122- Heaven Breaker
Moon might have looked cocky—his grin manic, laughter sharp, words dripping with venom. But beneath that wild façade, his body was a crumbling ruin. Burned flesh peeled away in charred strips, blood soaked his torso in uneven streaks, and his bones groaned beneath every motion. His nerves shrieked with unbearable agony.
And yet… he savored it.
Pain was not punishment. It was sustenance. Every fracture was a feast. Every scorch a delicacy. The torment filled his mind with sparks of ecstasy, the agony fueling him like a drug he could never quit.
He reveled in it.
Moon launched forward, faster than a 18% Speed of Light . The air itself cracked in protest. Shockwaves rippled outward as his battered body blurred into motion. His fists rained down, relentless—a storm without rhythm, a hurricane without mercy.
The Gandharva's veena hummed like a living thing. No longer a sacred instrument, it had become a weapon—an executioner's hammer. The polished frame whistled as it swung, clashing against Moon's fists, deflecting strikes with brutal precision. Every collision rang out like clashing cymbals, steel and wood screaming against flesh and bone.
Moon's punch speared forward, aiming straight for the Gandharva's jaw—
—when the veena swung low.
CRACK!
The blow landed square on Moon's waist. His hip bones splintered with the sound of shattering stone, pain detonating through his spine like molten lightning.
Moon snarled. He didn't retreat. Didn't falter. His body screamed, but his spirit howled louder. Shoving both of the Gandharva's hands aside, Moon twisted at the waist, his entire body coiling into a spring of raw violence.
His leg snapped out.
A spinning kick, air splitting around it like a blade.
BAM!
The Gandharva's body lurched, hurled through the air as though struck by a battering ram. He crashed into the ruins with bone-jarring force, stone and dust exploding outward.
But Moon wasn't finished.
Before the dust even settled, he was there—already upon his foe. His arms descended in a storm of knife-hand strikes, each chop cutting through the air with the precision of a guillotine. His hand-blades slammed into the Gandharva's chest, hammered against his throat, gouging flesh and rattling bone.
Blood sprayed. The Gandharva reeled, chest heaving, throat spasming under the barrage.
And then Moon twisted once more, muscles snapping taut. His body spun like a whip, heel arcing high, slicing down in a ruthless Brazilian kick aimed straight for the Gandharva's skull—
The world seemed to freeze in that heartbeat.
The Gandharva's eyes widened, his pupils dilating as death came spiraling toward him.
And then—
The veena rose again.
Wood met flesh.
Dham! Dham! Dham!
The sound was deafening, each block sending shockwaves of force bursting outward. The Gandharva's veena absorbed the storm of strikes, his four arms lashing back in ruthless retaliation.
Knees, elbows, and fists rained down like meteors, every blow carrying the weight of both rage and mastery. The Gandharva's four limbs moved as if they belonged to separate warriors, overlapping in a chaotic, unending symphony of destruction.
Moon's arms came up, forearms slamming into the onslaught. Sparks of pain erupted with every block. His skin tore. Bone shrieked. But he stood unbending, his grin widening with every strike that landed.
The forest shook. The earth quaked.
Perfect. Let's stretch this scene into something that feels like it belongs in an epic fantasy battle—the kind where every blow is cinematic, every insult heavy, and every clash shakes the world. I'll keep everything you wrote, but deepen the descriptions, expand the imagery, and give the fight that expert, immersive weight.
---
Moon and the Gandharva were no longer men. They were storms—furious, unrelenting, colliding with the wrath of gods.
Dham! Dham! Dham!
The ground fractured beneath their feet. Each blow rattled the air like thunder trapped in a cage. Sparks leapt with every impact, fire and lightning crackling together in a dance of ruin.
"You're not talking anymore," the Gandharva spat between blows, his four arms moving in a blur, eyes blazing like molten suns.
Moon's laughter tore through the storm. Ragged, broken, but maddeningly alive. Even as he blocked the incoming barrage, even as his arms bled from the sheer force of the strikes, his mocking voice rang out:
"You wanna get roasted? Fine, listen—
Four arms and still can't land a proper hit? Bro, even toddlers clap louder than your sound attacks."
The words cut deeper than any blade. The Gandharva faltered, his strikes slowing for the briefest of moments. A smirk tugged at his lips despite himself.
"You sure are a cocky brat," he admitted, tone dark yet tinged with admiration. "I like you, my friend. But I'm not here to lose."
Then his expression hardened. His chest swelled.
He inhaled.
Deep. Long. Like he was swallowing the very air of the battlefield. And then—he exhaled.
A torrent of flame erupted from his mouth. Not a breath, not a stream, but a river of fire, cascading forward with the fury of a volcanic eruption. The forest around them wilted instantly, trees blackening and curling into ash.
Moon vanished inside the blaze.
The world stank of burning flesh. His skin blistered, peeling away in strips, muscle beneath searing red. His hair shriveled in patches, his clothes burned to nothing but glowing embers clinging to his ruined frame.
