Chapter 22
Ok let's start with an apology, no more excuses, I have been shit with updates (ಥ﹏ಥ), I am not really happy with my work but i'll make it GREAT.
MNGA = MAKE NOVEL GREAT AGAIN
--The story will be slow paced but rewarding as we will discover pov of other characters, as you can see last 8 or few chapters are incidents of a single day. -- from lights meeting to this (all in 1 day)
And thx mamedh everyone should get a supporter like you 😭 can't believe you are supporting even after no update in a month, oh! And for your character, i hope you have no problem as in latter part your character will be involved in religious stuff hope that doesn't upset you are anything. . . he got in the main party, he'll live pretty long, long enough by worlds standard.👍 may become one of the top loved characters.
I'll push my @ss to release as soon as possible. both chapter and that novel
PHOTOS ARE GIVEN
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"Hey! I said I'll—" the connection fell short as the other side withdrew before he could answer.
CRIKKK!
The sharp sound of shattering glass echoed through the air, followed by a blinding flash of light. Yaksa shielded his eyes instinctively, a bitter curse forming in his mind. Jin and Mahito had arrived.
'Damn it.'
His thoughts raced. How would he explain this mess to the captain and priest? His eyes flickered to the photo at the centre of the room—a silent prayer escaping his lips that everything would somehow go right.
Meanwhile, a little down from where Yaksa stood, Jin and Mahito burst through the fractured spiderweb of glass before them. the shards of mirror dangled in air before dissolving into oblivion before them lay an old staircase—the very same staircase of destiny that had once brought them together.
Especially for Mahito, these stairs were more than just stone and history. They meant the world to him, his world.
A cold night breeze swept through the air, carrying with it a silence that felt almost sacred. The place was haunted to most, yet to them, it was something else—nostalgic, calming, familiar.
The stairs were ancient, their surfaces overrun with moss and blackened algae. Vegetation grew wildly on either side—twisted trees, tangled bushes, nature reclaiming what time had abandoned. The so-called preservationists who once sought to protect its legacy were long dead, their cause buried with them. And so, the staircase remained—tattered, forsaken, yet enduring.
It was midnight, the darkness near absolute, save for a few dim, sun-like orbs floating high above. Their soft glow bathed the scene in an eerie half-light, blurring the lines between night and evening.
Mahito let out a tired, slightly annoyed sigh, well aware of the sharp side-eye Jin was shooting his way.
"Ahem! So..." Jin scratched the side of his mask, looking nervous. "Like, is there someone, or do I pick you up?" He bent his back in a cartoonish way, miming a princess carry while pretending to struggle up the stairs, as if hauling a mountain.
Mahito let out a rough chuckle, though it sounded more like a low, menacing growl. "I have grown tired, not weak."
The wheelchair trembled as he moved, his hands stretching from beneath the dark, flowing cloth that draped his form. It was like an abyss made tangible—less fabric, more living shadow. To call it otherworldly would be an understatement.
It moved like liquid, stretching like living slime as Mahito raised his skeletal hands. The movement was unsettling, like a ghost reaching through the veil of reality. It was as if a demon, clawing its way out of a blackened swamp, was restrained yet defiant.
"Wait! What are y—" Jin's words dissolved into stunned silence.
Mahito's thin arms—arms that looked fragile enough to snap at the faintest breeze—rose into the air. And the air... bent.
Oh yes, it bent.
"The actual fuck?"
Jin's hand shot to his head in sheer disbelief. Mahito's arms, gaunt and nearly skeletal, had seized something unseen—something impossible.
"Upp!" Mahito growled.
Muscles pulsed beneath the tar-like fabric, bulging as he pulled his hands downward in a slow, deliberate arc. Jin shifted on his feet, torn between intervening and staying put, watching the impossible unfold.
The very air had become tangible, thick and gelatinous beneath Mahito's grasp. And not just his body, but the wheelchair, the dried leaves, the dust beneath him—everything rose with him, levitating to the height of his outstretched hands.
"Hofff!" A rush of hot steam exhaled from Mahito's mouth, like the hiss of a living engine straining under pressure.
Mahito locked eyes with him, or at least with the surprised inhuman eyes behind that pristine white mask. Mahito's lips curled into an arrogant smile—one that, to any outsider, would have been nothing short of terrifying.
"I have the high ground," Mahito declared, suppressing a dark chuckle.
Jin stepped closer, scanning every inch of the scene—the floating wheelchair, the suspended dust, the leaves that refused to fall.
'What the fuck is this…'
He plucked a leaf from midair and tossed it up. It should have fallen. Instead, it stopped mid-descent, hanging motionless at the same unnatural height.
