Chapter 19
Breakthrough
The cavern was silent, save for the faint drip of molten stone in the distance. Maverick sat in the center, his posture rigid, his body trembling as though the weight of the world pressed against him.
Inside his Sea of Consciousness, the stillness was absolute. No ripples, no movement. It was a suffocating silence, the kind that pressed on his very soul.
The wall.
He could feel it now—an immense, invisible barrier stretching across the horizon of his inner sea. It was not stone, nor iron, but it carried the same oppressive weight. It had no seams, no weakness. Only unyielding stillness.
Most demons, when they reached this point, waited. They cultivated carefully, feeding their Sea with centuries of patience until hairline cracks appeared on their own. Then they would push, gently, over years, until the wall gave way.
But Maverick was not most demons.
His lips curled into the faintest, humorless smile. "Shatter."
The Sea convulsed. The still surface buckled into violent waves, crashing and tearing against the unseen wall. Maverick's soul surged forward, raw and unrestrained.
Pain lanced through him instantly, a white-hot spear that drove into his chest. His vision blurred. The barrier did not yield.
CRACK.
A fracture no wider than a hairline split across the surface of the wall.
Blood spurted from Maverick's lips in the real world. His body rocked violently, cracks deepening in the stone floor beneath him.
"Damn it!" Voldrack growled, fists clenching at his sides. "He's forcing it! His Sea can't handle this kind of strain!"
Zaratul leaned forward, golden eyes wide but unblinking. His smile was gone—replaced with something sharper, colder. "He's not forcing it. He's devouring it."
Voldrack turned on him. "If he collapses—"
"Then he was never worthy to begin with," Zaratul hissed.
Inside, Maverick's body burned. His mind filled with whispers, illusions born of resistance. He saw his stepbrother laughing, dagger in hand, felt the sting of betrayal again and again. He saw his lover's face twisted with cruelty, her lips brushing another man's ear.
The illusions clawed at him, feeding on weakness.
Maverick's expression did not change. His eyes, even in the storm, were cold as void.
"I have no weakness," he whispered.
His will surged like a blade. The illusions shattered into shards of light.
BOOM!
Another crack spread across the wall, wider this time.
The pain redoubled. His Sea churned violently, waves threatening to collapse inward, to swallow him whole. If it did, he would dissolve, his soul devoured by his own failure.
But Maverick did not yield.
In the cavern, Voldrack stumbled back as the pressure thickened, the air itself trembling. "This is madness!" he roared.
Zaratul's grin returned, slow and feral. "No. This is fate."
Inside, Maverick drew deeper. He reached past his body, past the pain, past even the fragment of his mother's voice. What he touched was not magic. Not technique. It was the essence of his soul itself.
Ouroboros.
The eternal serpent that devours itself, only to be reborn stronger.
The wall loomed before him, vast and unbroken save for its cracks. Maverick pressed his hand against it. His fingers bled, his nails split, his soul screamed.
And he pushed.
CRAAAACK!
The wall exploded outward, shards of invisible force scattering like glass. The Sea of Consciousness convulsed, then deepened, its waters plunging into new, unfathomable depths. The surface rippled—not stagnant, but alive.
Maverick gasped, his body arching violently in the cavern. Blood ran freely from his nose, his ears, his eyes.
But when he opened them again, their whites were no longer white. They gleamed silver, luminous and cold.
Voldrack staggered back, his jaw clenched. "Impossible… He—he broke through? Already?!"
It had taken him decades, centuries, to scrape at his own walls. And this boy—this half-blood child—had torn through in mere days.
Zaratul let out a laugh, sharp and triumphant. "Do you see now, old demon? This is why he cannot be measured against the rest. He is not walking the path. He is the path."
Maverick rose slowly to his feet, blood dripping down his chin, his body trembling but steady. His aura rolled outward like a tide, heavier and sharper than before. The cavern itself groaned under the pressure.
"…Adept," he murmured.
His voice carried no joy, no pride. Only certainty.
Voldrack's face twisted with disbelief and unease. The boy was growing too fast. Faster than any natural order could allow. And in Hell, speed meant attention.
"Do you even understand what you've done?" he growled. "Your Sea could collapse if you keep forcing it like this. And if the greater demons feel your presence—"
"They will feel it," Maverick interrupted, his silver-tinged gaze cold. "And they will know to stay away."
Zaratul chuckled darkly, his tongue flicking across his lips. "Spoken like a true Ouroboros."
The air settled, the cavern falling back into uneasy silence. But something had changed. The very stone seemed to bend toward Maverick now, as if the world itself acknowledged his shift.
He wiped the blood from his face, his expression as detached as ever.
"I've wasted enough time," he said. "The path forward is clear."
He closed his eyes, and the image of the river returned to him. The corpses drifting, pale and perfect. Waiting.
"The vessels await."