Veil of Aether

“Oi.”

“Oh?”

“Oi.”

“Oh?”

“Oi?”

Kei M and Mia went back and forth like that for several minutes, their voices bouncing against each other like a game of verbal ping-pong.

Meanwhile, Kei Y sat cross-legged, unbothered, a scroll unrolled across his lap. His brush moved in steady, fluid strokes, each line of calligraphy more precise than the last.

It was happening during the same span of time Silvie had given Mahoraga her five-minute warning.

At first, no one was sure what Kei Y was doing, but it quickly became obvious the act calmed him. His breathing evened out, the tension in his body slowly uncoiling. What looked like nothing more than elegant writing carried a heavy personal weight for him.

“Are you feeling better, Khenu?” Inpu asked carefully.

Kei Y paused, shoulders easing. “…I think I can breathe for a bit more now. Thanks for asking.”

His words were steadier now, no longer ragged. Kei M leaned in, listening with his Sound Force. The layered, distorted tones that had haunted Kei Y’s voice earlier were gone.

“This way of writing… it’s calligraphy, isn’t it?” Kei M asked.

“Yeah,” Kei Y replied, brush gliding across the parchment. “I often… feel cramped. Like everything’s pressing in. This helps calm me down. These two words I keep writing…” He hesitated, searching for the right explanation. “…they keep me grounded. A reminder. A way to track who I am.”

“Well,” Kei M said absentmindedly, “if it helps, then that’s what matters. Honestly though, I’m more surprised someone with your background would be this skilled—”

He didn’t get to finish. Three pairs of hands—Kei Y, Mia, and Inpu—smeared calligraphy ink across his face in broad, childish strokes.

“…Oi—!?”

“This is the good stuff!” Kei Y laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained, the first true laugh he’d had since his panic attacks began. “Master got it for me. Vendor even guaranteed its quality when he sold it to her for me!”

Mia and Inpu burst into giggles while Kei M sputtered, ink dripping down his cheek. For once, Kei Y wasn’t fidgeting or tense. He was smiling.

But Kei M quickly discovered a problem. No matter how he scrubbed, the ink wouldn’t come off. Even vibrating his face with near-violent sound waves did nothing. His frustration mounted, embarrassment painting him red beneath the black ink.

“Don’t look at me,” Kei Y said with a grin. “Vendor sold it to Master. Go talk to him.”

The moment the words left Kei Y’s mouth, Kei M vanished.

A heartbeat later, a presence appeared beside the Vendor.

“Hey, Kei,” the Vendor greeted casually. “Want more food—?”

The only answer he got was a fist to the face, powered by dozens of stacked Resonant Shields.

The Vendor staggered back, feeling one of his teeth loosen. “That technique of yours is seriously dangerous… but hey, what’s your problem—?”

Kei M, ink still smeared across his face, didn’t bother replying. He lunged at the Vendor, fists flying, pounding away in pure exasperation.

From a distance, Auserre watched with arms folded, a faint warmth in her chest.

“Seems like he’s back to his old self,” she murmured, smiling ever so slightly.

For her, it looked as though a heavy weight had been lifted off Kei M’s shoulders.

Suddenly, Auserre felt a presence beside her. “Hmmm?”

“Aussie, we need to talk. Bring Khenu with you,” Oceanna’s voice cut in, low and urgent.

“Uh… okay, Master.”

Before Kei Y could blink, he found himself standing beside his Master and her Grandmaster. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but Oceanna spoke first.

“Auserre,” she said grimly, “I wasn’t successful in convincing that old vampire to hand over his blood. Even when I threatened to wipe out his entire clan, he swore he’d destroy every last drop before letting a molecule fall into my hands. I’m sorry—I couldn’t do more.” Her tone was uncharacteristically heavy, even apologetic. She had never seen her student so desperate for the sake of one of her students.

Auserre’s chest tightened at those words. Guilt and panic twisted inside her. The main reason she had invested so much in Kei Y was simple: the secrets buried within him were enough to drive entire universes insane. Forget Divine Realm beings—Supreme Gods themselves would wage war over him. And yet… she wasn’t strong enough to protect him if those secrets ever came to light.

