth-ranked disciple, known for his lethal skills, had been utterly destroyed by Lucy, with a terrifying ease that left even the most hardened among them shaken.

Lucy turned to face the crowd, her smirk still firmly in place, a cold glint in her eyes that sent shivers down the spines of those watching.

"So," she began, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade, "I suppose that makes me the tenth-ranked now, doesn't it?" The words dripped with dark humor, her tone taunting and laced with a hint of mockery, as if daring anyone to challenge her newfound status.

She paused for a moment, allowing the weight of her words to sink in, her gaze sweeping over the sea of faces, each one more fearful than the last. "If anyone else wants to fight me," she added, her voice calm and deadly serious, "I welcome the challenge."

The silence that followed was deafening. No one dared to move, let alone speak. The fear she had instilled in them was absolute, and it showed in their wide eyes and slack jaws.

With a final, disdainful glance at the crowd, Lucy turned and walked out of the arena, her steps measured and unhurried.

The spectators, too terrified to even breathe, watched her leave, knowing that they had just witnessed the rise of a new power—one that none of them were foolish enough to challenge.