Chapter 187: Third Eye

The brisk, warm wind came back to the Pastor's face. The body throwing the chop and reminding him about the kick. The strike was coming almost instantly, with his Chakra arms forced to take the hit instead of his eyes. Manipura would be raised on instinct, the Pastor recognizing that arm and had it open its palm so as to catch the kick, feeling the drilling sensation cut through its hand, yet one solid grip was enough to throw him across the area. The King would have his back struck as a result, adding onto the pain he felt previously. "Tch! Damnit....I was so close to blinding yo-. . ." He would began, before pausing himself. Malak could see it in clear view, watching the dust depart as the Churchman stood his ground. He could see both of his eyes being greyed out, not a single color left on his pupils. Upon such a sight, he'd began to laugh. Harder, and harder, he'd laugh. Cackling, even. Manipura realized such laughter was his signal, healing himself once more with Anahata and staring blindly back all the same. "I DID IT!!! I DID IT!!! THIS, IS WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A KING!!! THIS IS IT!! POWER, DOMINATION, ABSOLUTION! THIS IS WHAT IT ALL MEANS!!! I WON! I WON!!!" The King would cry out, cackling harder and harder, almost enough to die out of laughter, struggling to breathe at such a chance offered before his eyes.

The Pastor merely smirked as he'd slowly make his way towards the Statue, sliding his feet across the bloodied earth so as to not catch his attention. Malak would, however, catch his breath and focus back on the situation at hand, rushing forward and charging his magic in the same manner. He was following in the footsteps of his very past, though something was warning him that he shouldn't blindly attack someone, despite them being impaired. Something was telling him that the Pastor held more tricks upon his sleeve than he would assume. To ensure his hit would connect, he'd act flimsy, casting his rotation towards his very body, speeding around the Pastor in order to keep him in one place, setting up his Final Gambit. However, instead of using it immediately, he'd try and deliver a roundhouse kick mid-rotation to his left side, aiming for his skull in order to discombobulate him. If the Pastor doesn't react in time, the kick would be enough to put him down permanently.

KRACC!!

An expression of disbelief rested on the King's face, witnessing his attack was not just stopped, but parried, his leg being grabbed and throwing him over the Pastor's shoulder, before striking down at his back once more, fracturing his spinal chord. Blood escaped out of Malak's mouth as he'd struggle to get up, having his body slowly heal itself whilst the Churchman towered over him. "How.....HOW DID YOU CAUGHT THAT!? YOU'RE BLIND!! You shouldn't have seen me!" He'd yell, somewhat disturbed at how such reaction time was made on a whim. Was it by instinct? Was it by sheer luck? His answer didn't came from Manipura directly, but the moment he noticed one of his arms was gone, he understood his trick instantly.

Ajna was gone.

A wafting aura was around his body, illuminating in that Chakra's color. A makeshift eye appearing around his forehead, allowing him to see once more. The Pastor has a newfound way of sight. Malak would be angered beyond belief, but does calm himself in theorizing that, even though its a third eye, it can't be used as a cost for the ability to go back into certain events. At most, it's merely an extra visualizer for him. When the dust cleared further, he realized that the strike pushed him into a certain direction. He could see the Pastor smiling, reaching his arms out, touching an object: The Statue. The King desperately rushed forward to try and stop him, yet the process already began. He'd pump as much energy as he could towards the statue, fueling it. Each time he did this, an arm would disappear, slowly but surely applying the chakra's towards the monument. "I told you, already....I will get my peace....by any means necessary. I shall await you in the afterlife.....Tyrant of Synoni..." He would close his eyes and allow the roots to spread across his chest.

SHIKK!! SHIKK!!

No hesitation. The branches sprouted out of his body, skewering the Pastor, killing him. The King looked towards the corpse, watching the statue start to twitch. The trees tried to reach out and invade the giant, yet it simply leapt upwards and escaped, the Chakra's slowly enveloping its form and having it sprint off. The King could chase after it, in fact he has more than enough speed with his rotation to shoot himself like a bullet and strike it down, yet he chose not to. His mind and body focused solely on the Pastor's corpse. He took deep breaths, trying to calm himself down, pacing to and fro across the area, relieving his anger in such walks, yet it wasn't enough. Short screams of anger and anguish escaped from his mouth, constantly punching at the very environment itself.

He lost.

He didn't get his way of defeating the very enemy before him.

The very thought of the Pastor dying the way he wanted infuriates him. He wasn't able to deliver his own justice, his own judgement. He'd rather let the roots kill him than the King himself. The very idea of opposing, even on one's demise, sickened him to his very core. He couldn't even look at the corpse, due to it reminding him of such failure. He came to a decision to at least metaphorically showcase his victory to others. He'd gathered the wood that was left around and some flint, starting a fire. He'd use his magic to make the flames coat each and every building, each and every stain that was left in the ground, each and every body left around. If he wasn't going to enact his sentence, then the least he can do is give them a horrible burial. A Burial of fire and ash, charring their bodies pitch black. He'd let the flames get bigger and bigger, hotter and hotter, slowly walking away from it all and letting the very kingdom he has fall to ruin. His people can simply rebuild it later, and they will understand his frustrations.

They're his King. They're supposed to listen to him. That's what matters most of all in the bitter end. One last time, he looked back at the remains, seeing the tree that sprouted being incinerated, the body already cremated. He could still see his smile under that ash. "Hate. That's all you keep giving me. Pure.....Unfiltered.....Hate." He'd mumble to himself, before turning his back against the Pastor.