Ultra Instinct

Chen Feng's black hair was still as soft and smooth as ever. He looked as though he were asleep, his breathing unbelievably steady.

A layer of silver light shrouded him—thin as cicada wings, yet containing the radiance of stars.

Though the glow looked gentle, it sealed off all the energy capable of destroying a galaxy. The space around him had become a quiet, perfectly spherical domain.

Within that domain, even the most basic particles had stopped vibrating, as if it had become an independent little universe.

He simply stood there, as though the explosion capable of reshaping a galaxy had been nothing more than a spring breeze brushing over a hill.

Champa's mouth hung open, his pupils dilated to the point of bursting, his mind completely blank.

He had lived for millions of years, yet he had never witnessed anything like this.

To him, destruction was not merely an authority—it was instinct, the ultimate answer to everything.

Now, Chen Feng had erased that answer with casual ease.

"Impossible..." Champa's voice was dry as sandpaper scraping together. "This... this is absolutely impossible..."

Chen Feng raised his head and glanced at him, then let out a soft sigh.

There was no pride of victory in that sigh, nor any mockery toward the weak. Instead, it carried the deep, faintly pitiful regret of a teacher seeing a student stray down the wrong path.

"Lord Champa, you are very strong." Chen Feng spoke clearly and steadily, every word seeming to strike Champa's heart. "But your strength relies too heavily on the 'results' granted by the God of Destruction's power. When that power is restrained, when 'destruction' is no longer all-powerful, you... seem to have forgotten the 'process' of fighting."

All the color drained from Champa's face, leaving it pale as paper.

Chen Feng's words were like an icy key, unlocking a corner deep within his heart that even he had refused to confront.

That was right. Over the millions of years, he had long grown accustomed to it: whenever he was angry, he unleashed destruction; whenever he was irritated, he vented destruction; whenever he encountered an enemy, he simply crushed everything with destructive energy.

Destructive energy was his supreme authority, but it had also become his only weapon, his only way of thinking. In the end, it had become his greatest shackle and dependency.

When that invincible spear was blocked for the first time by a true "shield," the hand gripping the spear felt unfamiliar and lost instead.

Those memories long worn away by time—how to use his own strength, observe his opponent, find weaknesses, and decide victory through skill and will—had already become indistinct.

He possessed the title and power of a god, yet in the most fundamental aspect of "combat," he had become terrifyingly clumsy.

"Then," Chen Feng's voice rang out again, calm yet carrying unquestionable resolve, "let me show you... what true 'combat' really is."

Chen Feng slowly closed his eyes, then opened them again.

In that instant, something fundamental changed.

There was no eruption of power, no dazzling radiance. Even the active ki around him vanished completely.

What replaced it was a complete transformation in his state of being.

A denser, more restrained silver brilliance flowed naturally from him like moonlight, quietly enveloping his entire body.

The light was not glaring, yet it seemed to contain the order and tranquility present at the birth of the universe.

Every pore and every strand of his hair resonated with the surrounding space in some wondrous way.

Ultra Instinct—not the superficial grasp of a beginner, but a perfect realm brought to its absolute pinnacle, where body and mind were one and he had completely escaped the restraints of consciousness.

Champa's pupils shrank to pinpoints.

In his perception, Chen Feng had "disappeared."

It was not invisibility, nor was it high-speed movement. His very existence had completely merged into the backdrop of the universe. His ki could not be sensed, and even his killing intent could not be locked onto.

Yet to the naked eye, Chen Feng was clearly still standing there, silver radiance flowing around him, as tranquil as an ancient moon reflected in a deep pool.

That feeling was utterly terrifying.

It was as if Champa was not facing a person, but an entire starry sky—natural law itself, everywhere and yet impossible to grasp.

"Ultra... Instinct..." Champa forced out the words from deep in his throat, his voice filled with disbelief and bone-deep terror. "You actually... truly reached this realm..."

Chen Feng did not answer. Nor did he need to.

He simply moved.

Chen Feng moved.

This was not ordinary movement, but the rewriting of some rule.

He took a step forward—his right foot lifted, then fell—but that single step seemed to crush the shackles of space, compressing several hundred meters into arm's reach.

There was no afterimage, no sound of wind, not even the trajectory that "movement" should have left behind.

One second, he was still in the distance, a small but distinct figure; the next, he stood silently before Champa, as if he had been there from the very beginning, without even the corner of his clothing stirring.

Champa's pupils abruptly contracted to pinpoints.

He had not seen at all how the other man had approached—this was not a matter of speed, but contempt for the very concept of "distance."

Shock turned into instinctive reaction. The muscles in his thick arm bulged as his fist, wrapped in destructive energy, rose reflexively before his chest. Purple-black energy of destruction flickered around his knuckles, scorching the surrounding space into distorted ripples.

But Chen Feng did not attack.

He merely stood there quietly. Though much shorter than Champa, he carried the steadiness of a mountain.

His gaze was as calm as a deep well, reflecting Champa's startled, doubtful face.

Beneath that calm, there seemed to lie the weight of the universe.

Champa's arm froze in midair, caught between advancing and retreating.

A cold warning born of instinct for survival crawled up his spine, every nerve screaming.

It was not fear of power, but a more primitive intuition—as if what stood before him was not a warrior, but an irresistible "phenomenon."

His instincts told him that if this punch truly came down, something more terrifying than defeat would happen.

A dead silence spread between them. Only fragments of distant stars drifted through space, colliding with faint sounds.

"Lord Champa," Chen Feng finally said. His voice was soft, yet it strangely pierced the vacuum, echoing in Champa's ears and even directly within his consciousness. "Are you ready?"

Those airy words struck Champa's pride like an invisible whip.

He was a God of Destruction. When had anyone ever asked him so condescendingly whether he was "ready to take a hit"?

His shock and suspicion were instantly replaced by fury, and his deep-purple face nearly turned black.

"Stop putting on airs!" Champa snarled through gritted teeth. His frozen arm hesitated no longer as the destruction energy it had gathered for so long erupted with a boom!

There was no flourish to this punch—only pure power and destruction.

Where the fist passed, space cracked open with black fissures like glass. Before the fist wind even arrived, that aura of annihilating everything had already rushed at him, enough to turn an entire planet into cosmic dust in an instant.

Faced with this strike capable of shattering stars, Chen Feng's response was so simple it was suffocating.

His body merely tilted ever so slightly to the side, the movement so small it was almost imperceptible, like a willow leaf stirred by a gentle breeze.

By that hair's breadth, the fist carrying a storm of destruction brushed past the fabric on his shoulder.

The violent fist wind blew his black forelocks back, making his robes snap loudly, yet the fist itself did not truly touch even the corner of his clothes.

A tiny difference could lead to worlds apart.

The instant the fist grazed his shoulder, Chen Feng had already raised his right hand. His movement was slow and clear, even carrying the casual ease of a leisurely stroll, as he gently placed it against the center of Champa's muscular, scale-covered chest.

When palm met chest, there was no earth-shattering crash. It was as light as a casual pat between friends.

"This punch," Chen Feng said evenly, looking into Champa's eyes widened in shock, "is for Caulifla."

As soon as the words fell, the palm pressed to his chest sank slightly.