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Chapter 148 - Pangea (XXVII)
🕑 Added 2024-12-16 01:00:03 +0000 UTCFor a moment, there was nothing.
The pain dulled into silence. The oppressive heat felt distant, the constant buzz from the lizards’ EM waves disappeared, and even the blood running down her face seemed to stop. Ayu’s world shrank to herself—a solitary, calm center surrounded by chaos.
Her thoughts stilled, like a calm before a storm. She wasn’t sure if she was falling apart or coming together, but she let it happen. She let herself be carried by whatever this was.
Then her eyes opened.
And the world... shifted.
It didn’t just return to her senses; it unfolded in layers. Each movement around her became distinct, every shift and change crystal clear. Time didn’t slow, but it felt like her body moved faster than it ever had, her mind syncing with it in perfect rhythm.
A screech shattered the air as the first Blaze-Screecher lunged, its claws swiping toward her face. Ayu’s body reacted before she had time to think—she leaned back, the strike missing her by mere centimeters. Her eyes widened as she realized: she hadn’t seen it happen, she knew it was going to happen.
The second lizard’s tail whipped toward her legs in a blur of molten heat, but Ayu was already airborne. Her jump felt effortless, like her body understood exactly where to be and when.
Her chest tightened with awe. What is this? How am I…
The first Screecher lunged again, its jaws snapping for her arm. Ayu twisted, stepping aside smoothly as if she were dodging a sparring partner, not a six-meter death machine. Her movements weren’t just faster—they felt inevitable, like the lizards were playing catch-up to her.
A grin tugged at her lips, a mix of astonishment and exhilaration lighting her face. She couldn’t explain what was happening, but she didn’t care. For the first time, the fight didn’t feel hopeless. Whatever this was… she could win!
Her feet danced lightly over the molten ground, bouncing on her toes as her body flowed into a stance that felt natural. The first lizard lunged again, its attack predictable in her mind. Ayu shifted smoothly, her gauntlet intercepting the claws with a sharp clang, perfectly deflecting the strike just enough to unbalance the beast. Without hesitation, she followed up—a sharp elbow cracked into its jaw, followed by a swift knee driving into its ribs with precision.
The lizard recoiled with a screech, and Ayu pressed her advantage. Her wave-induced gauntlets accelerated her strikes, each punch landing harder than the last. A final uppercut sent magma-like blood spewing from the creature’s mouth.
The second Screecher charged, its glowing eyes burning with fury. Ayu pivoted sharply, dropping low to avoid its swipe. Her left gauntlet deflected a follow-up strike, and she rolled to the side. She rose just in time to deliver a spinning kick to its flank, the impact sending it stumbling.
Her heart raced, not from fear, but from exhilaration. She wasn’t just fighting—she was dictating the rhythm, dancing between their attacks with a grace she didn’t know she had.
“You’ll understand one day, Ayu. When your body stops thinking and starts knowing.”
Her fathers voice echoed faintly in her mind, and her chest tightened. Is this what he meant?
The first Screecher roared and lunged again, its molten blood still dripping. Ayu spun around it, her gauntlet connecting with its temple. She didn’t stop. A knee to its shoulder. A sharp hook under its jaw. A finishing punch straight into its eye. The impact cracked the glowing orb, magma-like blood pouring out as the creature stumbled.
Ayu leapt back, narrowly dodging the second lizard’s tail. It swung wildly, trying to catch her, but she was already on its blind side. Her fists accelerated again, a flurry of strikes hammering into its flank. She aimed for the joints, the weak spots, the cracks in its scale armor.
The lizard screamed, its tail whipping toward her again, but Ayu flipped over it mid-air. She landed lightly behind it and slammed her fist into the back of its neck. The blow sent it sprawling to the ground, its limbs trembling.
The first lizard struggled to rise, its movements sluggish, one eye destroyed. Ayu stepped forward, her breathing steady despite the fire burning in her chest.
She drove her gauntlet into its remaining eye, magma-like blood bursting out in a fiery torrent. The creature convulsed violently before collapsing, its body hitting the ground with a resounding thud.
“One down,” she muttered, turning her attention to the second lizard.
It hissed weakly, its movements slower now. Ayu circled it, waiting for the right moment. When it lunged, she dodged effortlessly, sidestepping and delivering a low kick to its jaw. She didn’t stop, her strikes coming faster, each one precise and relentless.