The Gandharva's eyes narrowed. He had burned armies to cinders. He had silenced monsters with a single breath. No mortal could withstand the purity of Gandharva flame.
Yet—
Moon staggered forward.
Essence surged from the holster at his side. Threads of light spilled out, weaving across his body, re-stitching fabric into being. His outfit reformed in an instant, pristine where his body was ruined.
And through scorched lips, laughter bubbled.
"Hahahahaha!" Moon coughed blood, spat a tooth, and still grinned. "What do you call this attack?" He spread his arms mockingly wide, chest heaving with every breath. "Sneezing candle flame!"
The Gandharva's composure wavered. A flicker of doubt, of fury, of disbelief. This man—this battered, broken human—laughed in the face of fire itself.
Moon's eyes narrowed. His grin was no longer mockery—it was rage incarnate.
And then… he let go.
No stances.
No techniques.
No strategy.
Only raw fury.
Moon hurled himself forward, fists swinging in wild abandon. His blows came in a hurricane of chaos, arcs of lightning snapping with every strike. There was no rhythm, no elegance—just violence given form.
The Gandharva roared in answer, dismissing his veena with a thought. His four arms flexed, veins bulging, and he met Moon with his bare fists.
Fire met lightning.
Flame-wreathed punches hammered into electrified knuckles. Every impact was a detonation, sending shockwaves that toppled the remaining trees, cratering the ground beneath their feet. The battlefield itself groaned under the weight of their clash.
They were no longer warriors trading blows.
They were beasts.
Primal. Ferocious. Stripped of reason, consumed only by the need to break, to crush, to dominate.
Each strike was a declaration.
Each roar, a promise of destruction.
And neither storm would yield.
His excitement boiled over—he screamed to release it, wordless at first, then mad, unhinged:
"Alu! Alu! Alu! Alu! Alu! Alu! Alu!"
The chant echoed, animalistic, until—
Moon's danger sense flared. His body moved instinctively, arms crossing before him.
BOOM!
The Gandharva's four fists came down like war drums, each strike a symphony of destruction.
CRACK! CRUNCH! SNAP!
Moon's bones gave way under the onslaught. His arms snapped grotesquely, hanging like broken branches, bound only by scraps of torn muscle and trembling tendon.
The final blow hurled him across the battlefield like a discarded ragdoll. He hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud, the earth itself splintering beneath his body. Dust billowed, ash rained, and silence followed—a silence punctured only by the wet rasp of his breath.
Moon lay crumpled. His skin was scorched, blistered and peeling in ragged sheets. His hair, once dark and wild, was now nothing more than brittle patches of burned strands. His face was a grotesque mask of ruin, seared raw and dripping blood. His arms dangled uselessly at his sides, the sight alone enough to make lesser men faint.
And yet—
The smile was gone.
The battlefield seemed to lean into that absence, the weight of it heavier than any roar.
But the Gandharva… he still smiled.
Barely. His own body was ravaged. His jaw hung at a fractured angle, ribs shattered beneath his heaving chest, one leg bent at a sickening angle. Blood poured from him in thick rivulets, soaking the cracked earth at his feet. Each breath was a battle. Each movement, agony.
Still, he staggered forward.
"You…" he rasped, voice shredded, hoarse as gravel. His four arms twitched, spasmed, but lifted regardless. "Damn, human… what's your name? You really are something else. Wanna be my friend?"
One of his trembling hands extended.
Moon, lying broken, lifted his head. Blood oozed down his chin. Slowly, painfully, he spat. The crimson spray landed square on the Gandharva's palm.
"Can't shake with broken arms," he muttered, voice guttural, yet steady. "Take the spit instead."
The Gandharva froze. Then, against all reason—he laughed. A deep, thunderous laugh that echoed through the ruin. Not anger. Not mockery. But genuine admiration.
"Your rage bait…" he wheezed, clutching his stomach as his laughter cut into broken ribs. "Ten out of ten. Maybe it's not your fists that wrecked me… maybe it's your damn mouth. Otherwise…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Ah, forget it."
The warmth in his laugh died. His eyes hardened once more.
"It's sad. You have to be eliminated this early," he said, voice low, almost mournful. "If you hadn't met me… you'd have easily crossed three hundred . But luck—luck is not on your side."
His four arms rose, slow but deliberate. The air hummed. The ground cracked under the weight of his aura. This was the finishing strike—the end of Moon.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
And then—
Moon whispered.
"Heaven… Breaker."
Purple lightning seared into existence. Not from the sky, but from within his broken arm. Sparks crawled across his shredded flesh, veins glowing like molten wire. The shattered limb convulsed, tendons straining, as if his body could no longer contain what he had summoned.
The Gandharva's eyes widened. "Impossible—"
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
The earth split as thunder roared. Light swallowed the battlefield, a detonation of divine fury wrapped in storm. Trees were obliterated. Ruins disintegrated. The heavens themselves seemed to split as the world drowned in violet fire.
To be continued…