4 AM. Central Park.
The city was not yet awake—wind and a handful of pale streetlights attempting to hold back the night. Humans all clustered together on a bench like ghosts who took a wrong turn off the path to sleep. Exhaled breath fogged the cold air. Half-closed eyes. Body parts loosely connected.
Shotaro clapped his hands once. Too loud.
"Alright, boys," he yawned as though this were all standard procedure, "now that we finally have a third, we can—"
You might've mentioned that on Discord," grumbled Zenkichi. "Bird" Gojo, hood up, blanket still draped around his shoulders like a cape".
Shotaro rolled his eyes so hard it was a noise. "Oh, yeah. Let's just PNG our bodies too, then. Go PNG; why exist at all?"
"Good thinking, actually," Bird complained, fighting off a yawn. "I wouldn't be standing out here freezing my dick off."
"And yet," Shotaro flung his arms expansively, "here you are. In all your blanket-caped glory."
A second thereafter, Fatiba appeared silently among them—literally fell out of the sky, the thud crunching into the ground. She stood up, unruffled, hijab smooth, eyes wide awake as if she'd never slept.
Bird blinked at her. "So, we're just. Okay with her breaking gravity now?
"I floated for two seconds and now I'm Neo?" she deadpanned.
You knocked a skyscraper-sized dragon to confetti," Shotaro added. "Neo wishes."
4:13 AM. Dew stuck to the grass like sweat to skin. The sky was pre-dawn blue with indigo, and the city slumbered, but Central Park hummed with three teenagers struggling to stay awake on their feet.
Fatiba crossed her arms. "So. What are we doing?"
Shotaro rested his head, self-satisfied and smirking. "Initiation."
Zenkichi "Bird" Gojo let out a long and melodramatic groan. "Don't tell me it's 'run ten laps' or some anime-training arc—
"Nope," Shotaro cut in. "Worse."
Bird winced. "God."
Shotaro crossed his arms over his back as if this was the most ordinary thing in the world, as if he wasn't going to be dropping cosmic truth bombs at dawn. "Now that officially summer break has started and we've also got a new mantra user"—he "nodded towards Fatiba—"it"'s time I stop gatekeeping and actually tell you what the hell any of this is."
Bird blinked. "You're telling us you could have done all this prior to the nightmare dragons?
"Details," brushed Shotaro away, chasing the word off. "Anyway. Listen."
He mounted the bench like a professor in frayed sleeves and self-righteous assurance. "The framework of existence—this world, the next, all of them—hinges on four pillars: Dharma, Karma, Mantra, and Maya."
Fatiba raised an eyebrow. "That sounds… religious."
"Because religion got it from the truth," Shotaro said, as if that settled it. "Dharma is your path—your chosen cosmic role. Not fate. Not birthright. You pick it. Every day."
He stared at her, stern for an instant. "Even if you happen to be born into war, racism, or tragedy—you still get to decide what you do with it. That's Dharma."
Fatiba nodded deliberately.
"Mantra," Shotaro went on, "is raw code. All that exists, doesn't, did, or might—everything is based in Mantra. Physics. Emotions. Paradoxes. All of it."
And we can use it?" she questioned.
"Some of us," he asserted. "Mantra's the clay. What do we mold it with? That's Tantra. People like us—who use it—are Tantriks."
Bird rubbed his head. "Okay, getting complicated?
Shotaro smirked. "Start small. Bend your expectations."
Bird flipped him off without heat.
"Karma's the third," Shotaro went on. "It's everything you do. Whether you have Mantra or not. Every decision. Every mind. Karma watches the intention behind your actions, the outcome, the ripples—
"So it's like moral points?"
Not morals," said Shotaro. "Alignment. Karma is a result of balance. Yin and Yang Karma—within and without. The why and the what. You can do a good deed for an evil reason and have evil karma. Or a hard thing for a good reason and be pure."
Fatiba exhaled slowly. "Damn."
Exactly, Shotaro responded, bounding back. "It's not rules. It's resonance."
And the last one?" she asked. "Maya?
Shotaro smiled again—but there was no smile in his eyes. It was lip movement with no behind-the-scenes warmth to accompany it.
"That… we'll get to later."
The silence that followed was oppressive, like fog. Heavy. Quiet. Not unpleasant—just expectant.
And then, with a swift motion of his fingers, the air behind him rippled—and a whiteboard flickered into existence, blank and new in the soft light of early morning.
To Karma, he spun a marker round his fingers as a way of preparing to teach a class no one had signed up for.
Thus, karma as a whole is a duality consisting of two parts—yin and yang karma. Good and evil.
He took a step forward with ease, glancing between Fatiba and Bird. His voice had changed to that rhythm now. The rhythm sounded as if he'd rehearsed it a thousand times already but never spoken.
"Humans, as I was saying earlier, possess a casual layer within them," he went on, poking the side of his temple. "Where a person's good and bad karma are stored."
He gestured in the air, tracing something invisible.
"It's related to a lot of things. Complicated. But if you let me—there is no universal good or bad."
He remained there, his eyes fixed on theirs.
"Let me tell you. If the world were populated by 99% thieves, murderers, and rapists—warmongers—the men and women who did not wish to do it. We would call them madmen."
His tone never fluctuated. He wasn't being a devil's advocate. Just laying it out.
"They'll justify their good. Say that even animals rape each other. Or steal. And that is kind of true. Man is just an animal," he added, calmly. "But with free will to decide his nature."
No one interrupted. The wind caused a tree nearby to quiver. Fatiba's eyebrows furrowed slightly, yet she never said a thing.
"There's no philosophy that holds anywhere. Life is not monolithic, so we could never possibly hope to be consistent ourselves, mere mortals that we are. Only gods are consistent. And unchanging. and that's why they're unhappy."
He faced the whiteboard again but did not make any marks.
"Philosophy is just a path to dharma. If you think deontology is right now, it is your dharma. Your karma will be such. If you think utilitarianism is a better approach, then that is fine. Pull the trolley lever."
Shotaro threw the marker up in the air like it was nothing. It dissolved mid-spin—poof. A soft breeze blew across the park. Bird released a sigh as if he'd been holding it the whole time. Fatiba remained silent. Her arms crossed, her eyes distant, not lost—just recalculating with fresh numbers.
Shotaro walked like a schoolteacher minus a chalkboard, kicking pebbles with the toe of his sneaker. "Suppose you need to rescue a village from a flood," he said, voice level. "So you divert the river." The group sat listening, wrapped yet in morning mist and half-digested dreams.