'Literally high ground.'
"Is it possible to learn this power?" Jin asked with a chuckle.
"AH HAA HAHA haa!" Mahito's laughter rang through the forest, silencing the night's insects. But despite his amusement, his slow shake of the head told Jin everything.
"Not from mankind."
Jin's reptilian yellow eyes studied Mahito's masked face, taking in the runic markings and the glint of golden teeth. Yet even with all that detail, there was little to read—no muscle movement, no human tells.
Still, he didn't push. He had his own secrets too.
"Though I must say, a push is very needed," Mahito muttered.
Jin complied silently, stepping behind him and gripping one of the floating wheelchair's wheels. At this height, it was level with his shoulder.
"You feel lighter" Jin mused as he started walking toward the staircase.
"That I must. Probably half. . ."
Silence settled between them, but Jin's mind raced. Theories spun like clockwork behind his eyes. If someone had told him this was a quirk that let you suspend objects in midair, he might have accepted it. There were plenty of quirks that defied reason—Setsuna, Fumikage, and others whose abilities made no logical sense. Over the years, he had seen enough to declare them plot holes in reality itself.
For all he knew, he was just another brain hooked into a simulation, or his own mind was betraying him in the moments before death.
But this?
This was no quirk.
Which meant there had to be mechanics behind it. 'Is it something fundamental in his world? Quirk? Mana? Or—'
"Gahhh~" Mahito sighed loudly, cutting through Jin's spiraling thoughts. "I don't mean to withhold it, but I simply can't teach you."
His gaze dropped to the black cloth covering his entire form. There was little emotion in his voice, but then again, when you had a face like his, expressing emotions was an entirely different challenge.
"So, it's not some exclusive bloodline perk?" Jin asked, curiosity flashing in his yellow eyes. He studied Mahito carefully, searching for answers without outright demanding them.
"I think so. Because I am not an inbreed." Amusement colored Mahito's words, earning a few chuckles from Jin.
"It is this cloak. . . but I presume others can do much more," Mahito admitted, his tone drifting into something quieter. Uncertain.
"Have you seen others do it? Or just your father?" Jin asked, though his voice carried the weight of someone who didn't particularly like discussing family. "I mean, he was up there. But how up there?"
"I have heard stories," Mahito said softly. "As for my father. . . not only was he a saint candidate, but a friend of the king."
His voice lost its monstrous edge, gaining something almost human. His gaze stayed locked on his legs, the black fabric shifting with every step they climbed. Broken memories churned behind his eyes.
"Nazareth. . . The Lion of Nazareth. The Helm of the Forgotten Testament. The Saint That Never Came."
'And a husband who failed.'
Mahito's fist clenched beneath the dark fabric, his shadowed eyes drowning in the depths of memory.
Jin's eyebrow arched at the new titles, his curiosity deepening. But he chose not to press further. The past had not been kind to either of them, and only time—if it could—would heal their wounds.
"That's . . . that's pretty up there. You should have told me earlier."
"You should have inquired earlier. And do not be fooled—faith and reverence can make everything seem holy and golden. But he wasn't even close. . . at least, that's what I recall from this small and broken memory of mine."
He looked up at the glowing orbs fulfilling their duty, and the countless stars and galaxies dancing in the skirt of night. Trying to remember was as futile as staring into a shattered mirror—no matter how long he looked, the reflection would always be distorted. A few tears, heavy with pain and misery, threatened to fall.
From the depths of darkness, two slender tendrils rose, their slow ascent marking a solemn journey toward his eyes. They were thin, skeletal—like bony index fingers reaching out. Silent and dutiful, they absorbed his unborn tears, as if offering comfort to their master. The curse and the holy. The pride and the shame. The feathers and the shackles that bound everything away.
"Many with potential die early and many more arrive, the age where every strongmen die. . . and even more come alive"
His gaze sharpened as the tendrils retracted back to their unseen pool. He fixed his eyes on the dull, gray torii gate ahead—a lone sentinel defying the corrosion of time. But there was hope, for they had come to rebuild.
His clenched fists loosened as a distant hum echoed through his mind, each step forward smoothing the tension in his body. The rhythmic vibrations, the echoes bouncing off the forgotten stone steps, lulled his nerves like a long-forgotten lullaby.
'They who haunt you shall see, for the chosen one is on his journey. Guide him or glide with him—it hardly matters, for he has a calling beyond the golden foot of unseen. Wash your curse in his feet, oh child of the foolish being, wash your curse away in the steady steam.'
