123- Crownless King of Pain
The clash between Moon and the Gandharva had become more than just a battle. It was spectacle, theater, and madness made manifest.
Every screen across the multiverse streamed their fight. Every media channel, every commentator, every streamer—eyes were locked on this confrontation. Not merely because the combat itself was ferocious—though it was destruction incarnate—but because of who Moon's opponent was.
Turu.
The Gandharva wasn't only a warrior; he was a celebrity, one of the multiverse's most beloved streamers. A fighter who never chose his own matches, who allowed his audience to dictate his opponents, and who faced every challenge with relentless confidence. He had fought countless battles, and the people adored him for it. To watch Turu fight was to watch bravery, charisma, and dominance made flesh.
And now, the world was watching him collide with a human who refused to bow.
The fight had become a furnace for the hearts of those watching. The blood of the audience boiled—not in anger, but in exhilaration. Every clash between fist and flame, between sound and lightning, drew them deeper. The crowd felt as though they themselves were in the jungle, exchanging blows, tasting blood, daring death.
Moon's manic defiance only stoked the fire. His crooked smiles, his laughter while drenched in agony, his rage-baiting words, his refusal to break even as his body cracked apart—all of it lit a strange kind of admiration.
For long minutes, the chat windows across thousands of streams had gone nearly silent. The watchers were spellbound, staring as Moon and Turu tore each other to pieces.
Then came the moment.
Moon lay sprawled on the ruined earth, his body smoldering, broken. Every watcher leaned closer, breath held.
And then, through bloodied lips, came the whisper.
"Heaven… Breaker."
The words echoed across streams, sending chills through every listener.
The explosion that followed was cataclysm. Purple lightning consumed the battlefield, bursting outward in waves that scorched the jungle itself, leaving fields of violet fire in its wake.
Millions watched in silence, waiting for the smoke to clear. Waiting to see which figure would remain standing.
The chat windows erupted, but not with noise—rather with frantic confusion, speculation, and nervous anticipation. Some swore Moon had done it. Others shouted that Turu was invincible. The Gandharva loyalists hurled abuse at Moon's supporters, while the new fans who had been swept into Moon's orbit argued back with equal fire.
Then, at last, the system message appeared.
Moon is eliminated.
The Gandharva's supporters went wild, their joy unrestrained. They cheered, laughed, and mocked those who had dared to believe in the broken human. Some even began sending abuse in the chat, spitting venom at Moon's new admirers.
But before their victory could settle—another notification flashed.
Turu is eliminated.
Silence.
The cheering halted mid-word. The insults froze in half-written form. Millions of eyes blinked in disbelief.
The host appeared, his voice cutting through the stunned air, explaining what had occurred. Turu's final attack had already struck true, eliminating Moon. But in the same breath, before the system could finalize the result, Moon's Heaven Breaker had detonated—dragging Turu down with him.
The battlefield was empty. Both combatants gone.
Turu's fans grieved their idol's loss. But something else had taken root.
Moon.
A man no one had known before this battle. A human who fought with madness and laughter in the face of annihilation. A warrior who smiled at agony and mocked gods as he bled. A fighter who, without a crown, without renown, forced a legend down with him.
Just as Apap had once been christened the "Shield of Thirteen," the multiverse now whispered a new title.
Crownless King of Pain.
And with that name, Moon's legend began.