But then the river overflows into a town below.
Fatiba's brow wrinkled. Bird let out a groan of this being déjà vu. Again, already, with the moral hypotheticals.
Now, Shotaro said, holding it for just a moment, "If your dharma is 'intent over consequences,' then you're okay. Good karma. You meant to save people."
He lifted a finger. "But if your dharma is 'intent over consequences,' then sure—bad karma. Because now an entire town is inundated because of your 'good' deed."
Fatiba cut in: "So basically… is the glass half-full or half-empty?"
Shotaro did. "Exactly."
Bird flopped onto the lawn. "I hate philosophy before breakfast."
Hiroki, cross-legged on the floor with a protein bar lodged in his teeth, leaned forward. "So aside from deontology and utilitarianism, like, are there other systems of dharma? Like… do we have a menu or something?
Shotaro didn't flinch. "Billions, in fact."
He turned and bent, fingers tracing the damp earth. "There isn't any predetermined path. Dharma's not a three-ring binder. If you discover your own sense of right and wrong, that's your dharma. Congratulations—you've got one."
Shotaro's gaze flicked out into the crowd, voice low but clear. "It's not politics," he informed them. "You're not married to left or right. You don't have to buy the whole damn package. Believe one thing from one side, take something from another, and reject the rest—have your own."
Fatiba crossed her arms, leaning back. "Sounds downright irresponsible."
He smiled—but not the self-satisfied smile. It was a small, tired smile. "Only if you're truthful with yourself."
Then he stood in front of the called-up whiteboard once more, ethereal marker already drawing.
But there's more, he went on, writing without glancing up. "Path. Your path. The ripple effect of your actions."
He underlined it hard enough the board buzzed.
"Each decision you make today may affect someone a hundred years from today. Or ten thousand. May be your children. May be strangers. Doesn't matter."
Shotaro rolled his eyes, then gave them that look—the one that expressed you're standing on a cliff, and none of you even get it.
"Those effects?" He said. "They don't cease when you're away. They continue. May end tomorrow. Or when the universe exhausts. Does not matter."
Bird had his mouth open to utter something wise. Nothing was uttered.
Shotaro did not slacken. "Good karma. Bad karma. All a matter of perspective. Your dharma determines. Even after being buried, your decisions reverberate. They continue to reverberate. And they don't require your permission to do so."
Wind blew through the park, dust blowing over their shoes. Leaves shook in the trees. Somewhere, the city was waking up—just barely. But here, in this ring, the air seemed contained, suspended. Fatiba didn't budge. Her eyes remained fixed on the board as if she were reading her own sentence.
Then Shotaro's voice fell, deeper now. "People need one crime to become a monster."
They all turned to him.
"One," he said again. "That's all it takes."
He wasn't screaming. He didn't need to. His voice rang like fact.
"Every kill begins somewhere. And yang karma?" Shotaro exhaled a swift breath, eyes hardening. "It's addictive. It doesn't entice you—it rewrites you. One step off your dharma, and it begins tugging. Hard."
He turned to Fatiba, eyes unmoving.
"And the worst part?" His voice dropped. "You'll begin to love the sin. Even when your own faith warns you against it."
The group was still. No one made a joke. No one moved. The air hummed—not with quiet, but something deeper. Something like the truth, at last, being said out loud.
Then he continued on, like forcing them through the flames was in the plan.
"People who do evil in the name of their dharma?" Shotaro said, pacing again. "To them, that is doing good. Their yang karma tells them, You're saving the world. So eventually… they become what they think is a 'good' person."
He stopped. Looked each of them in the eye. Especially Fatiba.
Shotaro let the silence settle, then broke it like glass.
Now. Why is dharma so crucial?" He moved back towards the center of the clearing once more, the whiteboard humming behind him like it was looking for a soul to inscribe on. "Because it determines our karma. And karma is significant because…"
He stopped—then turned on his heel.
"Next lesson: Mantra."
Bird groaned, pulling his hoodie over his head like a blanket. "Can't we get coffee first?
Shotaro didn't miss a beat. "You already know most of this," he said, snapping his fingers as a glowing whiteboard flared to life in the morning haze. "But Fatiba's new to tantric stuff. So we're starting from scratch."
Lines of luminous script bloomed midair, curling like smoke into shapes and diagrams.
"Alright, pay attention," Shotaro said, pacing with the swagger of a guy who both hated explaining and loved hearing himself talk. "Blah blah blah—through deep meditation, disciplined practice, decades of training… or, if you're one of us, repeated near-death encounters—"
He flashed a grin. "—you awaken the seven chakras."
With each name, he pointed at glowing constellations on a floating silhouette, like stars pinned to bone.
"Nataraja—crown. Krishna—forehead. Sadashiva—throat. Hanuman—heart. Lakshmi—solar plexus. Parvati—womb—"
"Womb?" Bird blinked, eyes narrowing like someone just informed him his lungs were edible.
"Yeah," Shotaro answered, serious as a stone. "Everyone's female in the womb before the Y chromosome kicks in. Guys still got a half-baked womb. Can't blame you, not exactly general-level biology."
Bird growled. "I regret everything."
"Anyway," Shotaro continued, shooing away the interruption like a gnat, "last one—Ganesh chakra. The root. Ground zero."
The diagram throbbed to the beat of their breathing. Even Fatiba could sense it—low and steady, like some ancient vibration thrumming in her marrow.
"These chakras function like gates. Or doors," he supplemented.
"What's even the difference?" Fatiba demanded.
"Door's internal," Hiroki yawned. "Gate's external."
"Thanks, Merriam-Webster," Shotaro said with a scathing snort. "Back to it—when you wake up a chakra, it opens a channel. A gate. And that's where mantra enters you from."
Enters us from where exactly?" Fatiba asked, folding her arms.
"Good question. We don't know," he acknowledged, massaging the back of his neck. "It could be the void, the divine, or grandma's basement. Doesn't matter. What does matter is the mantra itself. It's… everything. And nothing."
Hiroki rubbed the back of his head. "Oh, cool. A plot device.
Shotaro smiled—once, sharp and hard. "Exactly. Mantra's the paradox itself. Formless and all forms. Omnipotent, but doesn't care. Sees everything but thinks nothing. Everywhere and nowhere at the same time." He curled his finger in mid-air as if attempting to indicate infinity. "But when it passes through your chakras, it loses its abstractness. Becomes tantra. Useful. Destructive.".
He drew the words out for a beat, looking between them like a teacher challenging someone to interrupt.
"Every chakra forms it differently."
