Ajitha moved through the thick, soupy fog that clung to him like a second skin. Silence surrounded him—an eerie, suffocating silence that seemed unnatural, as if even the air itself held its breath. His senses, as powerful as they were, failed him; his soul power, unmatched even by the Celestial Monarchs, detected nothing.
He pushed forward, knowing he had to climb the sacred Kailas Mountain. Meeting Althaea had left him with questions that echoed deeper than he cared to admit—mysteries about Earth's history, lost tales of humanity's origins, secrets obscured by ancient barriers. Every step he took felt like an invocation, a steady drumming call to the spirits of the mountain. Minutes stretched into hours, hours into days, days into months. His breath was his only companion as the journey stretched beyond the limits of mortal endurance. Seasons seemed to blur, the passing time flickering like shadows cast by firelight. Ajitha's eyes grew weary, his vision dulled with the passing of what felt like lifetimes. His mind became an empty slate, barely tethered to his purpose.
Then, a sudden spark lit within him—his thoughts sharpened, and life flooded back into his gaze. He halted, a chilling realization creeping over him.
He whispered to himself, "This… this is an illusion." His voice, barely above a murmur, trembled with respect. "Such powerful deception… even I, who have achieved powers no other human has attained, was ensnared without realizing it." Ajitha let out a heavy sigh, respect mingling with frustration. "No wonder my predecessors failed to climb Kailas."
Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Ajitha closed his eyes. He began to calm his mind, centering himself. Slowly, he attuned his focus to his own heartbeat, letting go of thoughts, grounding himself by the deep, steady rhythm within. He anchored his mind to his purpose—the journey that awaited him, the secrets he needed to uncover. In his silent prayer, he invoked clarity and strength, feeling a wash of peace replace the creeping unease, the stifling grip of doubt releasing.
As the fog of illusion began to lift, he opened his eyes, his sight clear and unclouded. A few meters ahead lay the path he had struggled through, yet it felt… transformed, somehow newer. Before he could celebrate, he felt a shift—a weight pressing down on him with an unimaginable force.
In an instant, his knees buckled, and he collapsed under the sheer pressure. It was as though he bore the weight of a planet, each breath dragged from him with raw force. His muscles strained, his bones felt close to shattering, and his head swam as the intensity of it grew, grounding him to the spot. Ajitha's face was pressed to the rocky ground, and with incredible effort, he lifted his head, his jaw tight with determination.
---
Ajitha, who was suddenly thrust to the ground as if by an invisible force, felt his knees slam into the ancient soil, his body pinned with an overwhelming intensity. Gritting his teeth, he extended a trembling hand, fingers clawing into the coarse earth beneath him in an attempt to lift himself up. Yet, no matter how fiercely he willed his muscles to respond, his limbs refused to obey.
He struggled—seconds stretched into eternity—as if caught in a silent war between his indomitable will and an unseen adversary. After what felt like a minute of futility, Ajitha ceased his efforts. Not out of defeat. No. The fire in his eyes had not dimmed. He had simply paused to understand.
Still on his hands and knees, he closed his eyes and reached inward, centering his focus on his body. He expected to feel the crushing weight of gravity or the backlash of a spiritual force—but instead, his senses revealed something entirely different. His muscles were fine, unstrained. His bones were intact, and no external force seemed to be affecting his physical form. His robe, embroidered with faint celestial runes, shifted ever so slightly, caught in the breeze that swept across the barren expanse. The air around him was calm. Tranquil, even.
Ajitha's brows furrowed. "There isn't any physical pressure... then what is this?" he muttered to himself.
With newfound clarity, he turned his attention inward, diving deeper into the layers of his consciousness. He extended his awareness into the metaphysical web of his soul, and the answer struck him like a bolt of thunder.
His breath caught in his throat. "This... it's soul pressure."
He inhaled sharply. "It's not trying to crush my body. It's weighing down my very essence—my soul. But..." He paused, a spark of realization flickering in his eyes. "It feels like... it's not trying to kill me, but to test me... My pride?"
His eyes snapped open, pupils burning with defiance. The ancient soil beneath him no longer seemed lifeless—it felt like a sentient witness to his journey, one that dared to judge him.
Glaring at the earth with a mix of rage and bitter amusement, Ajitha spat, "Are you trying to tell me that everything I've achieved amounts to nothing?"
His voice, though cracked from exertion, echoed with venom. "The hell I've suffered to grow stronger… the sacrifices I made… the blood I spilled… You dare mock it?" His shoulders trembled—not from fear, but from the boiling fury within.