The creature faltered, its glowing eyes dimming. Ayu didn’t hesitate. She darted forward, her gauntlet smashing into its head with a final, devastating strike. The lizard collapsed, its body crumpling into the molten ground.
Ayu stumbled back, her chest heaving, her arms trembling. The adrenaline began to fade, and the weight of what just happened crashed into her.
She looked at the two massive forms lying still on the ground, their glowing blood pooling around them.
Her knees buckled, and she sank to the ground, her fists still clenched, gauntlets scraping against the scorched earth. Tears pricked her eyes—of pain, exhaustion, and overwhelming joy. She tilted her head back, laughing softly as the tears streaked down her cheeks, her breath coming in shaky bursts. She survived. She won.
“I did it,” she whispered. “I actually did it.”
She wiped her face, smearing blood and ash, and forced herself to stand. The world around her felt heavier now—her limbs ached, her chest heaved—but she didn’t care. She walked toward the fallen lizards, and began smashing their skulls with precise strikes to scavenge the glowing orbs within their minds.
As she worked, faint waves rippled in the distance. Hmm? It was harder to sense without her mask, but the rhythm was unmistakable. Chiara? She sent a pulse back, a signal fine-tuned to their frequency, and continued her work without pause.
Sure enough, several minutes later, Chiara and the others appeared, their forms silhouetted against the molten glow of the landscape. Their expressions shifted rapidly—shock, disbelief, awe—as their eyes flicked between her battered figure and the two massive, lifeless creatures sprawled behind her.
Ayu tilted her head, a triumphant smile tugging at her lips.
“What took you guys so long?” Ayu said, her voice light but hoarse. “I’ve been having all the fun.”
Chiara stood frozen, her jaw slightly slack, while Lukas stepped forward, shaking his head with a wry smile.
“Need any help?” he asked.
“Nah… well, actually, yeah,” Ayu admitted after a pause, a faint grin playing on her lips. “My buckler and mask broke and… the sword… well…”
Lukas frowned, confused. “The sword? You know it can’t break, right? Where is it?”
“Uh…” Ayu scratched the back of her head, looking sheepish. “Could you help me fish it out of a magma pit?”
This time, it was Lukas who stared at her, his mouth agape. “You have to be kidding me.”
“It’s over here. Let’s—ah!” Ayu winced sharply as a stabbing pain shot through her leg. She glanced down and noticed, for the first time, the deep gash running along her thigh—a wound she had somehow managed to ignore until now. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “It should be over here,” she said, starting to jog despite the pain.
Lukas turned to Chiara, his expression half-exasperated, half-impressed. “Let’s go.”
Chiara snapped out of her daze and nodded. “Yes.” She began running after Ayu, though her mind still reeled. Two Blaze-Screechers… alone… at the same time! How?
She shook her head, deciding to hold her questions for later. Ayu didn’t need an interrogation now—what she needed was rest and support.
September 30, 2024 - ???, India
The vast hall was silent, the kind of silence that pressed against the walls and hung heavy in the air. Rows upon rows of soldiers stood at attention, a thousand strong, their postures rigid and disciplined.
Each one bore a medieval plain-guard sword at their hip, a shield strapped to their arm, and a sling coiled neatly at their side. They all wore simple plain cloth beneath leather chestguards, bracers, and leg guards, their gear practical and unadorned.
At the front of the hall, Siddharth stood alone.
He cut a simple yet commanding figure, his white monk-style robes flowing lightly around him. The fabric, unadorned and pristine, seemed to resist the sterility of the facility, as if untouched by the modern world.
Two swords rested at his hips, their hilts plain and unassuming. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture straight, his expression calm and inscrutable.
He stepped forward, his bare feet silent against the cold, polished floor. The soldiers instinctively straightened, their grips tightening on their weapons.
Siddharth’s voice was steady and calm, yet it carried through the hall like the toll of a great bell. “I will be honest with all of you,” he began, his piercing gaze sweeping across the ranks. “Despite all the training, the preparation, and the discipline you have cultivated, the chances of any one of you ascending far in The Tower… are low. Very low.”
He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle. “And I do not say this to diminish your efforts or belittle your resolve. No. I say it because it is the truth—unforgiving and absolute. Technique, strength, stamina, discipline—these are virtues, yes, but The Tower cares little for what you bring with you. Inside, you will become something new, something raw. What you were before matters little.”
Siddharth’s lips curved faintly, a fleeting smile touched with an old memory. “I have seen it myself. Civilians with no training surpassing the hardened soldiers of elite forces. The Tower reshapes you, humbles you, and forges you anew.”