He lifted slightly off the ground—floating, relaxed—as if the ground had stood up to grab a cup of coffee.
"Nataraja," he said. "That's the one on the top of your head. It controls movement, space, and time."
He disappeared.
Then she materialized beside Fatiba, braids streaming from the gust he carried behind him.
"You two familiar with this one—'spatial step,'" he smiled. "A teleportation tantra."
When at last Bird succeeded in spinning, Shotaro disappeared—this time behind him. No wind. No blur.
"Instantaneous," he stated, voice to Bird's neck. "Same-timestamp instant. No time for travel. A at zero, B at zero. Try to wrap your head around that."
Bird shrieked like a cat in a tempest and flew six feet into the air.
Fatiba stood, eyes open, lips apart—until her jaw finally snapped shut.
"Nataraja's how we soar," Shotaro said as he landed again, squatting easily balanced. "How I travel beyond light. And with enough control?" He smoothed his shirt, rising. "You can warp time. But dally with her too much?" He smiled to the side. "She'll whack you so hard your ancestors feel it."
He didn't let an answer be made. Just turned, still walking. "Next up—Krishna."
Krishna's an odd one," he said to her, touching the side of his head. "Imagine miracles. Things science can't access. And science, trust me, can replicate a lot of garbage. But Krishna performs the things that cause even gods to blink."
He waved his hand and the board behind him rippled, reconfiguring symbols glowing across it.
"Sadashiva," he continued, "that one's related to destruction. But not kaboom destruction. Anything. Melted ice? That's destruction. Unstable rocks, destroying a thought, ending a story—damn, even forgetting a name. It's some kind of end."
He didn't even take a breath. "And there's Hanuman." He had a slight smile at the edge of his mouth. "That one's growth—strength, shape, resilience."
He stretched.
Shotaro's body grew in a blur of movement—bones lengthening, muscles bulging—until he stood almost fifteen feet tall. Towering and immense, a giant in sneakers and a hoodie.
"Like this," he repeated, his voice now a low growl. "Size, speed, endurance. You want more of something? Hanuman delivers.
Then—snap—he shrunk back in an instant. No drama. No flare. Just back to his regular height like the whole thing hadn't happened. Except his arm snapped sideways, stretched like putty, and smacked Hiroki across the head with a slap loud enough to echo.
"Wake up, dumbass," Shotaro muttered flatly. "I'm teaching you, and unlike trignometry this will actually help in your daily life."
Before Hiroki had time to strike back, Shotaro spun around to face the group. "Lakshmi chakra," he mentioned, his fingers lightly touching the air above the spot on his stomach where a shimmering symbol floated, "is fate manipulation. Although, actually, 'fate' is nothing more than a network of falling chains of decisions. All this does is nudge conclusions. Alter repercussions. Cause-and-effect. Essentially—this one's a gambler's best friend."
He continued without hesitation.
"Parvati chakra," Shotaro explained, pointing to the lower abdomen, "creation. It's the other side of Sadashiva. You want to call up matter, energy, time, space, dimensions—this is your switchboard."
He looked at Fatiba. "Women tend to have a more direct connection to this one. Biological blueprint. The womb."
Fatiba arched an eyebrow but did not speak. Just nodded, eyes narrowed, taking it in.
"But," Shotaro continued, rubbing the back of his neck, "it loses a bit of strength during menstruation. Not a major problem, just… if you're going for precision tantra, perhaps don't schedule your grand move within that week."
She blinked slowly. Not offended. Just irritated. The sort that said, Really? We're doing this?
Shotaro intercepted it. Threw his hands up in the air. "I don't set the rules. I didn't instruct Eve to eat the damn apple."
Before the strain had a chance to settle, Hiroki chipped in, waking himself with a yawn. "Ganesh chakra, yeah? That's the one for knowledge, intuition, perception, senses—all that unseen information coming in from the periphery."
"About time," Shotaro teased with a sharp laugh. "He remembers something. Guess his training didn't totally ruin."
He slapped his hand down once. Firm. Louder.
"Okay. Chapter two."
Behind him, the whiteboard pulsed, symbols fading.
"Remember the other pillars? Dharma and Karma?"
They nodded, hesitantly.
The atmosphere changed—less mystical, more real. Shotaro's voice stabilized, falling into lecture mode with a low vibration of gravity behind every word.
"True," he replied, "without Dharma, there is no Karma. Think of Dharma as a riverbed carved into stone. A path. Cut into the ground. Karma's the river. Your actions. The current."
He allowed it to hang in the air like dust.
"No path? No river."
He touched his temple. "Now—karma, positive or negative, it doesn't simply balance scales. It energizes you. Compels you beyond simple tantra."
Fatiba creased her brow. Hiroki stroked behind his ear, struggling to follow.
"Paths," Shotaro went on, walking into the light of the summoned whiteboard once more. "When you practice tantra from a particular chakra in tune with your Dharma, the karma you create comes back into the chakra. Unifies it. You grow."
"Grow how?" Bird inquired, eyes scrunching.
"Levels," Shotaro replied. "Think game mechanics. Level Null? That's your ordinary citizen. No chakra activity. Just base human."
He gestured toward Hiroki, then Fatiba. "You two—barely three months since waking up—you're Level One. Maybe brushing One Point One."
Next to Bird, with a faint smile. "You woke up in middle school. You're in the middle of your second phase, heading into third. I'd place you at… Level 2.58."
Bird let out a noncommittal grunt. Fatiba crossed her arms, pensive.
There are seven Mantra paths," Shotaro went on. "And twelve Karma paths. Both have seven steps of development. The further you delve, the more your tantrik persona is formed."
Fatiba raised her hand a fraction of an inch. "Twelve what?"
"Karma paths," he said again, clicking his fingers.
A floating chart materialized behind him, names pulsating in crisp, clean columns:
Hero. Innocent. Explorer. Rebel. Lover. Creator. Jester. Caregiver. Ruler. Magician. Sage. Everyman.
"These are paths of karma," he told them. "Also referred to as Archetypes."
Fatiba leaned in, reading the names.
"Each path indicates how you employ your tantra," Shotaro said. "But it's more than power. These paths are determined by how the world perceives you. And then they, in return, determine how your actions are understood by karma."
He faced them, eyes squinting.
"Tantra is a tool. What you make of it? That's your Karma path."
"And the karma you gain—or burn—determines how far you travel."
Shotaro read the chart, but didn't just read it—he infused it with life. His tone changed from teacher to raconteur, the words taking form in the morning fog.