Her brows furrowed, panic edging into her voice. “Master…” she whispered, almost on the verge of tears.

“Um…” Kei Y raised his hand sheepishly. “Why do I need his blood again?”

“I don’t even know, young one,” Oceanna admitted with a sigh. “But your Master is desperate for you to have it.”

“Hmmm?” Kei Y tilted his head. “I think you’ve got it backwards, Master.”

“What?” Auserre flinched.

“I don’t need his blood.” Kei Y’s tone was calm, steady. “I need to give him mine.”

Before Auserre could argue, Kei Y pulled up his status screen. The glowing text shimmered into view. Bond. This time, Auserre forced herself to read every word slowly, carefully, not letting her anxiety skip past the details.

By the time she finished, her heart sank. Her cheeks burned with guilt. She had been so blinded by her desperation to protect him that she’d dragged her Master into fruitless battles—all because of her own misunderstanding.

When Oceanna realized just how much trouble her student had put her through, she didn’t even bother scolding her. She simply ignored Auserre’s mortified expression and turned her attention back to the arena.

Her sharp eyes locked onto Silvie, who was clashing with Siddhartha.

“This one is truly talented,” Oceanna said, her tone tinged with awe. “You God Sparks are remarkable… your connection to your forces runs so deep you can even seize someone else’s domain.”

Suddenly, Oceanna felt a strange pulse in the air. She turned—and froze. Kei Y had just finished filling a small vial with his own blood.

“Should be like this,” Kei Y said, handing the vial over to her casually. “I don’t know if it’ll work, though. If that vampire’s as strong as Master, then probably not.”

Oceanna accepted the vial, confusion knitting her brow. But before she could ask, Kei Y’s aura surged. All of it. Every force he’d ever touched roared out at once, his kaleidoscope eyes flashing like prisms of infinite color.

“Lightning… fire… frost… gravity… healing… creation…” Oceanna whispered, her voice faltering. “You mean to tell me… you can wield all of these… because of your blood?”

Her gaze snapped toward Auserre, who flinched under the weight of her Master’s shock, guilt etched across her face. “Master, I… I really can’t tell you.”

“I don’t really care if you know or not,” Kei Y cut in flatly, his voice calm but steady. “But since Master doesn’t want me to say too much, this much I can tell you. When others consume my blood, I gain access to their forces. That’s the short version.”

Oceanna stared at the vial in her hand. As one who reigned near the pinnacle of the multiverse, her senses immediately recognized the power within. The density of it was staggering. “…Truly astonishing,” she murmured.

Her expression softened, thoughtful. “Whatever your secrets are, they’re yours and your Master’s to decide who should know. If even Auserre doesn’t want me to learn the full truth, then it must be something vast. I’ll respect her choice. But this ability… to gain access to forces through others consuming your blood…” She turned the vial in her hand, her eyes glinting. “…If I gave this to that old vampire, he wouldn’t dare consume it. No—he’d treat it as a racial treasure. Something to protect at all costs.”

“That’s too bad, I guess,” Kei Y said, shrugging lightly. “Thanks for trying to help, Grandmaster. When I get strong enough, all you have to do is say the word, and I’ll beat up anyone for you.”

He stepped forward suddenly, wrapping his arms around her. Oceanna blinked, startled, before a rare giggle slipped from her lips.

“Big words for a small guy,” she teased, ruffling his hair. “How about you just cook for me instead?”

“Deal,” Kei Y replied with a smile.

Auserre, meanwhile, stood frozen, her heart sinking. She had sent her Master on a pointless mission. Even if Oceanna had succeeded, the blood of that vampire would have done nothing for Kei Y. Because it wasn’t about receiving—it was about giving.

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“Sorry, Khenu,” she whispered, guilt trembling in her voice. “I thought I was helping you and instead I—huh?”

Her words cut off as she felt arms wrap around her waist. She looked down to find Kei Y hugging her, those wide eyes staring up at her with unshakable sincerity.

