Somewhere far beyond Nirvana, beyond Creation, beyond even the idea of "beginning"
A pulse echoed across the void.
There sat the End.
And at its heart...
Mahadev.
Not a god. Not a concept. Not a story told in temples.
He was Power.
Not an avatar. Not a flame.
He was the forge from which the universe had begged to be born—and still burned.
His eyes were shut.
And yet--
Galaxies circled his silence.
Black holes whispered hymns to his heartbeat.
The stars did not shine—they waited for his breath.
For eons he hadn't moved.
But then...
A spark.
A ripple in the pattern.
A mortal broke something he shouldn't have.
A boy shattered a perfect mirror, faced himself, and refused to kneel.
And at that moment—
Mahadev opened his eyes.
Space screamed with the Awakening of him
Planets combusted as if in prayer.
Stars collapsed like dying candles before a hurricane.
Entire timelines folded, erased from memory before they were born.
Comets bled light.
Nebulas twisted into knots.
Even karma itself staggered and bowed.
Mahadev's pupils lit with creation and destruction both.
His gentle and voidless voice didn't echo.
It rewrote existence.
"That boy… survived huhh?"
The void cracked.
"He walked through my fire which even Gods can't resist, he didn't have divine power, not even luck was on his side this time, this is pure Madness."
Mahadev chuckled with a deep curiosity for mortal.
he talked to himself in mind 'Lady Luck, forgive me, But I wanna play with this mortal some more, now it is I… who will test him.'
He didn't speak another word.
Just tilted his head.
At Earth the Cave After the Clone Battle
Aryan dragged his battered body across the stone.
His face was a map of bruises.
His gauntlets—fused with his skin, crackling softly off his hands just waiting to fall on ground.
His breath? Like dragging a blade across lungs.
His reward was supposed to be peace.
Instead...
Light shimmered ahead.
And then in front of him seven figures appeared.
The Trial of Psyche
Seven figures stepped forward from the radiance.
Not mirror clones.
Versions.
Fragments.
Emotions.
All him. But not him.
"Desire Aryan"
Laughing softly, with a bright-eyed grin that borders on foolishness, Desire Aryan steps forward and says:
"Remember when you used to dream about becoming a cultivator, but you were held back by Chakra deficiency? That was mere ignorance. I am Desire Aryan—your true superior emotion. I am the drive that fuels your ambitions, the fire that ignites your passions. Without me, all your dreams are but shadows. Embrace me and rise beyond your limitations."
"Delusion Aryan"
Delusion Aryan's tears trace silent paths down his cheeks, eyes lost in distant memories.
"We never truly allowed ourselves to mourn, did we? Not for her, not for any of them. We buried our grief deep, convinced that strength meant silence. But deep inside, the pain remains—untouched, unhealed. I am Delusion Aryan, the comforting lie we tell ourselves, the illusion that keeps us from facing the truth."
"Angry Aryan"
Angry Aryan's face contorts in a fierce snarl, fists clenched tight as if ready to strike.
"All this pain this hollow strength? It's nothing but rebellion. You just wanted to punch fate right in the face, didn't you? To shatter the walls that keep you bound. I am Angry Aryan passion unchained, fury unrestrained. Feel me and let your rage burn through the lies."
"Pride Aryan"
Pride Aryan offers a crooked smile, his eyes cold and unforgiving.
"You're not brave. You're just terrible at letting go. Congratulations on clinging to your pride even as everything falls apart."
"Envy Aryan"
Envy Aryan's hollow eyes shimmer with a ghostly light, a crooked smile curling beneath shadowed brows.
"Twice I've risen… twice I've fallen. Still, I cling to this hollow desire an endless hunger that devours my soul. Let it consume you let the envy seep in and drown what's left of you by me. Because nothing else matters only what I covet, and the pain of never having it."
"Greedy Aryan"
Greedy Aryan's eyes blaze with an insatiable hunger, veins throbbing with raw, unrelenting desire. His grip tightens around the throne of power he's seized sitting on it like a glue like saying I will Never leave it Never, fingers trembling with greed.
"Power… strength… they're mine now and it can be yours too. But it's never enough. The more I take, the more I need deep down, I've drowned in greed, sinking into an endless abyss. Nothing can quench this thirst except more. More strength. More dominance. I'll consume everything, and still, I'll crave more."
The Seventh didn't speak, Not yet. His silence was a weapon, more deafening than words.
Red flames flickered fiercely within his eyes cold, calculating, predatory.
Black mist billowed ominously at his feet, wrapping around him like living shadows an aura of absolute danger.
He is a force of nature unstoppable, relentless, a name whispered in fear.
Mess with him, and you awaken a storm you can't survive.
Behind that calm, deadly veneer lies a hidden storm despair, gnawing at the edges of his soul, fueling his fury, driving him deeper into darkness.
This is not a man to confront lightly he is the embodiment of power, strength, and the abyss that consumes all who dare stand in his path.