"Each tantrik follows a karma path, knowingly or unknowingly," he explained. "It begins subtle—how others treat you. How they want you to behave. And how you begin leaning into that form."
He nodded toward the lighted names in the row behind him, each one individually, not speaking them but recalling them—like familiar friends or familiar foes. Perhaps both.
"Some are born into one. Some grow into it. Others fight it tooth and nail."
Fatiba leaned forward. There was something disturbing in how grave Shotaro had become.
"Say you're on the Hero path," he went on. "That's heroic, right? But Hero karma is claustrophobic. You have to save everybody—including people who don't deserve it. Even at the cost of your life. That karma requires offering something up. You think you're doing the right thing, but too much of that, and your whole chakra system is under pressure to meet expectations. You begin to lie to yourself just to be the hero everyone thinks you are."
Hiroki snorted. "Sounds like someone I know."
Shotaro didn't flinch. "Precisely."
He continued on, his pace slow and considered, as if each road had meaning.
"Then the Innocent," he added. "They walk through flames without even knowing that they burn. Defensive, reactive tantra. Powerful protection magic. But they trust too much, and karma rebukes that. A Hero tantrik can raise a sword. An Innocent tantrik might pray the sword doesn't drop. But—when they lose their temper? Their path smashes apart. The karma rebound is ugly."
The chart behind him began to glow softly—tiny surges of red, blue, gold—as if the words themselves had a pulse.
"Explorer karma feeds on movement. Novelty. They open chakras quicker than anybody, but they're volatile. They don't attach easily to others. Their tantra is unstable, changing, at times lovely—occasionally unmanageable."
Shotaro faced Fatiba now.
"Lover karma," he told her, voice growing softer, "is powerful in healing and vibration. You feel more deeply. Link more quickly. But it leaves you exposed. Your chakra system begins reflecting others. Someone you love shatters—and you do as well. That's not figurative. That's literal tantrik feedback. Their pain is your energizing force."
Bird swallowed hard.
"Rebels," Shotaro went on, pacing again, "their tantra is all shock. Shockwaves. Uprooting. Shattering. They fight against everything—gods, rules, even their own evolution. That path creates monsters and martyrs."
Hiroki ran his hand over his neck. "And… the Jester?"
Shotaro smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes. "They're wild cards. Their chakra patterns don't make sense. Pure madness. But they perceive truth that no one else can. Grinning at the face of cosmic horror. Their tantra breaks rules. They cheat karma—sometimes even rewrite it. But they burn out quickly."
"And all these ways…" Fatiba asked slowly, "they influence each other?"
"Every time," Shotaro replied. "They don't exist alone. Karma paths intersect constantly. A Hero collides with a Rebel. A Lover and a Caregiver intensify each other. Rulers quell Jesters. Sages and Magicians negate if their purpose isn't aligned. Every archetype comes with affinities. Tensions. Feedback cycles. Such as… chakra chemistry."
He motioned curtly, and a burst of red light coiled into green, then shattered into a dull gray haze. "Same tantra. Same method. But thrown by two tantriks on divergent karma paths—and the result is different. A Lover's flame soothes. A Rebel's flame reduces to ash. A Creator may apply fire to shape, a Jester to create fireworks. But it's all fire."
Fatiba blinked. "So it's. like typing?
Similar to karma typing, yeah," Shotaro replied. "But a lot more fucked.
Shotaro pressed two fingers together, and the air in between them seemed to ripple—then tore apart.
A hovering chart unspun from the tear like it was written in starlight. Rings of rings. Arrows bent every which way, pulsing red, blue, gold, violet—each one pointing to some bizarre symbol, glyphs that changed if you looked too long.
"This," Shotaro said, voice soft but surgically precise, "is the Affinity Web."
Fatiba narrowed her eyes.
Shotaro smiled. "It's twelve karma archetypes. But they're not equal. They exist in four trios. Each trio is a cycle. Rock-paper-scissors."
He flicked his finger, and the symbols reorganize into three tight triangles—then curled up into a rotating cube.
"First trio. The Power Cycle."
The triangle lit up: Hero → Rebel → Lover → Hero.
"Hero opposes Rebel. Rebel undermines Lover. Lover soothes Hero. Each karma naturally represses the other—but also nourishes it.
He didn't wait for responses. Another trio flew forward.
"Wisdom Cycle."
Sage → Creator → Jester → Sage.
"Sages deconstruct Jesters' illusions. Jesters distort the straightjackets of Creators. Creators smother Sages' slow precision. All of them? Hazardous."
"Creator actually cleaned a battlefield once," Bird breathed.
"Third trio," Shotaro replied, in a flat tone. "Compassion Cycle."
Caregiver → Everyman → Innocent → Caregiver.
"This is the 'heart chakra' cycle. Resonance of the emotions. Your tantra healing, your support, morale of it all. But if one loses balance, the team of three shatters."
"Wait," Hiroki interrupted. "One is missing."
"Last three. Dominion Cycle."
Ruler → Magician → Explorer → Ruler.
Shotaro allowed the glyphs to flutter with their distinct energies—cool blue indigo for the Magician, golden amber for the Ruler, changing aurora for the Explorer.
"Ruler rules systems. Magician shatters them. Explorer evades them. All three fight control, freedom, and perception. When these conflict? Worlds transform."
Fatiba moved closer. "But they all converge?"
Shotaro nodded. The four triangles converged into one 12-pointed star. Lines connected disparate archetypes—Hero to Sage, Magician to Lover, Jester to Explorer, and more. A star of cause and effect.
"They intersect everywhere. You're not stuck in one trio. A tantrik can sit between Magician and Caregiver, or Jester and Hero, or even split between three like some quantum paradox."
"And the affinities?" Hiroki asked.
Shotaro snapped. The lines lit up like a nerve system.
"Hero overwhelms Rebel but fails to Lover. Creator overpowers Sage but gets distorted by Jester. Ruler trumps Magician, but Explorers find a way past control. It's a living meta—you learn or fail."
"Some matchups?" he said. "Are just hell."
"Like?"
"Picture a Ruler resonating as Caregiver against a Magician-logic- warped Rebel. That's ideology against sheer chaos. Or against a Sage-Ruler hybrid and a cold Lover-Jester. Emotion against detachment. Neither will remain whole."
Bird blinked. "So there's no best way?"
"Nope," Shotaro replied bluntly. "There's no class, no title. Only alignment—karma alignment. It's about what you're going to give up to remain who you are.
The chart lingered in midair, pulsing with faint golden light. Then it folded in on itself—glyphs and loops vanishing into a single sigil, which dropped neatly into Shotaro's palm like a falling coin.