“Thank you, Master,” he said quietly. “I never had anyone try to help me this much.”

Auserre’s breath hitched, her composure cracking. She felt utterly helpless—yet at the same time, profoundly needed.

Kei Y slipped back to his seat with the others, his calligraphy scroll rolled away as his gaze fixed once more on the arena.

In the arena, the air split apart with a deafening crack. Silvie and Siddhartha parted after a fierce clash, their auras radiating so intensely the entire arena seemed to tremble.

Siddhartha wasted no time. His hands pressed together, golden sutras blazing across his body as multiple colossal arms of aether bloomed into existence around him. Each one swung down with terrifying weight, the pressure alone slamming outward like tidal waves before the blows even landed.

Silvie’s spark twitched, her threads tugging sharply. Mahoraga jerked forward like a puppet on strings, intercepting the golden constructs head-on. The arms slammed into him relentlessly, each strike ringing like thunder across the battlefield. Even for the Divine General, adapting to their sheer force was proving difficult—every blow strained his body to its limits.

Silvie, unbothered, flowed through the chaos with vines surging in her wake. She darted low, her whip lashing outward, blades of grass snapping into rigid bindings while her Life Force pulsed with radiant vitality. The strikes she unleashed weren’t just fast—they carried a weight that now bypassed Siddhartha’s earlier defenses.

Now, his body bore the marks of her assault.

Siddhartha’s brows furrowed, his breathing tightening as he shifted to meet her. Ironically, his breakthrough into the Specialist Class—the very thing that had given him newfound strength—had also thrown his balance into disarray. His enlightenment was still consolidating, his domain turning against him.

Behind him, the sacred tree of his domain twisted unnaturally, branches lashing at him under Silvie’s stolen control. He had to split his golden arms—half turning to subdue his own domain, the rest to contend with her frontal assault.

The gap was obvious.

His body, for all its new power, was left exposed. He was being forced to defend with his bare frame against Silvie’s unrelenting offense.

And Silvie did not hesitate. Life Force amplified every strike, her fists and vines battering him with growth, vitality, and the inevitability of nature itself. She struck with such frequency and intensity that each blow carved deeper, her strikes finally inflicted credible damage on the newly advanced Buddha.

For the first time, Siddhartha understood what true danger felt like.

BANG!

A palm slammed into Siddhartha’s abdomen, the impact driving a grunt from his lips as his golden arms recoiled around him.

Silvie tilted her head, marveling at the sturdiness of his body. Despite finally landing a strike that broke through, she couldn’t help but let out a bright, almost teasing praise.

“You really do deserve your flowers. You weren’t spoken of for nothing.”

Siddhartha exhaled sharply, his tone still calm, though a thread of unease crept in.

“…Heh, I do try, if anything. But I’m still surprised—how someone of your caliber remained unknown until now. And…” His brows furrowed slightly. “…what do you mean by flowers?”

Before he received an answer, Silvie’s aura unfurled.

The change was immediate—overwhelming. Her presence expanded outward, not in a violent surge, but in a blooming tide. Siddhartha’s breath caught in his chest as he watched nature itself take shape around her. Vines coiled, grass unfurled, and blossoms of every hue manifested in radiant detail. Silvie’s entire form became draped in floral essence, petals trailing off her like divine raiment. It wasn’t just power. It was beauty so raw it stole even the Buddha’s words from his lips.

“…Nature itself,” Siddhartha whispered, awe bleeding into his tone.

Silvie’s smile widened, sharp and knowing.

“My friend,” Siddhartha said softly, his composure settling back into place even as regret flickered through his eyes. “I’m sorry. But this… this now requires my full attention.”

He clasped his palms together. A golden sutra blazed across his chest, and with a single sweeping gesture, one of his aether arms swung down—not at Silvie, but at Mahoraga, pressure bearing down with the weight of a mountain.

BOOM!

The Divine General was struck squarely, his body flung across the arena. He slammed into the barrier wall and crumpled, the system’s mechanical voice announcing his elimination a heartbeat later.

Silvie’s grin dropped into a pout.

