"Eye of Akasha."
It was the final revelation of the Mortal Sense, a state achieved only when perception aligned perfectly with the strings of Fate and Karma themselves.
"I thought the Mortal Sense was already illogical," Ferdinand had once murmured, half in awe, half in disbelief.
Indeed, the Mortal Sense already resided beyond the bounds of logic — a realm where reason fractured beneath the weight of intuition and insight.
Yet the Eye of Akasha… it transcended even that. It was a realization so incomprehensible it forced Ferdinand to question the very foundation of existence.
"Akasha is both the beginning and the end. The past, present, and future are all chronicled in the Akashic Records, waiting for the universe's silent perusal."
Such was the esoteric teaching: the legend of the Akashic Records — a cosmic archive containing every event, every thought, every flicker of existence ever woven into reality, meticulously chronicled within a single, eternal record.
It was not meant to be gazed upon by any mortal, divinity, nor existence itself — for even existence was but a single page within its infinite script.
And yet, there was Brahman: the silent witness beyond all measure and all time.
Where Akasha remembered, Brahman beheld. In that infinite stillness, the Records unfolded like reflections upon an unbroken mirror, seen only by a consciousness that transcended even the all-knowing.
But there remained a truth too profound to easily grasp: "What, exactly, is Brahman?"
"Though it is not true divinity, it grants me small glimpses of omniscience."
Baal had spoken of omniscience, yet Kurian remembered that he, too, had touched it — if only briefly — when Baal had evoked the 'Entropic Heat Death of the Universe.'
In that moment, Ferdinand glimpsed beyond the veil of dissolution, perceiving the hidden meaning behind Baal's words: "No matter what one may do, or where they go, their life would eventually lead back to me."
It was not merely a boast. It was a decree — the very essence of dissolution speaking through Baal.
Yet… what was dissolution? Perhaps the better question was: "Why does dissolution occur, and why does it exist at all?"
Every form of dissolution was, in truth, a renewal of the old world. As one reality ended, another took shape. Dissolution was never finality; it was merely transformation.
Yet it was still death, and death alone was enough to make any soul tremble.
When Ferdinand faced Baal's cataclysmic, universe-ending strike, clarity struck him like lightning.
"I am fighting to borrow time for humanity. And having already weakened Baal, my death here would not be an end; it would simply pave the way for a new world for those in the Garden of Eve."
That realization was the key. If his death did not signify the end of his ethos, then there was nothing to fear — not even dissolution itself.
In that moment, Ferdinand transcended everything. He became Brahman incarnate, untouched by annihilation, a singular presence beyond the reach of even the cosmos' finality.
Drip— Drip—
Raindrops fell relentlessly, each one reflecting a fragment of the world, shards of the universe forming an image incomprehensible in its totality — yet perhaps that was the way of things.
"Perhaps you are better suited to be a musician or a dancer, since you are favored by the Lord of Dances."
At the time, Ferdinand had not given it much thought. He believed sheer effort could overcome any limitation, yet the signs were undeniable.
While others woke early to drill, honing muscles and instincts, he found quiet joy in the songs of morning birds.
While others stood on guard during festivals, alert and vigilant, he felt a pull to join in — to move with the music, to lose himself in the rhythm and joy surrounding him.
Paa—
He still remembered the sting of his teacher's hand, delivered with uncompromising authority: "If you want to dance and sing, then leave the army at once."
The fierce expression carved into the teacher's face struck deeper than the blow itself: "One swayed by trivial pleasures like dance and music, which bring no contribution to our fight against demons, has no right to be here."
It was the first time Ferdinand had confronted raw, unfiltered anger. In that instant, the weight of responsibility crushed his heart, imprinting a lesson that would never fade.
"Forsake being a poet who romanticizes music, dance, and artistry, and become a man who romanticizes war, blood, and valor."
Tears welled in Kurian's eyes as he relived that searing pain—the decision to abandon everything he loved.
Drip— Drip—
Black tears traced paths down his cheeks as his body collapsed to knees and elbows, burning with grief.
Splat—
For a fleeting moment, like a nightmare, his left eye socket seemed to hollow. A blink dispelled the illusion, yet unease lingered.