He turned it over once. "And yeah—you can change your karma path," he added, casually. "Just make the world believe you're someone else. That's it."
Fatiba squinted. "Wait. What?"
"You're on the Hero path, and sick of it? Do something crazy. Something people will perceive as rebellion. Boom—you're a Rebel now." Shotaro shrugged. "Hell, you could just lie. Convince people that's what you are. If the world believes it enough, your karma changes. Your archetype rewrites."
Bird blinked slowly. "That's… disturbing."
"The deeper you're embedded in an archetype, the more levels you unlock. And the more attuned your tantra becomes to it."
He stepped towards the center of the chalked circle and gestured up.
"Now," he said, "there are two ways to progress on the seven mantra paths. First method: the slow grind. You reuse your tantra over and over, invest karma in your chakras, let them marinate in it. Eventually, they get stronger. Stage one through stage three? Could take years."
"What's beyond three?" Bird asked, half because he was curious, half because he was afraid.
Shotaro smiled.
"Stage one to three is trite," he said. "Science-level material. Hanuman allows you to grow? So do surgeries. Parvati assists you in making terrain? So does landscaping equipment. You can duplicate the elements? So can nature and technology. Even time dilation—black holes already do that.
He held up a finger. "But after stage three? That's where it gets strange. When tantra departs from physics."
He hesitated—then grinned as if he was going to reveal a war atrocity.
"There are shortcuts."
Hiroki's eyes grew tight. "Of course there are."
"One," said Shotaro, "you make people think you're god. Make a cult. Construct a temple. Get people praying in your name. Their faith oozes into the collective unconscious and—congrats—you're a local god. That catapults you into stage three right away."
He let that linger.
"And the second?" Hiroki asked, slower now.
Shotaro's tone didn't shift, but the gravity behind his words turned somber.
"Cultivation method," he declared. "Every human has karma—even the weak. If you kill enough of them, you can purify their karmic mass and incorporate it."
No one stirred.
"Elevated karma comes in many forms," he went on, voice clinical. "Most unclean form is pills—raw, heavy, yin-yang mixed karma. Distill those into potions—separate the kinds. And from there, purify into karma insects. Purest form. Most perilous. You ingest those, and… rise."
Long silence. Shotaro's eyes went over them, inscrutable.
"But don't do that," he emphasized. "Seriously. Because if you do—" his voice dropped, low and substantial, "—I'll stop you."
No fanfare. No posturing. Just a simple truth. Shotaro Mugyiwara wasn't gatekeeping awakening. He simply informed them on everything, because he wanted them to learn everything before they decide their destiny.
Because he knew what it was like when someone really went down that road.
And where it led.".
"Krishna path," said Shotaro, flicking his fingers and a new whiteboard blinking into existence, "can only be opened up after you reach stage three. It's simply too shaky below that."
He didn't pause for questions. His hand shot across the air, scrawling sparkling lines.
"Stage one's the foundations. You're not a god yet. Military still kills you if they arrive with tanks and evil intentions."
Fatiba leaned in. Hiroki rubbed his eyes, struggling to remain awake.
"Stage one Nataraja," Shotaro went on. "You have weak telekinesis. Lift a bike? No problem. Lift a truck? Your brain turns into mush. You can dilate time—like, three seconds at max, within a three-meter zone. Useful for dodging a bullet. Not a whole hail of them."
He stopped and gestured upwards. "Yes, you can fly. Just like you two just did. Don't be smug."
He touched the next bit.
"Stage one Sadashiva. You can rust metal, perhaps wilt some plants. Wear down things by a few seconds. Not quite enough to count. Burns like a bastard to use."
He continued moving on.
"Hanuman. You're doubling your strength. Perhaps fall from the fourth floor and live without shattering your spine. You can grow taller—one foot, that's all. But you are not duplicating anything. Just stretching to the maximum of your natural capability."
Bird raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Shotaro shrugged.
"Stage one Lakshmi. You may succeed at dice. Marginal probability shift. Substantial karmic cost."
"And Parvati?" Fatiba asked.
He nodded. "Small sparks. Sufficient matter for a sewing needle. Don't hope to materialize castles."
And Ganesh," he said, knocking on his temple. "Sharpens you. Whatever your mind can do naturally? It'll assist you to reach that. Hyper-sensitive. Quick thinking. But you won't be Einstein if you weren't half there to begin with."
Shotaro backed away, arms folded, allowing it to sink in. "That's stage one," he said. "The floor, not the ceiling.
"Stage two," Shotaro said, eyes flicking toward Bird, "that's where our dear friend here sits. Things start getting… weird."
Bird gave a lazy two-finger salute.
Shotaro smirked. "Not god-like, but you're not bound by the same leash as stage one anymore. You've got range. Flexibility. A toe in the surreal."
He snapped, and a projection lit up beside them—a glowing figure showing subtle distortions rippling through its chakras.
"Stage two Nataraja? Now you can teleport between small towns—if you've been there. Time dilation approaches whole seconds. Telekinesis goes mass-market. Still exhausting, but now you're flipping vehicles rather than subcompacts.
Fatiba nodded, committing everything to memory.
"Sadashiva at this level?" he continued. "Degradation's apparent. Rust advances like flame. You can desiccate wood, shatter stone. Still not world-destroying, but certainly not stage-one party stunts."
He pointed to his chest. "Hanuman? Your body begins to adapt. You're not merely stronger—you're constructed stronger. More dense muscle fibers, improved reaction time. You can jump rooftops now, not merely endure the fall from one."
"What of Parvati?" Fatiba inquired.
"Creation begins to get bigger," Shotaro said. "You can create tools. Shields. Basic constructs—temporary, but effective. Control's still primary. You muck up? It collapses."
"And Lakshmi?" Hiroki spoke up, now most decidedly paying attention.
Shotaro shrugged halfway. "Now you can push fate, not nudge it. Outcomes bend harder in your favor. Say you're in a fight? The enemy might slip. Say you're defusing a bomb? The wire you guess on might actually be the right one."
"Ganesh gives you sixth sense-level perception," he concluded. "Like picking up lies mid-sentence, or seeing heat trails through a wall. Awareness gets spooky."
Hiroki rubbed his chin. "So. stage two's where the real juice comes in."
"Nearly," Shotaro replied. "You're not far off—1.9, perhaps. Fatiba's at 1.5. Not so bad. The difference between you two and Bird isn't huge-he's about 2.1—but it feels greater because stage two gives you a bigger canvas. Just more to work with."