He straightened, his tone hardening. “Remember this: when you step into The Tower, abandon the arrogance of thinking yourself strong. Cast aside the notion that your current self is enough. Never underestimate those who climb beside you, no matter their background. Inside, you are one among many.
“To survive, to thrive, you must be willing to start again. To train harder, to fight with a ferocity that burns away every shred of hesitation. You must give everything, hold nothing back, and climb with a singular purpose—to rise, no matter the cost.”
Siddharth’s hands, still clasped behind his back, tightened ever so slightly. His voice, low and resolute, carried a weight that pressed on every soul in the room. “This is not merely a challenge. It is the essence of what it means to climb The Tower. Do not take it lightly.”
He paused, letting the gravity of his words settle. “When you face the insurmountable, when you think you cannot take another step, when every fiber of your being screams to give up—remember what is at stake. Think of what would happen if you fail. Think of those you love, the ones who trust you, their smiles, their hopes. Remember them. The Tower may not take your life when you fall, but it can leave you with something far worse—a torment that lingers, a gnawing regret. Every day you will wonder if you could have given more, fought harder, done things differently.”
Siddharth’s gaze swept over the soldiers, his eyes piercing as he continued. “Picture it: watching helplessly, trusting others to do what you could not, knowing they are suffering more, giving more, climbing higher while you remain behind. That is the fate of those who falter. That is the weight you carry.”
He straightened, his expression calm but unyielding. “I have nothing more to say. You all know why you are here. You know what must be done.” A faint smile touched his lips, a challenge glinting in his eyes. “Draw your blades… and come at me.”
For a moment, the soldiers hesitated. A ripple of uncertainty spread through the ranks, their eyes darting between one another and the serene figure of Siddharth standing before them.
The silence stretched, until one soldier let out a battle cry, breaking the stillness. Like a dam bursting, the others followed, rushing forward in unison, their shields raised, swords drawn. Their collective movement was a roar of defiance, a surge of adrenaline-fueled determination to meet Siddharth’s challenge head-on.
Siddharth remained motionless, his gaze steady as the flood of warriors bore down on him. Only when they were mere meters away did he shift, his right hand moving with a measured grace to draw one of the swords at his hip. His left hand stayed firmly clasped behind his back, his posture still composed and upright, as if he were merely taking a stroll.
The first soldier swung his blade in a wide arc, aiming for Siddharth’s shoulder. With a single fluid motion, Siddharth sidestepped, his drawn sword flicking out in a blur. The soldier’s strike missed entirely, his shield rattling as the force of Siddharth’s blade pushed him back.
Another soldier lunged from his left, but Siddharth twisted effortlessly, letting the attack glance harmlessly past him. His sword moved with precision, a single strike that stopped just shy of the soldier’s throat, forcing him to stumble back in shock.
The wave of soldiers pressed in, their numbers seeking to overwhelm him. Yet Siddharth’s movements were impossibly fluid, each step calculated, each strike deliberate. He wielded his blade with one hand, the other remaining behind his back as though he were tutoring them rather than facing a thousand-strong assault. His strikes were not lethal but decisive—disarming, deflecting, and throwing them off balance without ever breaking his composure.
“You rush forward with power,” Siddharth remarked, his voice calm, audible even above the chaos. “But power without precision is wasteful.”
Another soldier came at him from above, leaping into the air to bring down a heavy overhead slash. Siddharth stepped into the strike, his sword meeting the descending blade with such force and timing that the soldier’s weapon was flung from his grip. The man landed hard, looking up in disbelief as Siddharth turned smoothly to face the next challenger.
“Fear of failure drives you forward,” Siddharth continued, parrying another strike with ease. “But fear clouds the mind. Clear your thoughts. Breathe. Move with purpose.”
The soldiers grew more desperate, their formations breaking as they tried to adapt to him. Siddharth never faltered, his movements almost casual.
Blades swung and missed. Shields clanged against empty air. His counterattacks were precise, targeting joints and exposed weaknesses, forcing them to retreat or falter with every move.
Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity for the soldiers, their initial surge now a fragmented chaos of individuals trying and failing to breach Siddharth’s defenses.
He finally stopped mid-movement, his blade held steady, his calm voice cutting through the clamor. “That will be enough for today.”
With deliberate calm, he slid his sword back into its sheath. Without another word, he turned away, his posture as composed and unyielding as it had been from the start.
