# 1226
Chapter 1227: You Are a God
The massive figure, draped in a Crimson Cloak, standing atop starlight with night hovering overhead, gazes down at Bifeitu and Number 22 from within the swirling sands. Its appearance mirrors Lin Qiye's own form, yet carries an air of solemnity and gravitas.
This differs from the Heaven-Equaling Avatar borrowed from the Great Sage, nor does it match the Qingyuan Divine Manifestation that Yang Jian once taught him. Rather, Lin Qiye has synthesized both techniques into something uniquely his—a Form of Heaven and Earth all his own. His appearance isn't that of a demonic ape or the True Lord of Qingyuan's Origin, but Lin Qiye himself.
The Form of Heaven and Earth stands as one of the rare secret techniques known to Great Xia's deities. As long as spiritual energy persists, it requires no mental fortitude to activate. This explains why it's Lin Qiye's strongest available weapon despite his depleted spiritual energy!
"Is that him?" Number 22 narrows his eyes, confusion evident. "His spiritual energy should've been drained... What ability is this?"
Bifeitu's expression darkens as well, his severed arm a grim reminder of their predicament.
At that moment, a vertical eye opens on the avatar's forehead, releasing overwhelming pressure that washes over the battlefield. Bifeitu and Number 22 feel their bodies freeze, as if invisible hands grip them in an unbreakable hold.
This power originates from the Qingyuan Divine Manifestation itself, now fully absorbed into Lin Qiye's own avatar. The towering figure raises its hand and strikes, sending a sword streaking across the sky toward Number 22 like a rainbow cutting through the storm.
Number 22's pupils contract sharply. His triple Klein-level cultivation erupts, flooding his form with pink spiritual energy that barely shatters the vertical eye's binding. He stumbles backward.
Ame-no-Murakumo grazes his chest, severing one of Number 22's wrists clean through.
A scream echoes as the King's Holy Grail tumbles away from his severed palm, caught by the howling wind and thrown dozens of meters distant.
Meanwhile, the colossal avatar surges forward, materializing before Bifeitu in an instant. Its mountain-sized black arm rises high, carrying apocalyptic force as it crashes down!
Bifeitu, already weakened from losing his Supreme God arm to the King's Treasure Sword, cannot withstand this blow through sheer strength alone. Deprived of his God's Ruins, he grits his teeth and rockets backward.
BOOM—!
The avatar's fist strikes the Vast Desert, sending devastating sandstorms spiraling skyward. Bifeitu's face contorts in pain as he's hurled backward hundreds of meters, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
He rises slowly, eyes fixed on the avatar. Wiping away the blood, his chest pulses with a blazing white heart that rapidly heals his internal injuries.
"To suffer only minor wounds from that..." Lin Qiye's spirit murmurs within the avatar. "That body is absolute cheating!"
Earlier, Bifeitu's punch had shattered several of Lin Qiye's ribs and nearly ruptured his organs. Only because his body had undergone baptism by faith and consumed the Peach of Immortality—making it several times stronger than peers—did he survive that devastating blow. Yet Lin Qiye's avatar's own strike, though powerful, was healed by Bifeitu's supernatural heart in mere breaths.
Both fighters exist at the Klein level. Lin Qiye, despite possessing numerous God's Ruins, remains constrained by his realm. But Bifeitu, having transplanted a Supreme God's limbs, functions like an overclocked anomaly!
Lin Qiye has no doubt that even a deity caught off guard by one of Bifeitu's punches would be knocked senseless.
After their skirmish, the three combatants stabilize in separate positions, each watching the others. The next confrontation looms imminent.
"Wait... where's the Holy Grail?"
Number 22 clutches his bleeding wrist, scanning everywhere yet finding no trace of the severed Holy Grail.
Lin Qiye's avatar narrows his eyes. His heightened sensitivity to spiritual energy suddenly prickles—he snaps his gaze upward!
The endless clear sky darkens before his eyes, as if an invisible hand has draped a veil of black gauze over their world. Sunlight dims, golden sands drown in encroaching shadow, and bitter winds sweep across the Vast Desert, carrying the chill of deep winter's midnight.
A delicate crescent moon emerges from the horizon's edge.
This power doesn't belong to Lin Qiye.
"Someone else is in this treasury?" A bad feeling coils in his chest.
Before Number 22 can respond, that slender crescent rotates impossibly through the air, transforming into a lone boat drifting across the night sky. Ripples spread outward as it glides toward them.
Within that moonlit vessel stands a stooped elderly figure, ghostly and motionless.
His left hand grips a blood-soaked severed arm. Before him floats a dark golden chalice.
"The Holy Grail?"
"My arm?"
Number 22 and Bifeitu cry out simultaneously.
The old man's eyes blaze as he stares down at Bifeitu below. A thin smile curls his lips.
"Heaven has not abandoned Sumer after all... Sending such a perfect sacrifice right to me. One hundred years of waiting, and now the harvest begins."
His five fingers clamp around the Supreme God arm and squeeze.
CRACK—!
The arm dissolves into countless blood threads, flooding into the Holy Grail. The trembling liquid surges upward, not only replenishing what Number 22 had consumed earlier, but multiplying several times over—nearly spilling from the rim!
"No! Stop him!!" Lin Qiye's avatar roars, realization striking him.
Number 22 and Bifeitu both sense the danger. They rocket skyward simultaneously, racing toward the crescent boat.
Number 22 raises his Royal Scepter, preparing to channel its power—yet space warps before him!
Cascading black hair pours from the void, engulfing Number 22 entirely. A supple hand emerges from the darkness, delicately wrapping around the upper half of the Scepter and freezing its descent.
Number 22's pupils dilate. His triple Klein spiritual pressure erupts in a desperate struggle against that hand, but no matter how he strains, the Royal Scepter remains immovably trapped.
That seemingly delicate hand possesses terrifying strength?!
As shock consumes Number 22, a graceful pale figure steps forth from the churning waves of black hair.
A woman in white robes, her expression cold as frost, clamps her left hand on the Royal Scepter while gripping a spear in her right. She fixes Number 22 with an appraising stare, and overwhelming pressure crashes over him.
"This woman..." Number 22 glimpses something familiar in those beautiful eyes, and terror seizes his features!
"God! You are a GOD!!"