The sky above Kalambhaar groaned with thunder. What once was a suffocating labyrinth of shadow and rock now lay torn apart—crumbled into ruin by the sheer force of his awakening.
The storm had no rain.
Only silver lightning.
It danced violently above the battlefield, crackling across the heavens like divine rage, illuminating the broken earth below with bursts of raw energy. The ground was cracked, scorched, and trembling.
And amidst it all… two young women knelt on the battlefield.
"Her body…" Manvi whispered, her voice barely audible under the growling winds.
Reet's arms trembled as she cradled Tara's severed form, both halves still warm. Blood clung to her uniform. Her lips quivered.
"She smiled, Manvi… she smiled right before she struck that final blow. It's like—she knew…"
Manvi clenched her fists, her tears lost in the dust and ash. "She gave up her life just to give us one more second."
Their voices broke, their hearts shattered, and still—they moved. Carrying what remained of their friend through the battlefield.
But then—
A sound.
A single voice, rising above the howling winds.
"I always wondered…"
The world seemed to stop.
The voice, low and hoarse, echoed across the shattered ground.
"...why this blade had a free chain bound to its end."
They turned.
There, standing in the center of the ruin—cloaked in a blazing black aura streaked with silver lightning—was Armaan.
No longer broken.
No longer on his knees.
His figure was shadowed by the light flashing above him. Every step he took forward caused the earth beneath to crack. The chain at the end of his sword sparked, swinging wildly behind him.
"But today… I get it."
His silver eyes locked on the monster before him—Varkash.
The Daitya flinched.
"This chain… it represents my love. My promise. My bond to those I cherish."
He raised his blade, the silver lightning dancing around him surging into its edge.
"And now… I'll spin this blade… and drive it straight through the black heart of demons like you."
The sky screamed as a deafening CRACK tore through the clouds—
SILVER LIGHTNING—like a divine judgment—rained down around him.
Armaan's voice thundered over the chaos.
"For my fallen friend… not a soldier… not a comrade—
TARA, who smiled in the face of death—!"
His aura exploded, shoving wind in all directions. Rubble flew. The earth split wider.
Even Varkash—the Daitya of darkness—stumbled back in disbelief.
"I WILL DEVOUR YOUR VERY SPIRIT, VARKASH!"
Manvi and Reet froze mid-step. Reet's hands clutched Tara tighter as her eyes widened.
"That prana…" Manvi whispered, stunned.
Far from them, in a corner of the battlefield, Advika slowly opened her eyes—still slumped against a broken wall, blood dripping from her lips.
And then she gasped.
"No… It can't be…"
Her breath caught. Her hands trembled.
"That's… That's the Prana Howl Form…"
The storm above cracked again as silver lightning raged louder, as if agreeing.
"That's the ignition of the soul. Only Rakshaks who've trained for decades… No… even then, it's said only a few could ever touch that state."
She looked up at Armaan, now blazing with silver lightning, his shadow-black aura coiling around him like a god of war.
"How… How could he—!?"
Then, his blade screamed through the air, and with a roar that made the skies tremble—
Armaan charged.
Armaan's hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly—his fingers burning with the surge of shadow black prana surging through the weapon.
The chain on its end rattled violently.
And then—
He spun it.
Faster.
Faster.
A cyclone of black prana erupted around him as the blade rotated wildly, slicing through the air with godlike momentum. Sparks danced along the edge, silver lightning mixing with the shadows like a storm ready to tear the world apart.
"This ends now."
With one final twist of his wrist, Armaan released the blade.
It launched forward with terrifying force—a projectile of raw fury—spinning straight toward Varkash. The sheer speed distorted the space around it, creating shockwaves as it flew like a comet made of death.
Varkash's eyes widened.
It raised its arms to brace, instinct roaring in panic.
But then—
He appeared.
No step.
No sound.
No wind.
Armaan teleported—
That was the only word that could describe it.
In the blink of an eye, he was there—in front of Varkash, just inches before the spinning blade could collide.
With absolute control, Armaan caught his sword mid-air—gripping it by the handle as if time itself bent to his will.
Then—
SLASH!
A single horizontal arc.
Straight through the chest of the Daitya.
"GRAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHHH!!"
Varkash let out a monstrous roar—a cry so thunderous, so nightmarish, that the very air trembled.
The earth cracked beneath its feet.
The clouds above dispersed like smoke.
And every living being on the battlefield—Manvi, Reet, Advika—all of them had to clutch their ears in pain, falling to their knees as their skulls throbbed from the frequency.