Water droplets splashed his face as his vision dissolved into blur after blur, until only stark, unyielding whiteness remained.
Blindness descended, panic surged, and Kurian shuffled forward, drenched and disoriented, stripped of weapons, identity, and the certainties of a Field Marshal. The world had become an endless expanse of white.
In a raw and trembling voice, he called out: "Mother… Mother…"
Scrambling through thorny bushes, his body slick with rain and mud, droplets of blood mingling with grime from a scraped nose, he fell again and again, each frantic step punctuated by desperate cries: "Mother… Mother…"
In that moment, all his teachings, his disciplined composure as a Field Marshal, and even his very identity as Kurian vanished.
Reduced to a terrified six-year-old, he sought nothing but the solace of his mother's embrace, a refuge from the fear that had overtaken him.
As the young, helpless pup ran toward his mother, the fox was pinned in chains of ice, and the man she loathed most sneered, "Still not willing to say where you're hiding him, eh?"
"Give up, Kraven," Serena spat, her voice dripping with defiance. "Even if you torture me, I will not reveal it."
"Is that so?" Kraven — Kurian's father — stomped on her head, venom lacing his words. "Then I will just have to torment your insides, though I cannot harm your face at the behest of my client."
"Go ahead," Serena spat back, bracing herself to erupt into jade the moment he tried to harm her remaining pride.
"Hmm." Kraven reached for her hair, when suddenly a faint, desperate voice echoed through the wetland: "Mother… Mother…"
The men froze, and Serena's eyes widened. "Kurian?" she whispered. Kraven's gaze followed the sound, eyes widening in gleeful anticipation. "So the boy came for his beloved mother after all," he muttered.
Kraven was about to command his men to pursue when Serena bellowed: "You damn brat!"
Her Resonance flared violently. Jade shards erupted from her body, shattering the icy chains binding her, lunging toward the source of the voice with lethal speed. The shards pierced the men, striking even Kraven, biting into his flesh.
"That bitch!" he roared, brandishing his weapon. "After her!"
"Haah — Haah —"
Serena sprinted through the muddy terrain, face contorted in fury as her mind raced. 'That insolent brat! Why did he come back?! I swear, when I find him—!!?'
Her thoughts stopped mid-curse as her eyes fell upon the very person she had been angry at.
There he was: wounded by thorns, mud-covered, rain-streaked tears across his face. Blindly running, crying out for his mother's embrace — he pierced every layer of her anger.
"Mother… Mother…" he cried, stumbling, lost to the world around him.
"Kurian!" Serena's heart ached. The rage that had fueled her moments ago dissolved, replaced by a wave of maternal sorrow and tenderness.
Kurian crashed into her arms, trembling and broken, clinging desperately, repeating again and again, like a prayer: "Mother… Mother…"
"Kurian, what's wrong, my dear?" Serena asked, her voice trembling. The pursuers behind her no longer mattered; nothing did except her son's agonized cries.
"It burns! It burns! My eyes — it's… it's all white!" Kurian shouted, voice cracking with terror.
He began muttering incoherently, words dissolving into gibberish. Serena cupped his face, trembling fingers gently prying open his tightly shut eyelids, and her heart sank.
"What happened to your eyes?" she demanded.
His eyes — those teal irises inherited from her — were gone. In their place remained only a pure, milky white, as if color itself had been stripped from his soul.
"It burns! It burns, Mother! Mother!" Kurian wailed, clutching Serena's garments as rain and tears mingled.
"The raindrops… they fell on them… my eyes… it burns! Mother, can you blow on them?" he pleaded helplessly, reaching as if her breath alone could soothe the agony.
Without thinking, Serena leaned forward and exhaled softly over his eyes. The moment her breath touched them, the white clusters pulsed violently.
"ARRGH!" Kurian screamed, writhing in her arms. The agony burst forth like the violent birth of a star, tearing through the storm, reverberating across the heavens like creation itself screaming into existence.
Ripples spread across the surface of the milky-white clusters, agitated by her breath. They darkened, swirling rapidly inward, converging on a single, light-devouring point.
No pupil formed — only an abyss where an iris should have been.