Bird popped his knuckles. "And yet I still need to do homework."
"You'd be invincible if you weren't a moron," Shotaro grumbled.
"Stage three," Shotaro told him, the change in tone swift. He wasn't speaking now—he was threatening. "This is the last level you achieve through pure work ethic. Beyond this? You require a cult, a legend, a mass sacrifice of karma. And believe me, neither of those roads are tidy.
He lifted a hand. A new form blinked into the air—taller, more elegant than the earlier forms. Its chakras blazed with intensity. The aura surrounding it buzzed like far-off machinery.
"This is where it gets real," Shotaro went on. "Stage three Nataraja?. You can teleport anywhere on Earth. It's not instant like my spatial step—but it's close. Flying accelerates beyond jets. And your telekinesis?" He looked at Hiroki. "You could lift a small building if your brain doesn't get blown first."
Hiroki whistled low.
"Sadashiva gets scary here. You're not just aging things anymore—you can remove materials over time. Dissolve armor. Rot magic. You touch something long enough,it never existed existed."
Bird scowled. "That's… cool."
"Hanuman stage three?" Shotaro smiled. "You're an ambulatory siege engine. Muscles recover from stress, your stamina is maximum human scaled a few times. You could be hit by a tank round head-on and remain upright. You'll not look nice, but you'll be alive."
Fatiba blinked. "You're kidding."
"I am not," he said flatly.
"Lakshmi," he continued, "is frightening here. It's no longer simply good fortune—you can bend probability. A sniper's bullet may bend away. A storm may keep a missile launch from occurring. Coincidences accumulate in your advantage like dominoes. People begin to call it divine fortune."
Fatiba's eyebrows furrowed. "Unearned. feels."
"That's karma for you," Shotaro grumbled.
"Parvati begins to take shape around actual constructs. You can create a tent in a combat zone, imaginary guns, floating platforms. Not fixed, not endless—but they exist.
He glanced at Bird. "Ganesh becomes anticipatory. You won't just detect the falsehood—you'll sense the reason for it. Perception overflows into visions of pattern, ripple effects, strategic prescience. Essentially? You begin to think three wars in advance.
The room was silent.".
Shotaro breathed out. "It's power. True power. But not divine. You're not cracking planets. You're not warping time. Not yet. But at stage three? You cease to be merely a tantrik. You become a force."
And in an instant, the levitating image fell apart into one glowing seed of light.
"Stage four?" Shotaro's eyes darkened. "That's a different story. And unless you've got millions of people worshipping your name or millions of souls to harvest…" He let it hang. "You're staying in stage three for a long, long time."
"Stage four?" Shotaro scoffed. "That's when shit turns cosmic."
He snapped his fingers, and a spiral of constellations unfurled briefly in the air—little glowing orbs dancing like stars on strings.
"You begin creating your own story bubbles. Domains. Pocket realities. Manifolds. Literal storytelling spaces that follow your laws of existence. So yeah, we're not going near that until each of you reaches stage three."
Fatiba blinked. "Wait. You're saying that's a thing?"
"Dead serious," he said, shooing the stars away like dust. "But let's keep it grounded."
He faced her, a twitch of a smirk on his lips. "By the way—you're all touch explosion-y? Stage one Nataraja."
Her eyebrow rose.
"You're displacing atoms, tearing molecular bonds apart. Pretty much making things into little nukes," he told her, factually. "Tiny radius now, but when your control gets better? You'll be able to do that just by gazing at something."
Fatiba's eyes widened. "Wait. I can already do it using my eyes?
"Well, yeah," Shotaro admitted with a shrug. "It'd just be. wildly unstable and you'd probably vaporize your own eyes But technically? Yes."
Hiroki visibly scooted an inch away from her.
"And on that lovely note," Shotaro said, clapping once, "Chapter three: The Arcanas."
The air around them hummed again, like a stage curtain about to lift.
"Before that tho" Shotaro said "We should revise"
"So Basic notes," Shotaro muttered, glancing at the sky as the first rays of sun crept over the horizon.
Golden light spilled across the park, casting long shadows behind them. The group looked tired—but alert. They were soaking it all in.
"In a fight between two tantriks," Hiroki said, stretching his arms overhead, "karma paths matter more than mantra ones. It's less about raw power, more about affinity—what cancels what. Think elemental matchups, not just skill."
"Right," Bird jumped in, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets. "And if we know our opponent's path ahead of time? We prep. Build a temporary persona. Change our karma alignment just for the battle."
Fatiba nodded, eyes sharp now. "Fake identities. Personas. If we act through one long enough—and convince others it's real—we shift karma paths. Our archetype morphs. When the fight ends, we revert. But that mask? We can put it back on whenever."
Shotaro blinked. "Wait—what?"
He looked at them, deadpan. "I didn't even teach you that yet."
"Yeah," Fatiba said, brushing dust off her sleeve. "But it helps."
Bird smirked. "Fast learners."
Shotaro simply breathed, pinched the bridge of his nose.
Shotaro swept his hand through the air, and the twirling Arcana symbols delayed, orienting like constellations above an invisible sky. His tone changed—less instruction, more enticement—as he stepped between the radiating cards.
"These are not like Archetypes. Arcanas don't determine your nature. They don't determine how your tantra operates or warp your karma path. What they do"—he waved his hand toward the floating symbols—"is enhance your yield.
"Visualize them as lenses," he explained. "Each one amplifies certain chakra avenues—sometimes one, sometimes two or three. Not by altering what your ability is—but how efficiently it flows. Like opening a valve up wider."
He gestured towards one that glowed like an Fool symbol. "Let's analyze."
The Fool. "Tied to the Ganesh and Krishna chakras. The Fool represents naivety, beginnings, wandering without anchors. Those with it have sharper intuition, faster sensory processing—Krishna miracles come easier. But Ganesh boosts too. Data absorption, perception… you'll feel the battlefield before it even moves."
The next floated forward.
The Magician. "Lakshmi and Parvati. Creation by will. Tantriks using this Arcana control results and shape matter with increased efficiency. Increased material creation, increased probability control. Support-types who redefine reality in small but important ways are ideal."
The High Priestess. "Ganesh again—this time with Hanuman. Strength with wisdom. You gain better control of bodily transformation, more accurate chakra shifting, and clarity amid chaos. Your choices are surgical."
The Empress. "Parvati alone. This Arcana transforms creation tantric energy into something motherly. Not only giving birth to matter, but also caring for it. Regeneration, healing, and terraforming environment—without running out of stamina quickly."