Even in his final moments, he had never felt so helpless—the kind of helplessness that makes one question their faith, their gods. His eyes wandered down to Jin, whose mind seemed lost in a world of its own while his body dutifully carried his master's will.
'Oh, brother of mine, heavy is the burden of light.'
Time stretched, each moment dragging into eternity. The echoes never ceased. The vibrations never dulled. The stairs multiplied—fifty became a hundred, a hundred turned into thousands. Minutes slipped through their fingers, yet they climbed in perfect rhythm, sometimes skipping a step or two. And still, the torii gate remained—near, yet forever out of reach. Such was the nature of the climb.
"Say, brother . . . do you still refuse to believe?" His voice broke the silence, his exhale harsh, edged with exhaustion. How many times had he faced this denial? How many more would come?
Tak!
A stair chipped beneath his foot, the sharp crack piercing through the stillness like a fractured heartbeat.
The echoes of their steps vanished.
Utter silence.
The insects had grown quiet long ago. Even the wind dared not whisper.
Jin's wandering mind snapped back to the present. Meanwhile, Mahito's gaze remained lifted, drinking in the endless expanse of stars. as jin gained clarity his eyes softened—not at some grand celestial wonder, but at the simple beauty of moss-covered stone and forgotten dust
"It was such an absurd thing to say," he murmured, a small smile forming on his lips.
"The truth is bitter . . . and sometimes, sparkly," Mahito replied with a pitiful smile, (only to jin) his gaze drifting across the celestial curtain above, searching for some unseen answers.
"Would you. . . would still not accept it? even if it writes glory in our books and holy in our name? How long, for how long will your denial continue brother."
Haa ha ha~
The same mocking laugh, for the hundredth of time fell on his ears. "People like things easy. They want to be lucky. But when shit strikes . . ." His fingers traced the cracks in the ancient stone. "They blame fate."
THAP!
A heavy step landed forward. The thin cracks spread, carving jagged veins into the stairs. Vegetation trembled. A gust of gray dust rose into the air, crawling over their skin like whispered warnings.
"I want to eat the fruit that isn't mine to savor . . . then when i face torment they I say it is not mine to bear?"
THAPPP!
The whole world around them rumbled as he took another step, the dust rose higher, higher than Mahito's entire vision, clawing at his face and hissing in his ears the cracks roared and widened threatening to engulf the entire foundation, cries of trees and bush were heard, branches and leaves of all size dispersed, paying one last prayer to their roots.
Yet, in the storm in the chaos, those eyes did not waver. They glowed with thunder. His head lifted. His shoulders straightened. His back stood tall like a spire. And for the rare chance —a sincere smile not a smirk emerged.
He looked ahead. Through the thick veil of dust, the faint silhouette of the Toji Gate remained— barely visible, yet unwavering. A lone monument standing firm against time and storm alike.
"I don't care what it wants... I don't care why it wants or how it wants. All I know is that the fruits of my labor are mine to savor."
His voice cut through the dense grey fog, resolute and unshaken. The world around them had vanished into the storm, where even the next step was swallowed in the swirling haze. Yet within this suffocating abyss, a pair of black-and-yellow monstrous eyes flared to life, gleaming like a beacon in the dark.
His nails dug into the arms of his chair as he, lifted his gaze, seeking solace in the stars—but there were none.
The sky, once vast and endless, had been consumed by the choking shroud of dust, thick enough to shame even the fog of despair itself.
"What if they lay nails and spears, of torment that isn't yours to bear?"
Tchhk!
A spark.
A single, pristine yellowish-blue spark ignited amidst the storm of grey, its untamed ferocity turning the ancient, timeworn stairs into brittle, charcoalish clay.
TchhHK!
And it rose.
TcchHHK!
And it rose higher.
Yet, like a mighty spire bowing beneath the weight of a tiny cross, it remained beneath his boots—even as they ascended further into the storm.
"Then we'll crush it beneath our feet."
TCCCHHHHK!
The spark erupted, spreading wide and bright, its branches clawing toward the stars. It galloped through the crumbling steps, searing them in its wake, staining their surface in molten red and gold, it charged untamed through the forest bringing life to fire.
The glow outlined their figures—two silhouettes standing against the storm of dust and thunder, not even a hint of fear for the awakening of crimson red fire.
The dome of dust stood still the sparks became a thunder, the embers became a raging fire, yet the two fools didn't move, not even a single bit of hurry their feet stood unbothered by the thunder and fire.
Arc grew on their faces for they knew each other, Brothers from different womb and worlds.
