Chapter 35: Judgment from the Storm
The cracked ground beneath my feet was a testament to the battle already endured. Lightning flickered erratically across my limbs, licking the surface of my mana skin. Ashratal pulsed faintly in the distance, embedded in the earth where it had last struck. Around me, shattered potion bottles lay discarded like battlefield scars. Across from me, Simharaksha—the Leonarch—stood tall, his presence suffocating. His muscles coiled, eyes burning with primal fury, and for the first time, I noticed... he was adapting.
It had been fifteen minutes since our clash began.
He didn't use elements—no fire, no lightning, no storm. Just raw, monstrous physicality. Every swing from his massive arms carried enough force to crater the ground. Each impact flung me back like a ragdoll. I'd dashed around him, aiming for weak points—his back, his joints, his legs, even his face. My halberd found purchase, again and again, but each time I struck, he grew wiser. Faster. More fluid.
A newborn.
That's what he was. Despite the overwhelming presence and sheer size, his movements had told me everything. His first strikes had been clumsy—like a child learning how to walk. He had four arms but forgot one during combat. He lunged too far or misjudged his reach. But now, after repeated exchanges, he was improving. Evolving.
His back was lined with gashes, one across his cheek still dripping black blood. I'd tried to cripple his paws, but even those he now guarded instinctively. His trident returned to his hand at will, and he'd learned to wield it alongside his dual scimitars, creating a deadly triad of destruction.
Still, he was bleeding. And I wasn't.
Not yet.
But if I didn't finish him soon, that balance would tip.
I narrowed my eyes. His paws. They were the one consistent vulnerability. Large, powerful, and still not fully coordinated. I activated the Eye of Alignment.
The world slowed.
Lines of possibility danced before me—complex paths of battle flow. I stepped into the rhythm and launched a mana slash. It hissed through the air, laced with flickers of fire and lightning. Leonarch leapt. Perfect.
A path curled toward his exposed paws.
I appeared mid-air beneath him, twisting my body as Ashratal surged with fire. The axe-head ignited as I spun and unleashed a blazing arc. Resistance met me—a wall of mana defense—but the blade bit deep.
As I descended, I pointed the spear-end toward his lion torso and summoned a mana bullet. Fire infused it instantly. The bolt roared as I launched it upward. The burning orb screamed into his stomach.
I landed hard, rolling and rising in a single motion.
Leonarch collapsed to one knee. He let out a guttural roar. A hole had been blasted into his underbelly—charred flesh and dangling organs visible. Blood pooled beneath him. One of his front paws dripped from a deep cut.
He wobbled. Stumbled. But didn't fall.
I stared at him. A pang of guilt struck me.
He was a newborn—barely sentient, just adapting to existence. But he'd come so far in such a short time. His eyes met mine with something like recognition. As if he, too, understood what was happening.
We were mirrors.
Both new to this world of power. Both learning. Both cursed—or blessed—with something special.
I couldn't afford sentiment.
I reached deep, drawing on every ounce of mana. Storm clouds churned overhead, their swirl resonating with the locked-away energy I felt within me. I gritted my teeth and visualized the door in my soul.
The one that led to the storm element.
I shoved my mana against it. The door cracked.
Just enough.
I raised Ashratal like a javelin. Fire blazed from its core. Lightning surged across its blade, hissing with electric fury. I threw it with all my might into the center of the storm above.
The clouds answered.
A single bolt of divine lightning crashed from the heavens. It struck Ashratal mid-air. The weapon's trajectory changed, now guided by the storm's will.
Leonarch sensed it. He roared and stood tall despite his wounds. He crossed both scimitars over his chest and drove his trident into the earth, anchoring himself.
He waited.
Ashratal fell like divine judgment.
The moment it hit him, time froze.
A concussive shockwave exploded outward. Ashratal pierced through his crossed blades, split the trident beneath, and sank deep into his chest. Thunder rang through the air.
Leonarch's eyes widened.
His mana flickered.
Then it vanished.
He slumped.
I fell to my knees. My vision swam with afterimages of light and arcs of pain. My lungs ached, mana nearly depleted. The storm above dispersed, as if its purpose was fulfilled.
I stood. Staggered. Made my way to his corpse.
Up close, his size was monstrous. I was nearly two meters tall now, thanks to recent physical growth, but Leonarch dwarfed me.
I retrieved Ashratal, still warm with latent energy. I collected his largest fangs and the claws from his paws—they were saturated with mana. I examined his body. No ruby, no external core.
Then I found it.
His chest.
Using Ashratal, I carved through the fur and bone, pushing through muscle and sinew. Behind his heart, I found it—a pulsing mass of muscle, dark and glowing faintly.
Coagulated mana.
Rare in mutants.
I removed it carefully and placed it in my pouch. My mother would appreciate this.
Finally, I turned to the statue.
Until now, I hadn't paid it much attention. In the chaos of battle, it had been a backdrop. Now I saw it fully.
The colossal stone statue of Goddess Durga stood with eyes closed. Four of her arms were filled—with weapons made of divine stone. But two pairs arms were empty.
I picked up the fallen scimitars and the embedded trident and walked reverently to the statue. I placed each weapon into the open hands.
Nothing.
I tried a drop of blood.
Nothing.
I danced. Spun. Chanted.
Still nothing.
Then I remembered the blazing pain on my chest.
I removed my breastplate.
The seal circle at the center of my chest glowed brightly. The moment it faced the statue, the stone began to crack.
Lines raced across the seal and the statue simultaneously. Light spilled from the fractures.
With a rumble, the outer shell of stone crumbled away.
Goddess Durga emerged.
Not in full form—but awakened. And with her came the reward of the second seal.
A surge of energy burst forth and enveloped me.
Monkey Saint had said I needed to give it direction.
And I knew what I wanted.
Strength. Speed. Precision. Agility. I wanted to move better, fight harder, adapt faster.
The energy heard me.
It entered every pore of my body.
Power surged through my limbs. My heart raced. My senses sharpened.
Fifty percent.
That was the estimation.
Every physical attribute—speed, reaction, muscle strength—had improved.
Then, the energy condensed. It formed the symbol of a human figure. It traveled to my right collarbone and etched itself into my skin, pushing the old eye symbol along the left.
The new seal took its place at the center of my chest .
I exhaled.
And then I heard it.
A voice. Strong. Melodic. Resounding through the air.
"I was skeptical of Hanuman's plan," it said, every word laced with divinity. "But watching you handle a newborn Simharaksha... I must admit, you hold potential."
It was the voice of a Constellation.
My first time hearing one.
And possibly the last.
Pain exploded in my head. My ears bled. My vision darkened. I collapsed, writhing in agony.
Then I saw her.
A silhouette of a woman. A divine presence. A white tiger walked beside her, massive and regal. She held a trident and walked slowly toward the statue.
Her mouth moved.
She was speaking to the statue.
And the statue, I could tell, was replying.
The pressure grew unbearable.
I blacked out.
One thought remained:
Maybe talking—or listening—to a Constellation was a very bad idea.