The Emperor. "Hanuman and Sadashiva. Strength and destruction in harmony. One who has this Arcana can flip between demolishing and supporting in the blink of an eye. A battlefield overlord."
The Hierophant. "Ganesh and Lakshmi. Wisdom meets guidance. Enhances communication-based mantras, allows you to share tantra effects—such as connecting minds, synchronizing stats, or even giving buffs to friends."
The Lovers. "Parvati and Nataraja. A weird one. Harmony and duality. It enhances any technique where cooperation is required—tag-team moves, symbiosis-based flying, or fusion tantra. Most effective in duos or bonded groups."
The Chariot. "Hanuman and Nataraja. This one's kinetic. Boosts physical enhancements and movement techniques—flight, speed, spatial anchoring. You'll outrun lightning."
Strength. "Hanuman exclusive. No frills. Just raw body mastery. If you're brawler-focused, it skyrockets muscle yield, pain resistance, stamina regen."
The Hermit. "Sadashiva and Ganesh. The solitary destroyer. Long-range, time-based, erasure techniques bloom under this. You'll dissolve structures, concepts—quietly. It's a sniper Arcana."
The Wheel of Fortune. "Lakshmi and Krishna. Pure luck. Probability shifts in your favor. Randomized effects become more likely to succeed—and higher-tier miracles drop more often."
Justice. "Sadashiva and Lakshmi. Cause-and-effect tantra. Suits those who use timing, cause/effect, or karma-based prompts. It stabilizes your skills—so backlash won't kill you."
The Hanged Man. "Nataraja and Sadashiva. It's for reversals. Users can control the effects of motion. Such as having time reverse, or converting kinetic energy into erasure."
Death. "Sadashiva exclusive. Naturally. It buffs decay, entropy, end-states—if your tantra is on breaking things down, this one makes your finality stronger."
Temperance. "Krishna and Lakshmi. A harmony Arcana. It combines mantras, merges outputs—helps you stabilize hybrid methods. Most handy for multi-chakra tantriks."
The Devil. "Hanuman and Lakshmi. Addictive power. Increases raw stats at a price—tantra output increases quickly, but so does emotional instability. You'll burn out, or burn through. Risky, but frightening."
The Tower. "Sadashiva and Parvati. Chaos incarnate. Gain power through law-breaking. Methods get wonky, but incredibly potent beyond reason. Suits those who don't care about sacrificing limbs to conquer."
The Star. "Krishna only. Future-orientated prediction. Enhances precognition, miracle-chain workings, and dream-manipulated reality sculpting. Divine insight comes to mind."
The Moon. "Ganesh and Krishna. Seeing and misleading. Makes illusions as real as truth. Perfect for spying, infiltration, psychological tantra.
The Sun. "Parvati and Hanuman. Growth, wealth, life force. Enhances healing, rebirth, and evolution methods. A shining Arcana that gives power to your team and your individual chakra flow."
Judgement. "Ganesh and Sadashiva. An Arcana of truth-seeking. Methods that judge, weigh, or purify impurities prosper. Excellent for soul-cutting or purifying rituals."
The World. "All chakras—minor gain in each. Balanced. A jack-of-all-trades Arcana. Not the strongest, but most versatile."
Shotaro allowed the symbols to dwindle one after another, until The World was left, spinning in the morning air.
"These don't alter your archetype. Don't shift your mantra's essence. But once you understand your chakra style?" He allowed it to vanish into his palm. "You'll crave the Arcana that makes your every action pack a punch. Cleaner. Deeper."
ChatGPT
Shotaro did not call out the weapons this time—not yet. He stood with his hands buried in his coat pockets, the early sun at his back seeping into the sky like spilled ink on water.
"You want details?" he asked, looking between them. "Fine. Let's discuss weapons. Divine weapons are not only defined by what you slay. They're defined by whom you slay—and what they were to the world."
He moved forward, voice firm but quiet, like the beginning of a prayer.
"Hero-path Domain Lords? Their deaths create shields. Large ones. Not merely of metal, but of ideas. A Hero's shield could deflect anything, hell even Time based attack. One well-known tantrik crafted a Hero-shield that literally deflected betrayal. Anyone with thoughts of betraying the wielder couldn't even get near.
"Knight-path Lords?" Shotaro raised his chin up a notch. "Traditional swords. But they don't just slice flesh. They cut through unbreakable. Cut through illusions. One of them might be able to cut through causality—make a person's action never have existed in the first place."
Bird exhaled slowly. "That's fucked up."
"Yeah," Shotaro concurred. "Lover-path Lords? Their guns always pair up. Dual swords. Twin rifles. Boomerangs in twos. The instant you hold one, the other finds someone near to you. Resonance-based damage. Damage one, damage both. Lose one, the other wails. Perfect for couples. Horrible for breakups."
Fatiba's gaze darted to the side towards Hiroki, then back.
"Explorer-path? Bows. Harpoons. Anything that exits your hand and comes back. But the kicker? Their weapons always betray. Secrets. Weaknesses. Hidden doors. Someone forged a spear made of an Explorer Lord once—it glowed every time someone lied in the area."
"Magicians receive staves. Rods. Rings, sometimes. Trickster tools. But the result isn't always as you imagine. One Lord's cane made thoughts into echoes. Another's wand made hallucinations that bled into reality. If the world will believe something hard enough, the staff could make it so."
"Rulers? Thrones. Chains. Gauntlets. They don't attack—control. Someone created a Ruler-weapon that attached people's karma. You hurt someone? Boom—you suffer their pain as your own. Instant karmic feedback loop."
Hiroki narrowed his eyes. "Wait—what about Jester archetypes?"
Shotaro smiled. "Oh, those are crazy. They emerge as musical instruments. Drums, guitars, flutes. Sounds ridiculous until you understand they can re-code emotional states. Laugh while being gutted. Fall in love amidst war. One Jester's drum had soldiers forget to fight. Whole battlefields became dance floors.
Sage Lords?" His voice dropped. "Quills. Ink-blades. Scroll-bows. Their blades don't strike your flesh. They strike your truth. If your sense of self is weak, if your identity is broken." Sage weapons can delete you with a signature.
Fatiba gasped at that one. Shotaro registered it.
"Caregivers are strange," he went on. "Their weapons are shields. Concept shells. You don't attack with them—you share. Share damage. Share stamina. Share pain. There was this one tantrik whose shield sent all harm to herself. Wore an entire war on her shoulders."
Bird grunted, "That's terrible.
