Divine Mask: I Have Numerous God Clones

Lucy didn't flinch. Instead, she raised her hand in a mock gesture, casually beckoning him forward with a smirk. "Come on, show me what you've got," she replied, her tone daring and full of confidence.

Zilbor's lips curled into a cruel smile. "You're really something else," he muttered, amusement flickering in his eyes as he considered her audacity. Without another word, he lunged forward, his sword slicing through the air with deadly precision, aiming straight for Lucy.

Lucy moved to intercept the blade, but Zilbor was quicker than she anticipated. The sword's edge cut across her hand, drawing a thin line of blood. Zilbor grinned wickedly, satisfaction evident in his eyes. "Is that all you've got?" he mocked, watching for any sign of weakness.

But Lucy didn't waver. She met his gaze with a cold, unyielding stare, an icy smirk forming on her lips. "Of course not," she retorted, her voice carrying a chill that matched her demeanor.

Zilbor's grin faltered momentarily, but he quickly steeled himself, determined to finish what he had started. With a sharp breath, he launched into a relentless assault, his movements swift and calculated. His sword sliced through the air in a blur, each strike aimed with deadly precision.

Lucy's body moved with fluid grace, her form almost languid as she sidestepped and deflected, yet Zilbor's blade managed to graze her with each pass.

The sword danced around her, leaving shallow cuts in its wake, the green aura pulsing malevolently as it eagerly drank the blood drawn from her skin.

Despite the flurry of strikes, Lucy remained eerily composed, her calm demeanor unshaken. Her movements were deliberate, her expression unchanging, as if the cuts were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

The wounds were superficial, barely more than scratches, but Zilbor, emboldened by the sight of blood, failed to see her unwavering resilience. His growing arrogance blinded him to the truth—the woman before him was far stronger than he had ever imagined.

"Is this all you can do?" Lucy taunted, her voice dripping with disdain as she glanced down at the shallow wounds on her skin. There was no pain in her expression, no fear—just a cold, mocking stare that made Zilbor's confidence waver.

Zilbor's grin widened, but there was a flicker of desperation behind his eyes. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, feeling the blade pulse with energy.

"It's almost time," he muttered under his breath, as if trying to convince himself that everything was going according to plan. He could feel the seconds ticking away, waiting for his plan to take hold, his confidence teetering on the edge.

Lucy's eyes narrowed, her patience wearing dangerously thin. She had grown tired of his games, of his smug arrogance. There was something about his face—his smirk, his eyes, the way he looked down on her—that ignited a deep-seated hatred. "I really hate your ugly face," she spat, her voice icy and final. "Now, let me punch it."

Zilbor's smirk wavered for a split second as he saw the raw intensity in her gaze, but he quickly forced himself to stay calm. He was waiting, anticipating that moment when his plan was working, and he could strike the final blow.

As Lucy prepared to strike, he shouted, "Now!" His voice rang with forced confidence, fully expecting to see her freeze, to watch the poison finally take effect and immobilize her.

But to his shock, Lucy didn't even flinch. Instead, she swung her fist with incredible force, her movement fluid and unrestrained. Her punch connected with Zilbor's chest, sending him flying across the arena like a ragdoll.

The audience gasped in unison, their disbelief palpable as they watched Zilbor, the tenth-ranked outer disciple, crumble so easily under Lucy's attack.

Whispers quickly spread through the crowd, the realization dawning on them. "How could this happen?" one murmured. "Zilbor is known for his poison…"

"Yeah," another added, "He always inflicts small cuts laced with venom. His green aura, his blade… it's all toxic. The poison should have paralyzed her by now, leaving her helpless!"

But Lucy remained standing, seemingly untouched by the poison that should have incapacitated her. Zilbor, now struggling to his feet, stared at her in disbelief, his confidence shattered. "How… how is my poison not working on you?" he stammered, his voice a mixture of shock and fear.

Lucy's smirk deepened, her eyes glinting with amusement. "I don't know," she replied with a shrug, her voice tinged with mockery, savoring the look of terror in Zilbor's eyes.

Meanwhile, in the audience, Zeus watched with a knowing smile, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. [How stupid can he be?] the system scoffed, its tone dripping with arrogance. [Doesn't he know that flame element special physiques have a high resistance to poison?]

Zeus's smile widened as the system continued its mocking tirade. [That poison was doomed from the start,] the system sneered. [It would've been burned away the moment it entered her body. And with Lucy's two-star Volcanic Titan physique? Please. Any poison-based attack below four-star wouldn't even tickle her, let alone poison her.]

Zeus chuckled softly, shaking his head in mild disbelief. "Of course, he didn't know. He's just an outer disciple, after all," he murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of pity and condescension.

"Even if he knew about her flame physique, he wouldn't have grasped its full power. Poor guy—it's just his bad luck."

[Bad luck? More like stupidity,] the system quipped, shamelessly arrogant. [Thinking he could bring down a Volcanic Titan with some petty poison. Honestly, it's almost sad. Almost.]

Zeus nodded, his expression one of amused indifference. "Yeah, you're right," he agreed, the two of them sharing in the moment of mockery, their tones filled with a blend of arrogance and casual dismissal of Zilbor's now-obvious mistake.