"Together," Jin said with a smirk, his gaze unwavering as looked up at the eyes abyss
"Together we shall." Mahito looked down, staring into the eyes of thunder and chains.
BANGGGGGGGGGGG!
And the inevitable happened the thunder descended on the steps of darkness, it's light brighter than the fire and tiny suns twinkling in the night sky, all the roots burned away as the cracks begin to fall away, the whole world shook as the pairs of monstrous eye closed away with a smile on their face. . . they vanished away.
Tak!
The sharp sound echoed through the air like a closing chapter, their they stood with half a step and followed by a moment of absolute stillness. Then, as if reality exhaled, the ringing in their ears faded, and the distant hum of insects returned, filling the air with life once more.
They stood there, unmoving, breath hitching as the weight of what had just happened settled over them. A half-step forward, and he rose onto his toes, feeling the solid, ancient stairs beneath him—unchanged, untouched, as if time itself had never wavered.
Slowly, they opened their eyes. The towering Torii gate loomed above, casting its silent judgment over them.
He turned. Behind them, the stone steps remained whole, untouched by ruin, and the thick vegetation swayed as if undisturbed—as if the past few moments had been nothing more than a fleeting dream.
Mahito tilted his head skyward. The vast expanse of the cosmos stretched endlessly, and there, amidst the void, stars burned like silent sentinels. A brilliant yellow star hung prominently, and just beneath it, a smaller blue star glowed—dim yet resilient, as though carrying the weight of the larger one above it. A dying light, a final brilliance before vanishing.
Further down, three faint twinkling stars formed a fragile constellation. And at the peak of the sky—three crimson stars pulsed ominously, like silent watchers.
WOOSH!
A sudden gust of wind tore through the silence, rustling his hair. He blinked—once, twice—before turning his gaze back ahead.
And there they were.
Kneeling.
An army.
Their army.
They were no longer alone. The burden, the endless weight of responsibility—it hadn't disappeared, but it had shifted. It had been divided among many hands, a story retold with new voices.
His eyes softened, and behind his mask, a quiet, genuine smile took form.
Before him, his cohort stood proud—elegant, powerful, unbreakable.
"WELCOME BACK TEACHER!"
The chant thundered in unison, a war cry that sent a shiver through the very ground beneath them. palm struck chests in unwavering resolve, their voices carrying the weight of both reverence and readiness.
They exuded an otherworldly elegance, a seamless blend of futuristic design and ethereal minimalism.
A pristine white cloak draped over them—a deviation from the traditional, sculpted with a precision reminiscent of ancient Greek artistry. The fabric, smooth yet sharp, bore an angular cut that created the illusion of movement even in absolute stillness.
Slits in the cloak parted like the petals of a mechanical bloom, revealing glimpses of another layered coat beneath. Their helmets—sleek, oval, and reflective like polished mirrors—concealed every identity, transforming each soldier into something beyond mortal. Something celestial.
Their hands, thin and gloved in nearly invisible fabric, bore delicate hexagonal patterns, adding an almost mystic, inhuman touch.
For a moment, he stood in silent awe.
Then, both he and Mahito raised their hands over their hearts. Beside them, Jin gave a silent wave, a signal for them to rise.
"You guys have done an amazing job." His voice was soft, but the weight of his gratitude lingered in every syllable.
"It wouldn't be possible without your help, Captain."
Yaksa who remained at the helm of group stood first, still cloaked in the same mysterious, tattered robe. darkness clung to his face unnaturally—light refused to touch his face, even as he stood directly before them not even his mask was visible.
Behind him, three figures stood like spectres.
In middle—Shishai—wore a same white mask like his, he wore dark tactical gear identical to the standard mission attire worn by Rei and the other Feuds.
To his left and right, two more figures stood, a figurative giant and a mermaid their attire distinct—a privilege reserved for a select few. They bowed slightly as they rose.
"It is good to see you again, Captain."
Their voices were eerily similar—one slightly deeper than the other. Their faces remained hidden behind their masks, but even so, their genders were easily distinguishable by their clothing and structure.
A smirk tugged at his lips.
"Oh would you look at that" he said playfully, stepping toward the giant, standing nearly two meters tall, an imposing figure draped in a long black coat. Without hesitation, he punched his old partner-in-crime's arm.
"All tall and mighty now, huh? I look like a dwarf next to you."
He couldn't help but be astonished at how much the skinny bastard had grown. Not bulky, but not lean either. 'Did he get inspired by Sung Jin-Woo?'
The coat's heavy fabric nearly brushed his ankles. Beneath it, a vest fastened with silver buttons, its golden embroidery glinting faintly against the darkness. Wide charcoal trousers tucked into polished black boots completed the ensemble.