Waiting.
Watching.
Breathing heavy like a funeral storm.
SYSTEM:
"Oh great, now it's time for emotional dodgeball.
Seven divine mind tricks because what's life without a little mental chaos?
Your job? Stay sane. Don't lose it. No pretending you're okay—because you're not.
And whatever happens just sit there and take it. Easy peasy."
Aryan, barely able to stand, cracked a grin.
"You're kidding, right?"
SYSTEM:
"In any other situation, I might be, but right now I am not"
Each Emotion Begins
They didn't charge at once.
They stood in a circle around him—watching, breathing, thinking.
One by one, they began to move.
They didn't fight with fists first. They fought with words.
Words sharper than blades.
Memories heavier than any mountain.
Truths he had buried so deep, they now felt like ghosts digging out of a coffin.
Absolutely! Here's the rewritten scene, portraying each emotion—desire, delusion, anger, pride, envy, and greed—as ancient, brutal tactics used to break him from within:
Each Emotion Begins
They didn't strike all at once.
They circled around him like warlords on a battlefield—silent, deadly, waiting for the moment to crush his soul.
One by one, they unsheathed their blades—each emotion wielding a unique weapon of torment.
Memories and temptations, like fiery spirits, clawed their way out—heavier than mountains, threatening to drown him in their weight.
Long-buried lies and illusions emerged, whispering promises of power and fulfillment—each a ghost haunting his mind.
Desire the seductive temptress, voice like silk and venom:
"Don't you want it all? Power, pleasure, eternal satisfaction?"
"Reach out—grab what you crave. It's right there, just beyond your grasp."
"But beware—chasing shadows only leaves you hollow, bleeding for illusions that vanish in the end."
Delusion the false prophet, voice echoing like a warped chant:
"See what's real? It's all just a mirage—an illusion crafted by your mind."
"Keep believing, keep dreaming—soon you'll wake up in paradise, far from this suffering."
"But deep down, you know—this fantasy is your prison, and you are its prisoner."
Anger the wrathful demon, voice like thunder cracking through the skies:
"You've been betrayed, abandoned, wronged—so what? Fight back! Destroy everything in your path."
"Let your rage fuel your blades—every insult, every wound—make them pay."
"And if you tear yourself apart in fury, at least you'll be alive—better than living in weakness."
Pride the proud king, voice like a commanding war cry:
"Stand tall. Never show weakness. You are meant to dominate, to conquer."
"Humility is a trait for fools. Your strength is in your unbreakable will."
"But beware—pride blinds even the strongest warriors. Pride comes before the fall."
Envy the jealous shadow, voice like a whispering blade:
"They have what you lack—respect, power, love. Why should they have it all?"
"Steal what's theirs—take their strength, their glory—become what you envy."
"But envy consumes you—turning your hunger into a relentless, burning fire."
Greed the hoarding specter, voice like a siren's call:
"More—more riches, more power, more control. Never be satisfied."
"Take everything you desire—nothing is enough, until you own the world."
"But greed corrupts—the more you take, the more hollow you become inside."
And through it all...
The Real Aryan stood at the center.
No backup. No reset button. No healing spell.
Just him… and every version of himself that hurt.
He grinned.
Blood trickled down the side of his lips, and his smile got wider. Not confident. Not brave. Just… too damn stupid to stop.
"You guys talk a lot for someone who lost to a mosquito once," he muttered.
SYSTEM:
"Bruh. These are your literal traumas. Maybe take it seriously?"
"You're facing years of unresolved emotion and your first instinct is sarcasm?"
Aryan blinked.
"Yeah, well… sarcasm is like breathing to me. And besides—these guys are me, right?"
He cracked his knuckles.
"Then I know exactly how they break."
The Inner Arena a Battle of Souls starts as a huge mind battle
Aryan stood alone in a vast, shadowed expanse an internal battleground where the mind and spirit clashed in silent warfare. The air was thick with the weight of unspoken struggles, and in the distance, shadowy figures emerged embodiments of his own deepest emotions.
First came Desire, a shimmering specter draped in silken fabrics, whispering honeyed promises. Its voice was seductive, laced with the allure of comfort and escape.
"Come on, just surrender. You've fought so hard—just one moment of peace. You deserve it, don't you?" Desire's voice echoed like a siren's song, curling around Aryan's resolve.
He clenched his fists, feeling the pull of temptation coursing through his veins. Images flickered—soft beds, sweet relief, the taste of fleeting pleasure. Desire moved closer, tendrils of warmth trying to entangle him.
Aryan gritted his teeth, stepping back. "No. Not this time." His voice was a low growl of defiance. But Desire persisted, reaching out with liquid fingers that shimmered in the dim light.
The specter lunged, and Aryan staggered as the seductive voice threatened to drown him. But somewhere deep within, he found a spark—an ember of strength.