"The countless lives I've taken on this cursed path… The hope I carry… The future I fight for… Are you telling me it means nothing? Hehehe…" His lips twisted into a smirk as bitter laughter bubbled out of him. The sound was eerie, wild—almost manic—but beneath it was an iron resolve, forged in suffering and fire.
"You picked the wrong soul to test."
Ajitha planted both palms on the earth, his fingers splayed wide, veins bulging against his skin. The soul pressure intensified—now like the weight of a collapsing star pressing against the core of his being. But he didn't falter. Instead, he roared, and his arms trembled as he began to push himself upright.
"You think I'm a nobody?" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the invisible pressure like a blade of light. "No."
With a slow, agonizing effort, he rose to one knee.
"I am Ajitha!"
His second knee lifted, legs shaking like mountains resisting an earthquake.
"The strongest human alive!"
He stood—fully upright now—face raised, eyes gleaming with unshed fury and cosmic determination.
"And I will get my answers, even if it costs me my soul!"
His next step rang like a solemn drumbeat across the invisible plane. Each movement forward echoed not just through the air, but through the very fabric of his soul. As Ajitha advanced, every footfall became a proclamation—a declaration of identity, a testament to purpose. He gritted his teeth, enduring the relentless soul pressure that still bore down upon him, as if the heavens themselves were watching, testing.
His consciousness pulsed with raw pride and unshakable conviction.
Suddenly, his aura surged.
A blinding, ethereal light erupted from his back, illuminating the desolate plain in divine hues. From within that radiant blaze, a vague silhouette emerged—grand and otherworldly, a celestial figure of incomprehensible scale. Its form was undefined, a shifting mass of light and shadows. Yet one detail stood out with terrifying clarity: its eyes.
Two glowing voids, swirling with ancient power, fixated upon the realm. But instead of radiating light, they consumed it. Everything—light, energy, matter—seemed to spiral inward toward those eyes, as though existence itself feared their gaze. The figure stared silently for a moment… then vanished, as if it had never been there at all. But a figure behind him noticed this all.
Ajitha, unaware of the apparition, continued forward. His body trembled with effort, but his will remained firm. He clenched his fists, muttering beneath his breath, "At this rate, it might take a few months just to reach the peak."
As the words left his lips, a voice drifted on the wind—ancient and distant.
"You have been acknowledged."
Ajitha halted.
His body shuddered. Heart pounding, sweat dripping down his brow, he stood tall, breath ragged but steady. A faint smile began to form on his lips. He had endured the trial—he had been recognized. It was the validation he had fought for.
But just as the voice began to fade into silence, a cruel sound sliced through the air.
A laugh.
Mocking. Hollow. And unmistakably coming from the same ancient voice.
Ajitha's smile froze.
The pressure, which should have lifted, remained—as heavy and suffocating as before. If anything, it now felt more invasive, like a hand reaching into the very core of his soul, twisting it with contempt.
His eyes narrowed in confusion. "What's happening? I was acknowledged... wasn't I?" he muttered aloud, looking around warily. "Then why is the pressure still here? And who was laughing…?"
His instincts flared suddenly. An aura—cold, desolate, and utterly unnatural—brushed against his senses like a shadow crawling across his skin.
Ajitha turned.
Behind him, seated leisurely atop a crumbled pillar of what might once have been a monument, was a man. Or rather… something resembling a man.
The figure stared at him with a crooked smirk, amusement glinting in his lone visible eye. He was wrapped from head to toe in filthy, tattered bandages, as though holding together a broken body that should have long stopped functioning. The cloth was stained with old and fresh blood alike, clinging to torn flesh and open wounds. His entire form radiated an aura of agony, yet he sat casually, as if pain had become his oldest companion.
Ajitha's gaze locked onto the figure's face. Half of it was obscured by the bandages, but what was visible was pale and thin, marked with cracks and dried blood. A trail of crimson ran down from the top of his forehead, where a thick bandage strained to contain a gruesome wound. Blood continuously seeped from it, slowly sliding down his face like tears of suffering.
Then Ajitha noticed it.
At the center of the figure's forehead—beneath the soaked bandage—was a hole.
Not a wound of battle. Not a scar. But a cavity. As though something had once been embedded there… and had been violently plucked out.
Ajitha's blood ran cold.
"Who... is this?" he thought, his heart thudding like war drums. "How is he still alive? Everyone who remained on Earth perished in the catastrophic war. The planet was torn asunder, its atmosphere scorched away... Even breathing here is impossible for anyone who isn't sustained by mana. So then... what is this thing? A man? A corpse? Or something else entirely?"