Except Armaan.
Standing still, unwavering.
His silver-lit eyes stared at the Daitya with merciless focus, his blade dripping with inky, black prana.
The silence after the roar was deafening.
Varkash stumbled back, a massive gash across its chest, black ichor pouring out like tar. Its mouth twitched, eyes shaking in disbelief.
And still…
Armaan didn't speak.
He simply raised his sword again—his chain now glinting with lightning, ready for the next strike.
"I won't let you end this so soon!"
Varkash snarled, his voice filled with fury and desperation.
His massive hand reached out, summoning another blade of solidified prana—this one longer, darker, and more unstable than ever. Prana crackled around it like dark lightning—chaotic, untamed.
Armaan stood there, silent.
His shadow-black blade hummed in his grip.
Silver lightning danced around his arms and blade, flickering like the eyes of a god.
"It ends now, Varkash," Armaan said, voice cold and steady.
Then—
BOOM!
They clashed.
A sonic boom exploded through the battlefield as shadow met solid, silver met black, and rage met resolve.
With every strike, their blades released shockwaves that shattered boulders and crumbled the earth. The very ground beneath them fractured with each collision—huge chunks of rock launched into the air like broken glass.
Lightning—real lightning—flashed across the sky.
Each time their swords collided, it was like the universe screamed.
Clang!
Boom!
Crack!
The sky raged above them, echoing their fury.
Mountains trembled in the distance.
But then—
Varkash's eyes narrowed.
He noticed something. Something horrifying.
Armaan wasn't gritting his teeth.
He wasn't straining.
He wasn't even using all his strength.
No.
He was just… matching Varkash's speed. Casually.
Swinging. Calmly. Precisely.
"W-What…?" Varkash gasped, backpedaling as another slash nearly took his neck.
His sword trembled in his hands now.
He turned his eyes—
To that broken patch of ground.
The place where Armaan had collapsed, limp and bleeding just moments ago.
"H-He's the same kid who was lying there… just moments ago…?"
His voice broke.
His heart raced.
Varkash couldn't process it.
How could a child who was on death's door—crushed beneath his boot, coughing blood, stabbed through the chest—now be clashing with him on equal ground?
No.
Not equal.
He was losing.
Losing to him.
And Armaan… wasn't even trying yet.
Beside the rubble, beneath the storm-wrecked sky where Kalambhaar Cave once loomed, Reet and Manvi stood frozen—Tara's broken body in their trembling arms.
Just ahead of them, Advika lay half-conscious, her eyes locked on the figure wreaking havoc at the heart of the battlefield.
The world trembled.
Each clash between Armaan and Varkash cracked the ground beneath them.
The impact of their blades sent out visible pressure waves, tearing the terrain apart with every exchange.
Reet's voice trembled as she tried to speak.
"I… I can't even see him clearly anymore..."
"Neither can I," Manvi replied, eyes wide. "Their movements—my eyes can't track anything!"
Advika slowly shifted her head toward them. Her lips parted, her tone low, almost reverent.
"So this is it... the Prana Howl."
"What's happening to him, Advika?" Reet asked.
Advika exhaled sharply.
"He's in the ignition form… The Prana Howl stage."
Her voice held weight, like she herself could hardly believe it.
"In this form, a fighter's prana doesn't flow—it detonates. The output surges by a hundredfold. His speed, his strength, his precision... they all ascend beyond anything we can comprehend."
Manvi clutched Tara's remains tighter, heart pounding.
"That sword of his—it's glowing like molten steel..."
"Because it's not just his prana anymore," Advika explained.
"The spirit of his Aether Blade is pouring its own prana into the weapon. That blade is now as hot as a volcanic core… It can slice through anything."
Reet and Manvi stared at the whirlwind of black lightning and silver fury tearing through the battlefield.
Then came the part that left them breathless.
"Right now," Advika said quietly, "with just 50 or 60 percent of his prana… Armaan has the power to shatter Mount Everest into dust."
Manvi instinctively stepped back.
Not out of fear—
But from the overwhelming realization.
This wasn't some hidden technique. This wasn't a fluke.
This was Armaan, unlocked.
The boy they trained with…
The boy they bled beside…
Now stood as a force that even the earth itself struggled to contain.
Cracks split the battlefield like veins across a dying land. Lightning whipped across the skies, reflecting off Armaan's cold, shadow-lit eyes. His black prana flared again, bursting like a storm.
Across from him, Varkash—scarred, panting, but far from done—readied himself with his prana-forged blade.