“Hey… I liked that puppet.”

Outside the ring, Mahoraga groaned, clutching his head. His vision spun, his body riddled with pain he couldn’t explain. He had no memory of being controlled, no understanding of why his limbs ached as though they’d been wrung dry.

But as he looked back into the arena, his breath stilled.

The sacred tree of enlightenment—the very heart of Siddhartha’s domain—was dispersing, golden leaves fading into motes of light. And Silvie… she stood cloaked in the personification of nature itself: vines, grass, blossoms woven into a mantle that made her look less like a child and more like a primordial spirit.

Mahoraga sighed, shoulders slumping. He could only accept his defeat in silence, humbled by the sight.

Inside the arena, Siddhartha lowered himself into a seated position, his hands pressed together. Behind him, golden arms fanned out in radiant symmetry, each one brimming with concentrated aether.

“This,” he said evenly, his voice carrying through the arena, “is my current strongest capability. My newfound cultivation is still consolidating. I cannot yet wield my full strength. But even in this state, I am stronger than I ever was as a Soldier Class.”

His glowing eyes lifted, meeting Silvie’s playful yet predatory gaze.

“And considering you are only a Recruit Class… my handicap should be more than enough to even this fight.”

The crowd went silent, all attention riveted to the stage.

Because despite his words, despite his calm, there was no mistaking the truth.

Siddhartha wasn’t downplaying Silvie’s strength. He was admitting her power was enough to push a newly advanced Specialist into taking her seriously.

Silvie’s spark reformed into a scarf, and as if on cue, she launched her assault at the exact moment Siddhartha moved. Her scarf lashed outward, colliding with the golden arms that fanned out behind him. The force of the impact sent violent tremors through her arms, while Siddhartha remained seated, his hands pressed together as he calmly endured.

Her speed spiked sharply. Like a bee darting from flower to flower, Silvie zipped around him, her scarf lashing out again and again like a venomous stinger.

Siddhartha did not rise. Seated in unshakable composure, he guided his golden’s arms to intercept. Golden constructs broke off from the halo fanning behind him, meeting her blows with precision. Each clash rang out with force, and when vines surged from Silvie’s heels to barrage him from every angle, he calmly diverted several arms to form a barrier, weaving offense into defense without faltering.

He was on the full defensive, yes—but it was a defense born of mastery. The pressure weighing on him was new, intense, almost suffocating. Yet even as Silvie pushed harder, she was beginning to understand why the Buddha was spoken of in myth as a pinnacle figure of strength. Why his image had inspired cultivation paths, techniques, and philosophies across stories.

This was no hollow legend. The weight of his mythos was well-earned—and this was only him as a freshly advanced Specialist. He hadn’t yet stepped into the true realms of the Divine.

At this point, Silvie had no choice but to take Siddhartha’s words for what they were. She was still only a Recruit Class—below level ten, without even a core formed. God Spark or not, her potential eclipsing Siddhartha’s meant nothing if she couldn’t draw upon it fully. In a battle of attrition, she would lose. She knew that.

So she decided to end it in one final strike.

Her thoughts flickered back to her earliest days of training.

“...Ow.” A much younger Silvie whimpered, tiny fingers brushing the bump forming on her forehead.

“‘Ow?’” Ren Sui chuckled, kneeling to ruffle her hair. “Is that something Earth’s future protector is supposed to say?”

“She’s really strong…” Silvie pouted, pointing to the sparring partner who had floored her with ease.

Ren Sui followed her gaze, then simply rubbed the bruise with careful hands. “Yes, she is. But that’s a good thing, isn’t it? She’s the blade you’ll wield one day to protect all of us. So it’s good she’s strong.”

He reached into his sleeve and placed her favorite plush in her hands—a small owl wrapped in a scarf. She had clutched it since birth, a constant companion.

“With her around, you’ll even be able to protect Mr. Owl.”

Silvie hugged the plush tightly, scarf brushing her cheek. Her big eyes softened, but her stance hardened again. “Mmhm.” She nodded fiercely, determination blazing through the pain.

Back in the present, that same determination blazed brighter than ever.