The figure met Ajitha's gaze, unmoving, yet his mocking grin widened.
Far above the ruined Earth, orbiting in silence amid drifting debris and forgotten satellites, he stood motionless—the one who had come seeking Ajitha. A shimmering barrier of mana encased him, protecting his body from the lifeless void. His long robes, stitched with constellations and flowing like stardust, drifted gently in the vacuum. His gaze remained fixed upon the planet below—a husk of what it once was, scorched and scarred beyond recognition.
Despite the destruction, his eyes did not waver. He could not sense Ajitha—no qi, no soul signature, not even a trace of life. The silence was absolute.
And yet, he was not worried.
A quiet certainty anchored his heart.
"Ajitha will be safe," he whispered to himself, his voice almost swallowed by the stillness of space. "He must be."
But then… something changed.
A tremor passed through the mana field around him. It was faint—like the whisper of a forgotten dream—but it struck something deep within him. His pupils dilated. Something ancient… something dormant… resonated with the energy rising from Earth.
His chest tensed as an instinctual pulse surged through him.
And then it appeared.
Without warning, a figure materialized behind him—silent and majestic. He turned halfway, and his breath caught.
The figure was cosmic.
Not merely ethereal like the one Ajitha had unknowingly summoned, but complete. Entire galaxies rotated within its translucent form. Stars exploded and reformed in slow motion across its limbs. Black holes opened and collapsed within its chest. Nebulae bloomed like ancient flowers along its spine. Its very body was made of the universe… and something beyond it—something primal, unknowable, eternal.
And then there were its eyes.
Unlike the light-devouring voids of Ajitha's manifestation, this being's eyes held a fully bloomed lotus—perfect, intricate, serene. To gaze into them was to understand creation. It felt as if all existence had been birthed from those eyes… and all of existence would eventually return to them.
A tremor passed through the observer's body. Slowly, his own eyes began to change, mirroring the lotus blossom that now floated within his irises.
He inhaled sharply and immediately sealed the figure behind him, drawing it back into the depths of his being.
The transformation halted.
He stood still, clutching his chest, breathing heavily.
"That power…" he murmured. "Ajitha must be in danger for the dormant essence within him to awaken. The pressure must have forced it out to protect him…"
For a moment, he considered diving into Earth's ruined atmosphere—risking the chaos and unpredictability of the broken realm. But after a few seconds of contemplation, he exhaled and shook his head.
"No," he said softly, folding his arms behind his back. "This is a test Ajitha must face alone. If I intervene now, the price he paid to awaken that power would be meaningless."
---
On Earth…
The scorched soil beneath Ajitha crackled faintly under his feet as he stared at the strange man—**the warrior cloaked in blood and time**. The desolate wind howled through the skeletal remains of trees long dead, yet the figure before him remained eerily still, unmoved by the wind, the silence, or the weight of eternity.
Ajitha took a step forward, his breath uneven, voice firm yet wary.
"Who are you?" he called out. "And how are you still alive in this place?"
The bandaged figure lifted his head, revealing his lone eye gleaming with a strange light—a mixture of sorrow, madness, and defiance. Blood continued to leak from the wound on his forehead, staining the bandages down to his chest.
He smirked.
"I am a warrior with a burden," he said in a voice that sounded like stone cracking beneath years of pressure. "A soul caught between the last breath of mortality… and the curse of eternity."
His head tilted slightly. "I am a relic of an age that should have perished… yet I endure. Not alive. Not dead. Cursed… with immortality."
Ajitha's heart skipped.
A chill gripped his spine as the man's words echoed through him like the echoes of a forgotten hymn. The broken bandages, the eternal bleeding wound, the emptiness in the man's eye… it stirred something deep within Ajitha's memory.
A story.
An epic.
One he had read in his youth, countless times, in the age when Earth was still alive. A tale not just of war, but of dharma, of divine beings, of betrayal and eternal punishment.
His vision blurred as fragments of the old scriptures resurfaced.
The warrior who defied death…
The one cursed by Krishna himself to wander the Earth until the end of time…
The immortal, bound to suffer…
Ajitha's lips quivered as he staggered backward, disbelief carving across his face.
He spoke, his voice trembling.
"You… you… You are—"
His knees weakened.
"Ashwatthama…!"
The name left his mouth like a thunderclap.
The figure before him chuckled darkly, not denying it.
"I see… the tales survived," the man whispered, lifting his bloodied hand and wiping his face, only to smear the blood further. "But tales are always kinder than truth. They forget the agony… the loneliness… the madness."