And then—
"Is this all you've got?" Armaan's voice cut through the storm, sharp and dismissive.
"I'm getting bored."
Without warning, Armaan surged forward. The ground shattered beneath his step.
He caught the blade of Varkash—with his bare hands.
Sparks flew, but Armaan didn't flinch.
With a feral glare, he yanked the weapon down, pulled Varkash toward him, and—
SLASH!
One clean sweep severed both of Varkash's arms.
BOOM!
A brutal kick launched the demon backward, crashing him into a jagged rock wall.
But the victory was brief.
Squirm. Rebuild. Regenerate.
The arms reformed—flesh twisting, bones knitting.
Varkash hissed and looked up—just in time to see Armaan shift his stance.
Both hands gripped the hilt of his blade. The weapon held low on his right side, his body bent slightly forward.
A chill rolled down the battlefield.
"Ryū no Keishō..." Armaan whispered.
Then—he disappeared.
A moment of silence.
And then—
"Soulfire Eruption."
SLASH!
A burning strike split Varkash's right leg.
SLASH!
Left leg—gone.
SLASH!
Right arm—cleaved.
SLASH!
Left arm—burned off.
He didn't even see it happen.
And then—Armaan was back, standing exactly where he was.
Motionless.
"Velsh Dragon."
The ground cracked open beneath Varkash.
From the red-hot earth, a massive crimson dragon with glowing emerald eyes roared into existence—an elemental beast of pure soulfire.
It lunged.
Its fangs and claws pierced straight into the four severed points of Varkash's body.
SSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—!!
Smoke and steam erupted violently as the dragon's energy dug into him—not just cutting—but melting.
Not just melting flesh—melting spirit.
"AaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAARRGHHHHHHH!!"
Varkash's scream tore through the mountain range.
The usual regeneration?
Gone.
Replaced with blackened, bubbling tissue and limbs that would never grow back.
He writhed. He howled. His own prana fought against him, trying to force stability—but it couldn't.
This was soulfire. This was annihilation.
On the far side of the battlefield, even Reet and Manvi, far away as they were, felt the temperature spike.
And Armaan…
He didn't flinch.
Didn't smirk.
Didn't blink.
He just stood there, his burning blade humming with vengeance.
The battlefield trembled in absolute silence.
Dust floated. Wind stilled. Even the sky, heavy with lightning, seemed to hold its breath.
And then—Armaan spoke.
His voice was calm. Cold.
"As I said... it's the end for you."
Varkash, already half-melted and writhing from the torment of soulfire, screamed in desperation, "NO! NO! NO!"
But Armaan had already begun to move.
With a swift pull of his arm, he spun his blade by the long, free-hanging chain attached to its hilt.
It whirled like a burning meteor, arcs of crimson light—not flames exactly, but furious prana trails—spinning with every rotation.
"Ryū no Keishō..."
"...Bloodline Slash!"
He launched it—the blade soared forward like a divine spear of judgment, the red trails following it like a comet's tail, aimed straight for the screaming face of Varkash.
And just a heartbeat before the sword could strike his eyes—
Armaan teleported.
Right in front of Varkash.
His hand snatched the flying blade mid-air, still spinning with centrifugal force.
In one clean, perfect motion—
SLAAAASH!!
The blade swept horizontally, cutting through Varkash's waist, cleaving the demon exactly as he had done to Tara.
For a moment, Varkash's eyes widened—his mouth trembling open as if to speak—
But there was no time.
Armaan plunged his sword into the ground before him, prana erupting from the impact like a dark geyser.
And then—
"The Demonic Dragon... Onyx."
The earth rumbled. The shadows deepened.
From the void beneath the cave ruins, a beast emerged:
A dragon.
Its scales were dark grey, like the stone of a forgotten god. Its eyes glowed like dying stars. And its body was outlined in a violent blackish-purple aura that twisted the air around it.
It roared—once.
And lunged.
CRASH!!
The dragon pierced Varkash's cleaved body, dragging him upward—and then:
RIIIIIP.
Tear. Tear. Tear.
Piece by piece. Limb by limb.
Varkash screamed—not like a monster—but like a broken soul, crying, begging for release.
But Onyx did not spare him.
It devoured the fragments, burning them in mid-air with abyssal prana.
And then—silence.
Nothing remained.
No body.
No prana.
Not even ash.
Varkash had been disintegrated into nothingness.
Armaan stood there—his back to the others, his shadow stretching far behind him.
Blade still humming.
Eyes unshaken.
Tara's vengeance—fulfilled.