---
title: "Chapter 709: Epic Clash!"
slug: "ch-715"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 715
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1199
createdAt: "2026-04-15"
---

"Emperor’s Domain!" Max muttered in disbelief as he raised his hand to the heavens. Instantly, the sky above darkened, engulfed in swirling black flames that twisted and churned like a living sea of fury.

From within huge crown floating in the air, thousands of weapons began to take shape—each one forged from the essence of his black flames, each radiating immense power.

Swords, spears, halberds, war hammers, glaives, axes, and countless other weapons filled the skies, hanging above like an apocalyptic rain waiting to fall.

And then they did—plummeting like divine judgment from the heavens, all aimed at the Storm King standing on the platform. It was a fearsome display, the kind of attack that could obliterate a city, tear mountains asunder, and incinerate any living thing caught within its reach.

But then Max’s entire being tensed. His Three Dimensional Body, which was always calm and precise, screamed in alarm. A warning. A threat. An impossible shift.

His senses picked it up first, and then his eyes followed. The Storm King’s figure, just a breath ago standing at the center of the incoming storm of weapons, had vanished.

In the very next instant, he appeared directly in front of Max—a blur of red lightning and crackling might. The spear in his hand gleamed menacingly, its head pulsing with concentrated red lightning, as if it too was alive and roaring for battle.

Max was shaken. His arsenal had been released first. His weapons were already halfway to their target. And yet, in the blink of an eye—or rather, in a flash of lightning—the Storm King had traversed that space, ignored the approaching destruction, and stood inches from Max’s chest, ready to strike.

It didn’t make sense. It defied every law of speed, every logic of combat. It was more than technique. More than mastery. It was power—raw, absolute, terrifying power.

Max’s mind reeled.

’This is... unbelievable.’ He had fought monsters before. He had crushed Champions and defied logic. But in that moment, facing this being who moved like a storm incarnate, Max finally understood what it meant to be outmatched in the purest, most terrifying way.

Though Max was shocked by the sheer speed and dominance of the Storm King, his reaction was instant and precise. In that fraction of a second, his instincts roared louder than his fear, and his body surged with violent, crackling energy.

Blue lightning erupted from every pore, dancing along the black flaming armor that wrapped his body like a second skin. The air shook as Max raised his sword, its blade now radiating a deep azure hue.

With a roar that split the air, he unleashed his counter—

"First Form of Heaven-Piercing Thunderclap Sword!"

The moment the words left his mouth, his sword cleaved through space like a divine judgment, a strike blessed by both flame and lightning. And then it met the Storm King’s spear.

BOOM!

A thunderous detonation ripped through the entire island, as sword and spear collided once more. This time, it wasn’t just a clash of weapons—it was a clash of elements, of wills, of legacies.

Blue lightning exploded from Max’s blade while red lightning burst from the Storm King’s spear, and the resulting shockwave tore through the clouds above, sending tendrils of power streaking across the sky like cracks in a glass dome.

The earth beneath their feet was obliterated, flattened and torn by the immense pressure unleashed from just their first true strike.

And then they moved.

What followed was a blur of violence, speed, and precision—two monsters trading blows at a level beyond mortal comprehension.

Max’s sword slashed down with devastating arcs of thunderclap energy, his movements amplified by the raw might of his 600 Draconic Essences. His black scales glowed golden, his every strike empowered by the Flame Tyrant’s close-combat inheritance.

His fists roared with black fire, his gauntlets shattered the air, and every kick or swipe carried the weight of mountains. He became a whirlwind of elemental destruction, striking with the wrath of a dragon forged in storms and flame.

But the Storm King was relentless. Every attack Max launched was met by a blindingly fast counter from the red lightning spear. The man’s movements were terrifyingly smooth, his spear twirling like an extension of his will.

He thrust, parried, spun, and stabbed, lightning whipping behind each move like the scream of a thunder god. He fought not like a warrior, but like a storm made flesh—ever-shifting, ever-adapting.

Every step he took cracked the earth, every swing of his spear scorched the skies. Red lightning arced from his body in great whips, each capable of slicing through stone.

They clashed again.

BOOM!

And again.

CRACK!

A hundred times.

Each strike was a battle of its own. Spear against sword. Thunder against flame. Blue and red lightning filled the world, dancing across shattered stone and ruined sky. The floor of the island cracked and reformed constantly under the sheer pressure of their blows.

Max ducked a sweeping stab, twisted mid-air, slammed his foot into the Storm King’s chest—but was met with a counterstrike so fast it nearly cracked his shoulder.

Blood oozed from the edge of his lips, but he didn’t stop. He was roaring now, fighting like a true dragon awakened from slumber, his black flaming gauntlets ablaze with fury.

The Storm King grinned amidst the chaos, a warrior’s grin, wild and proud. "Not bad, boy!" he bellowed between attacks. "You’ve grown!"

Max didn’t answer. He was too deep in it—too caught in the thunderous rhythm of the fight. Too focused on surviving, on pushing past his limit, on winning. One clash, then another. Then another. And another.

One hundred strikes, a hundred echoes of power shaking the heavens. Each one could level cities. Each one could be a killing blow. But neither fell. Not yet.

The battlefield had become a storm-torn hellscape, the sky nothing but streaks of flame and lightning, the ground barely holding itself together. Yet both warriors remained standing—bloodied, breathless, but unbroken.

In that moment, in the chaos of battle, Max lost himself completely. The world around him faded.

All that remained in his mind was the enemy before him—the Storm King—and the clash of sword and spear. Again and again, they collided. The air trembled. The heavens split.

And Max stood tall, refusing to falter, matching the Storm King strike for strike, breath for breath, as though they were two ancient titans locked in an eternal war.

His arms ached, his fingers blistered beneath the flaming gauntlets, and yet with each clash, with every explosive meeting of their weapons, Max felt something stirring deep inside him. Something fierce. Something wild.

It was as if the core of his very being was awakening under pressure—under flame and lightning and blood. His black flaming armor, born of the Flame Tyrant inheritance, pulsed with a radiant heat. The flames licked across his body more wildly than ever before, yet they felt... calm. Controlled. Empowered.

His eyes widened, not from fear or pain, but from realization. "My flame concept reached level 2!" Max felt it—the way the flames no longer resisted him, but responded like loyal hounds eager to devour anything in their path.