His dark, voluminous hair flew wildly, a striking contrast to his otherwise polished appearance.
"Ahh haha ha~" a nervous chuckle escaped from behind his grotesque mask as he scratched the back of his head.
"It's it's all thanks to you! Oh, and yes, the priests training..." He bowed slightly towards Mahito, who merely raised a hand in acknowledgment.
"Well, as you can see" He gestured at himself "It helped me a little. . . too much." his soft-spoken voice a stark contrast to the ferocious, nightmarish mask he wore.
The mask— metallic black and demonic—boasted two curved horns arching from the top, with two empty slots ahead. Golden outlines traced the eye sockets, emphasizing the deep, furrowed brows.
The mouth was structed slightly ajar, revealed nothing but abyssal darkness behind gums. Two long, curved tusks protruded from the lower jaw, with smaller, razor-sharp fangs filling the gaps between and a pair of 2 similar tusk logged in back of upper jaw.
But what truly unsettled the gaze was the small, pale sculpted human face nestled within the forehead's curve—expressionless and smooth, marble-like, a chilling contrast to the aggressive monstrosity of the mask itself.
"Oh, absolutely~ So much so that it's more of an annoyance than any real help, Honestly~ wouldn't it be much cuter if he played house with the little ones instead of being a sore thumb"
A mesmerizing voice slithered through his mind, each syllable vibrating in his skull, coiling around his senses. His body shuddered—just for a second, nearly undetectable.
He turned.
She walked towards him, hips swaying with effortless seduction. Her black knee-high boots tapped against the grey stone, each step measured, deliberate.
She wore a form-fitting bodysuit, a striking fusion of silver-grey and black. The structured torso featured armoured panelling over the chest and shoulders, reinforced with black metallic rivets.
At the waist, two elongated coat-tails extended downward, fluttering slightly as she moved, resembling the regalia of a futuristic battle maiden. The silver leggings shimmered—fluid yet metallic.
She stopped before him, arms open as she hugged his neck pressing her plated chest against his he returned the hug with one arm
"How have you been?" he asked gently Her breath was warm against his ear. "Better now." her arms swirls in chest as she brings his face closer with other "So~ is that all you have to say"
Her mask pale, glossy white— bore two tall, curved horns, tinged pink at the tips, the deep blood-red lips and the pink hue around sultry slit eyes didn't betray the lustful image at all as everyone stood there awkwardly
A golden skull adorned the forehead, while 2 pair curved tusks smaller and bigger jutted from the mouth's corners, completing its haunting yet lustful appearance.
ZZzzz~
The faint hum of static filled the air, a subtle irritation that gnawed at Yaksa's already fraying patience.
'What is it now?' Yaksa barked, his voice laced with both irritation and an edge of misplaced anger as the connection snapped into place. His shoulders squared, his stance firm—outwardly unshaken—but inside, unease coiled in his gut. 'Have you secured the parameters?' His words came sharp and precise, though not a single note of his hidden nervousness bled through.
A pause. Then—
"Ah-ya, I have." Rei spoke slowly.
Yaksa exhaled sharply. 'FINALLY!' Relief flickered through him—finally, something was going right. But in his eagerness, he failed to register the slight tremor in her voice, the weight of something unsaid.
"Ah ha ha ha. Hum, I-I am about to start, so did you, like… what did they say?" Her whisper barely registered a hesitant murmur that nudged at the edges of his awareness. His focus, however, was already being torn elsewhere as his visual feed flooded with input.
'I . . .I will, in a moment or two.' His eyes locked onto the unfolding scene—one of their own, utterly shameless in their display of… whatever this was. His brows twitched. 'Oh, ah, okay. I-I'll get going.' Rei's voice faded into something almost weightless. If he had been paying closer attention, he might have heard the nervous sheen of sweat clinging to her words.
The moment stretched.
'Hmm. Oh, and how many did you mark?' His tone was casual, almost detached. But the silence that followed wasn't. It pressed down on him, subtle at first, then growing, blooming into an unspoken warning. His fingers twitched.
No reply.
A faint alarm stirred in the back of his mind, coiling tight. His brow furrowed. 'Did she…?' His stomach dipped. The connection was still active—she was still there. His mind reeled back through their conversation, dissecting it in real-time. _Something was wrong._ His breath hitched as clarity sharpened in his thoughts, dark and undeniable.
'Hey, don't tell me—'
"Forty-four…" A breath. "Heavily armed."
Everything inside him snapped into high alert.
"YOU FUCKING—"
٩(ఠ益ఠ)۶