From that utter darkness, a midnight-black singularity bloomed, instantly ringed by spirals of teal, violet, and solar gold — newborn stars weaving through a fragile nebula.
Within the tear-streaked sphere, a universe shimmered — vast, beautiful, terrifying. All of creation contained in a single gaze.
"???" Serena could only watch, breathless, as the cosmos stared back at her through her son's newly formed eyes.
Yet what seized her breath was the singularity at the center — a depth so vast it seemed to draw her very soul inward.
Her vision tunneled through it, slipping past stars, galaxies, and oceans of cosmic light until she reached a single mote of bluish dust. Within that speck, she beheld two figures — a mother and her child, wrapped in a tender embrace.
"T-That's… me, and Kurian," she whispered, voice trembling.
For a fleeting instant, when she gazed into her son's eyes — eyes that now held creation itself, she saw herself and Kurian exploding into a blooming jade lotus.
"There she is!" a voice roared behind her, shattering the vision as the world snapped violently back into form.
The men had caught up, but Serena, caught in a meditative state, surged her Forte to its absolute limit and whispered, "Bloom."
Dash—
"—!!?"
Jade shards erupted from her like a storm of lethal green fire. Kurian, desperate to flee, barely caught sight of them slicing through the air. But the merciless jade spared no mercy. Each fragment carved devastation in its path.
One shard pierced his left eye, stealing sight in an instant. Another embedded itself deep in his right shoulder, driving pain down his arm.
A third tore into his left pectoral, rending muscle and leaving him gasping. One slammed into his right thigh, buckling his legs beneath him.
Another struck his lower right abdomen, searing flesh with precise cruelty. A final shard ripped through his left forearm as he instinctively tried to block the assault.
Pain erupted with each strike, a relentless symphony of agony. Yet Kurian's gaze remained fixed on Serena. Her eyes, heavy with exhaustion yet full of concern, met his. "Why are you crying?" she murmured weakly.
Kurian's lips quivered, but he forced them still. He grounded himself in the reality of what had just transpired, seizing control of his senses.
Despair, as in his previous life, became a gateway — a catalyst drawing him closer to the state of Brahman.
His mind cataloged every incident: every fragment of fear and pain that had led him here. The terror, the fleeing, the trembling embrace of his mother, each etched itself into his consciousness, forming a pattern now perceptible to him.
The Fourth Eye: the Eye of Brahman. Not merely another layer of perception, it was a state beyond comprehension.
To attain it was to transcend samsara, surpassing even Nirvana — a plane where all existence, suffering, and illusion converged into ultimate understanding.
In that instant, Kurian glimpsed every thread of fate and the weaving of karma. He realized that must now dodge her blossom, avoid being caught in its bloom, and... betray his mother, letting her die alone in this act of defiance.
Karma, cyclical and inevitable, had played itself out once more. Just as his mother had betrayed him, he too was now fated to betray her in this life.
Profound sorrow flooded him, yet he could only convey it through the subtle trembling of his cosmic eyes, unable, in that moment, to voice the words: "I am sorry."
As Serena's vision darkened and Kurian felt his consciousness slipping, the men who had arrived too late could only stand frozen, powerless to act, as the chaos unfolded before them.
Watching the scene, Kraven's furious roar — not from grief over losing those he had any real connection with, but from the anger of a lost business opportunity — tore through the darkened skies: "DAMMIT!"
To be continued...
***
A/N: Alright, Chapters 8 and 9 are done. Holy, this sequence of events was about 15,000 words long! It's great that I was able to shorten it to around 4,200 words.
Honestly, I would have posted the two chapters yesterday, but I went to watch the new Chainsaw Man movie, and I didn't want my mind already muddled before watching it, and oh boy, I was feeling so glad yesterday.
I haven't read the manga and decided to just watch the anime. Luckily, the show was at night, and yesterday, my mother had said she wanted to tag along.
She knows Japanese and watches anime like Apothecary Diaries, but when I showed her Chainsaw Man, she lost interest.
And oh boy, I'm so glad she didn't tag along because there's no way I could have explained those scenes in the first half to her. You would have never see post again if that had happened.
Also, here's an image idea for what Kurian's eyes look like.