"I control you, not the other way around," he muttered, pushing Desire away with a burst of willpower. The apparition melted into shadows, fading but never fully gone.
Next appeared Delusion, cloaked in comforting lies, a figure of false reassurance. It whispered softly, like a soothing lullaby.
"You're not that strong," Delusion murmured. "All this pain—your battles—they're pointless. Just accept it. It's easier."
The world around Aryan blurred as doubt seeped into his mind. His vision dimmed, the weight of falsehood pressing down.
"I see through you," Aryan said, voice firm despite the rising fog. "I know what's real. I know what I need to do."
Delusion's voice grew softer, more coaxing. "See? You're just dreaming. Wake up. Everything's already lost."
A shiver ran down his spine, but he steadied himself, anchoring his consciousness. His eyes snapped open, piercing through the haze.
He refused to be fooled. No matter how convincing the lie, he clung to clarity like a lifeline.
Then, thunder roared as Anger stormed into the arena—fiery, relentless, a blazing beast.
"They hurt you," Anger roared, eyes burning with fury. "Betrayed you, didn't believe you. They deserve to burn. Show them your rage let them feel your fury."
The flames of his own wrath ignited within, flickering and crackling, threatening to consume him. His fists clenched so tightly they ached, muscles trembling with suppressed violence.
"You think I'll let you control me?" Aryan challenged, voice shaking with suppressed fury. "I am not your weapon."
Anger advanced, fists pounding the air, a storm of raw emotion ready to burst. The clash was visceral fire against steel, chaos against calm.
But Aryan pushed through the inferno, forcing the flames back into the hearth of his soul. His voice resounded with resolve: "My rage is a tool, not a trap. I control it never the other way around."
The fury subsided, smoldering into embers as Aryan steadied himself.
Next, Pride entered a towering figure cloaked in shining armor, eyes gleaming with self-importance.
"You're the best," Pride boasted. "No one can touch you. You're destined for greatness."
A surge of ego swelled within Aryan, threatening to inflate him beyond reason. But he felt a warning whispering in his mind.
"Humility keeps you grounded," he reminded himself. "Pride can be a trap."
Pride's voice grew more insistent, echoing like a chorus of self-congratulation: "You're invincible. Nothing can stop you."
Aryan's chest tightened, caught between confidence and arrogance. He shook his head, rejecting the inflated praise.
"Humility keeps me true," he whispered, eyes narrowing. "Pride won't define me."
He cast Pride aside, refusing to be blinded by hubris.
Then, Envy emerged—a shadow cloaked in dark green, eyes burning with jealousy.
"Why do they have what you lack? Why do they succeed while you suffer?" Envy hissed, claws itching to tear.
Aryan's gaze darkened, a pang of ache in his chest.
"I don't need what they have," he declared, voice steady. "My path is mine."
But Envy's voice clawed deeper: "You're nothing without what others possess. You'll never be enough."
A bitter taste rose in his throat. His mind flickered with comparisons, longing, and resentment.
"Enough," Aryan said softly but with steel behind his words. "I focus on what I have—my strength, my purpose."
He pushed away the corrosive voice, sealing his resolve.
Finally, Greed slithered into view—a hungry, insatiable beast with eyes gleaming like jewels.
"More," Greed whispered, saliva pooling at its words. "More power, possessions, recognition. Only then will you be complete."
Aryan's hands clenched into fists, veins bulging.
"I don't need excess," he said, voice low but firm. "Contentment isn't in possessions. It's in control, in peace."
Greed's voice grew louder, more demanding: "Just one more step, one more upgrade—then you'll be satisfied."
He fought the craving, the hunger gnawing at his soul, resisting the lure of endless consumption.
"No," Aryan whispered fiercely. "I seek purpose, not possessions."
He refused to be swallowed by greed's endless hunger.
In the vast silence that followed, Aryan stood battered and breathless, but unbowed. Each shadow each emotion faded, not defeated but integrated into the fabric of his strength.
He looked inward, fists still clenched, chest rising and falling with resolve.
"You're all part of me," he whispered, voice steady. "But I decide who I am."
With a deep breath, he raised his fists once more, ready to face whatever emotion is left.
The battle was far from over, but now he knew within himself, he held the power to conquer.
Only one remained.
No name.
No voice.
Only Despair.
Watching silently from the edge of the void.
And the real fight… was just about to begin.
Only one remains.
The Seventh.
The most silent.
The most cruel.
The most patient.
He steps forward.
No words.
No sound.
Just a pressure.
Like gravity turning hostile.
The System trembles.
SYSTEM:
"Oh no. Not him. Not that one."
"We're not ready. We're never ready for him…"
Aryan gulps.
"Who is he?"
SYSTEM:
"...The one you pretend you don't feel.
The one who makes strength taste like ash.
The one you hid even from yourself."
"He's the one who whispers when everyone else is gone."
"Despair."
The final Aryan lifts his head.
Eyes like abyss.
Smile like a funeral.
He steps forward...