Siddhartha’s eyes widened as Silvie’s scarf began to unravel. Threads spilled outward like rivers of viridian light, weaving into something vast, intricate, terrifying. Vines coiled, blossoms unfurled, and lotus petals drifted through the air as the construct took shape.

Before him rose a colossal owl, wings layered in lotus petals, its body a lattice of vines and flowers woven together by Silvie’s spark threads. Every strand pulsed as though alive, binding the image into one seamless, overwhelming whole.

The owl spread its wings.

Lotus petals scattered like falling stars, each one planting into the arena floor. The moment they touched, vines erupted from the earth, curling upward, coiling tight, dragging at everything caught in their reach.

The battlefield bloomed.

Silence fell—so heavy, it smothered even the roar of the crowd.

Siddhartha inhaled deeply, steadying his spirit. His eyes glowed as sutras flared across his body, golden light saturating every pore of his being. Behind him, his golden arms dispersed, collapsing inward—only to reform into something greater.

A massive golden construct rose in his image, seated in lotus posture, serene yet unyielding. The colossal Buddha exhaled with him, its gaze lifting toward the owl that bore the essence of nature itself.

Then, with the stillness of a predator and the inevitability of nature, the owl descended. Threads contracted, vines and blossoms collapsing inward in a devastating convergence.

The golden Buddha moved.

Its titanic palm rose, radiant and solemn, carrying the weight of boundless enlightenment. With perfect timing, it struck upward, colliding with the Lotus Owl Bloom in a clash that defied words.

The arena shook. Stone cracked. The shockwave rolled through the stands like a tidal wave.

Lotus petals turned to storms of light as they scattered across the battlefield. Golden radiance shattered against viridian bloom, the two forces grinding, twisting, and consuming one another in an apocalyptic struggle.

For a heartbeat, the whole world seemed caught between serenity and devastation.

The crowd wasn’t sure how long it took for the dust to settle. Seconds? Minutes? Time seemed meaningless as they stared into the swirling haze. But when it finally lifted, the sight that met them left the arena in stunned silence.

The stage was gone—utterly destroyed. What had once been solid stone was reduced to rubble and fractured craters, the ground carved by forces beyond anything they had ever seen. And all of this… from a battle where one of the combatants was still just a Recruit Class.

A murmur spread like wildfire through the stands. To fight to such an extent—to cause this level of devastation—it was beyond belief.

Siddhartha stood among the ruins, his golden construct looming behind him like a guardian spirit. He let out a long, measured sigh.

“…This isn’t even your full strength, is it?”

Across from him, Silvie straightened, her cloak of nature still draped around her. The threads of her spark pulled together, reconstructing the shattered form of Lotus Owl Bloom piece by piece. Her expression was calm, unbothered—almost playful.

“Not even close, if I’m honest,” she said with a soft exhale. “But it feels like overkill to reveal everything here.” Her eyes lingered on the golden Buddha. “I wonder… if I used Pristine Aether, would Lotus Owl Bloom have blown a hole straight through that construct?” she thought to herself.

Siddhartha studied her carefully. Not a hint of exhaustion showed on her face. No faltering in her breath. No desperation in her eyes. She had said she wasn’t using her full strength—and in this moment, he fully believed her.

Before she could ask if he was ready for another round, the golden construct behind him began to dissolve, light scattering like dust in the wind. Siddhartha turned his back to her, his voice steady.

“This was an excellent fight, Sanu. If fate allows it, I hope to meet you again—not as an enemy, but as a friend, in discussion.”

The system’s cold chime followed his words:

[Amunar vs India]

[Winner: Amunar]

“I hope to see you again too, Buddha,” Silvie called after him with a wave.

Her cloak of nature dispersed, threads unspooling as Lotus Owl Bloom shrank in size. The great owl construct fluttered toward her, tiny now, flapping awkwardly before unraveling back into her scarf. She giggled, stroking the fabric fondly before draping it over her head once more.

Then, with a spring in her step, she turned and made her way back to the stands.

"Hop."

"Hop."

"Hop."