"Rebels? Chains. Bombs. Guns. Anything grubby and loud. Their guns punish oppression. Literally. Use a Rebel-weapon on a tyrant, and it doubles in strength. Use it on an innocent? It falters. Karma dislikes unfairness. So do Rebel guns."
"Creators supply you with brushes. Lenses. Tools. Things that remake, rebuild, rethink. One tantrik built an entire city out of the ash with a Creator's chisel. One tap and buildings flowered."
"Everyman archetypes?" Shotaro smiled. "Anything. Their domain is flexibility. You kill one? Their arcana causes the weapon to imitate. It changes to meet your need. Sword one moment, scalpel the next. But only if you stand strong in your humanity and not succumb to the shape-shifting."
He took in his environment. The air had been stilled. No birds. No wind. Only the weight of what had been spoken.
"Those aren't toys.keep that in mind, always," Shotaro spoke softly now.
"First of all," Shotaro raised a hand, the air still charged with his previous sentence. "Before discussing weapon effects, I'd like to have another quick note-taking session."
Fatiba folded her arms, already on top of him. "Switching arcana is harder than changing your karma path or archetype."
He cocked his head, interested. She continued.
You either need to change the way you actually perceive yourself… or tamper with your memories. That's the essence of it." Her voice was not melodramatic—it was detached, as if reading from a grimy handbook of dark facts.
Bird leaned forward slightly. "Tamper with?
"Yeah." Fatiba nodded. "You can coerce the change by manipulating your own self-image—lie to yourself long enough, believe it hard enough, and eventually the arcana bends. But the cleaner method? Wipe the slate. Induce amnesia."
"Wait, like—actually forget who you are?" Hiroki blinked.
"Blank yourself out," she said. "Live a new life. Grow a new arcana based on how that version of you sees the world."
Shotaro let out a low, long whistle. "Risky."
"Very," she replied. "Because that new you? No promise they'll grow the arcana you desired. You're wagering everything on someone who doesn't know your plans."
Shotaro's grin narrowed. "Hell of a gamble."
"Sometimes," Fatiba shrugged, "that's the point.
Shotaro snapped his fingers once, sharp and swift, like dispelling static from the air. "Okay. Now that you see how knotted self-perception can become—let's discuss why it matters."
He snapped his fingers again.
A ripple spread through space above his palm, and a wheel of symbols whirled into being—each inscribed with curious, ancient glyphs, turning in a slow arc like tarot cards trapped in orbit. Twenty-two. Each with a different color glowing faintly. Arcana.
These," he intoned, voice dropping, "are the twenty-two Major Arcana. Not symbolic. Not metaphorical. Real. Physical. Your arcana is an actual metaphysical congruence, and when you kill a Domain Lord and craft a weapon from their body. this is what determines the impact."
Bird furrowed his brow. "Wait, like, you. harvest them?
Yep." Shotaro didn't flinch. "You kill them, you inherit their conceptual burden. Their arcana becomes the seed for what you create as a weapon. Astra or Shastra—does not matter. Close, far, ranged metaphysics, embodied essence—it's the arcana that differentiates the concept. Not the chakra. Not the mantra. Not even the form the weapon takes."
He let the glyphs rotate and snapped his fingers again. They came to rest on the first—The Fool.
"Fool Arcana weapons? They adjust. Incomplete by design. Strengthened as the user evolves. Not flashy, but frightening if you live long enough."
The wheel turned—The Magician.
"Magician types enable conversion. Convert matter to energy, energy to thought, thought to weaponry. Weapons forged from sheer will. Unadulterated transmutation logic."
Another turn—The High Priestess.
"Those weapons veil. Conceal intent. Make the user unreadable. Perfect for illusionists, spies, or individuals who can't afford to be noticed—not physically."
Individually, the arcana whirred and halted, and Shotaro dismantled each with the virtuosity of an individual who'd witnessed them employed in actual wars.
The Empress—arms that nourish. Strengthen allies, repair chakra damage, fortify mind and body. Frightful in the hands of a caretaking tantrik.
The Emperor—weapons of mastery. Command space, territory, even wills. Ideal for control of the battlefield, putting down enemy tantriks.
The Hierophant—ritual-based. Delay-heavy, but if set up, can pin miracles in place. Tantrik summoners adore this one.
The Lovers—paired weapons. Always in twos. Effect doubles when used alongside someone emotionally connected to you.
The Chariot—sheer force. Always head-on. Weapons that go straight forward. Brutal. Deadly. Tough to stop.
Justice—precision. Every strike calculates moral and karmic alignment. It'll hit harder depending on how 'deserved' the damage is. Creepy, but accurate.
The Hermit—internalized. Inward-focused weapons. Strength grows in solitude. Often for tantriks who fight alone.
Wheel of Fortune—chaotic concept weapons. Totally unpredictable effects. Could do nothing. Could rewrite probability. Nobody likes gambling with these—except the insane.
Strength—self-reinforcing. The more you're pushed, the stronger they get. Used by berserkers, tantrik tanks.
The Hanged Man—reverse logic. The more you are losing, the stronger the effect. Works only when you are disadvantaged. Large trade-offs.
Death—change incarnate. They don't kill things directly. They erase. Closes chapters, people, eras. Perilous and difficult to master.
Temperance—balance-based. These cancel out extremes. Nullify enemy effects. Absorb power and release it safely. Excellent for counter-users.
The Devil—temptation anchors. Weapons that feed off vice. The more sin around you, the stronger they become.
The Tower—disruption incarnate. Break laws—of physics, of logic, of reality. But uncontrollable. Good luck surviving your own swing.
The Star—hope-infused. Weapons that get stronger when someone still believes in you. Often used by martyr tantriks.
The Moon—unreliable. Half-illusion, half-reality. Weapons that warp perception. Your opponent might not even know they're dead.
The Sun—plain and simple clarity. Enhances your chakra's essential quality. If you're powerful, makes you formidable. Blinding to others.
Judgment—rebirth tools. Can be 'killed' and re-forged stronger. User can receive a temporary resurrection gap if the karma's favorable.
The World—completion-oriented. Only awakened fully after the tantrik has reached complete self-actualization. Most never get to witness this weapon's ultimate form.
And lastly, The Fool, once more.
Each of these weapons is more than an implement," Shotaro concluded, gaze fixed on the wheel. "It's a mirror. It reflects back to you what you are. What you've become. And if you're strong enough to master it, it becomes legend."
He made the wheel disappear into golden dust.
"Now," he said, straightening his collar, "who wants to learn how to craft one?