Chapter 121: Grijan, Potential Catastrophe.
After Rivhiamë's shattering revelation about the Causal Thread, Sakolomé felt the weight of the moment pressing down on his shoulders. One wrong move... and the thing sleeping inside Grijan could awaken an absolute nightmare.
Sakolomé:
— Isn't there a way... to eliminate them both at once?
Rivhiamë (thoughtful):
— Nothing prevents it... but nothing guarantees it will be enough either. This kind of entity doesn't necessarily die when you kill it.
Sakolomé sighed, then lifted his head with a determined gleam in his eyes.
Sakolomé:
— So be it. I'm going to fight. Now.
He briefly turned to his companions.
Sakolomé:
— I'll handle this. Alone.
Grafay (nervous laugh):
— Haha! Go ahead, we won't stop you! But keep your guts intact, old man!
Salomé (worried, placing her hand on her heart):
— Be careful... Big brother...
Sakolomé briefly met her gaze, and a soothing smile stretched across his lips.
Sakolomé:
— Trust me. Nothing will happen to me.
Then, gently setting Gaïus down on the ground:
Sakolomé:
— Watch over him... I've got a guy to take down.
He advanced slowly toward Grijan, who stood his ground firmly. The air vibrated around him, charged with tension.
Grijan (snickering, wild-eyed):
— You... little Satsujin Otoko... You'll be the opening act!
He raised his hand, bringing it close to his face, and immediately, a blood-red mana flooded his body in a sickening pulse.
Grijan (in a sadistic tone):
— You're going to bite the—
— BAM!!
Too late. Sakolomé was already there. A lightning-fast left hook caught him on the chin.
Grijan's head snapped back, but Sakolomé didn't stop there:
BAM! an uppercut.
BAM! a hook to the temple.
BOOM! a mana-charged punch to the stomach.
Grijan was thrown backward, breath knocked out.
Grijan (coughing, enraged):
— Koff! Koff! You crazy bastard!!
Monstrous claws burst from his arms. He lunged at Sakolomé with ferocious speed, slashing the air with his attacks.
But Sakolomé slid to the side, dodged effortlessly, then countered with a precise blow to the ribs.
Sakolomé (calm):
— Killer Punch.
BOOOOM!
Grijan was propelled like a bullet, violently bouncing against the ground. Dust, shards of energy, a cry of rage.
But he got up. Slowly. His face twisted with anger... and excitement.
Grijan (smiling like a possessed man):
— You're going to die, you little brat...!!
Sakolomé (amused, eyes shining):
— You're taking hits better than I thought.
They charged at each other.
A titanic clash.
Fists collided, shockwaves tore through the air. Grijan gave everything. Sakolomé... dominated.
He had speed. Power. Precision.
Salomé watched, frozen. A flicker of doubt in her eyes... suddenly replaced by a glimmer of hope.
Salomé (internally):
Is he... really defeating Grijan?
She flashed back to the vision of Velda's world...
Sakolomé, dead.
Bakuran, lying in his own blood.
The world... destroyed.
But that wasn't what was happening here.
No.
Gaïus was freed.
The group, alive.
And Grijan, struggling.
She thought back to those words, once spoken by Sakolomé with unshakable certainty:
"I will change the future."
A moved smile appeared on her lips, despite the anxiety.
Salomé (internally):
Go ahead, big brother. I believe in you. More than ever.
Sally, arms crossed, observed the fight with a cold but serene eye.
Sally (calm, internally):
Sakolomé is going to put him out of commission... and very quickly.
A little further away, Grafay burst out laughing heartily, seeing his friend's determination.
Grafay (laughing loudly):
— What a bastard, that Sakolomé... He dared to become stronger than me! Hahaha!
Meanwhile, Nairo slowly turned to Sally, his expression more serious. He approached her, eyes lowered.
Nairo (softly):
— Sally...
She turned to him, a bit surprised but kind.
Sally:
— Yes, Nairo?
He gave a sad smile, eyes slightly moist.
Nairo:
— I wanted to thank you... for everything you've done. For helping me... let go. I needed that. Now I feel... so much lighter.
Sally smiled gently, her heart a little tight.
Sally:
— It's normal to help friends. You don't have to thank me.
Nairo looked at her for a moment, sincere, then nodded slowly.
Nairo:
— Yeah... You're right.
Back to the fight
The confrontation was reaching its peak.
Sakolomé dominated Grijan without a doubt.
Blow after blow, each strike seemed more violent, heavier, more inevitable.
The ground vibrated. The air shattered.
And with it, Grijan's will.
Sakolomé (dryly, advancing):
— Are you going to die, or do I have to stay here all night?
Grijan, face bloody, spat a bitter laugh.
Grijan (panting, eyes black with rage):
— Death... You have that word easy, in your damn family!
BOOM!
Sakolomé drove his fist into Grijan's stomach. The impact made Grijan vomit blood.
Sakolomé (coldly):
— Shut up. Just die.
Grijan stepped back, bent over, suffocating.
Grijan (angry):
— You little bastard...!!
He stretched out his hand. A sphere of dark red mana materialized in the air, crackling with hatred. He threw it with a brutal gesture.
But Sakolomé activated Rivhiamë's mana.
A warm, overwhelming green glow surrounded his body.
Grijan's sphere... disintegrated on contact.
Grijan (horrified):
— This is... a nightmare...!!
Too late.
Sakolomé leapt toward him, surrounded by the mana of purification. His aura resonated like a divine hammer.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
The blows followed one another, furious, precise, relentless.
Grijan, trapped, endured hell.
Grijan (groaning, desperate):
— Damn... I can't lose like this...!
In a final act of rage, he unleashed a destructive mana wave, a scarlet red explosion threatening to obliterate everything.
But around Sakolomé, Rivhiamë's aura enveloped him, stable, sovereign.
Grijan's mana... was annihilated as soon as it was emitted.
Grijan (screaming):
— NOOOOOOOO!!!
Sakolomé charged.
A flurry of punches to the belly, fast as a war drum.
Each strike pierced, crushed, tore out screams.
Grijan's body bent, his knees trembled. He coughed blood, his eyes widened.
He was nothing but a sack of flesh emptied of will.
Sakolomé stopped.
His fist raised one last time.
Then he lowered it.
Sakolomé (calm, firm):
— It's over, Grijan.
Grijan fell to his knees, panting, broken.
As Sakolomé lowered his fist, Grijan fell to his knees, defeated... or so he thought.
But suddenly—
Rivhiamë (in Sakolomé's mind, in an urgent voice):
— Sakolomé! Get away, right now!!
Sakolomé (surprised):
— Huh?! What?!
He stepped back reflexively.
Grijan slowly lifted his head.
His eyes... were black as the abyss.
Not just anger. Something inhuman was awakening there.
A sinister vibration shook the air.
Sakolomé (internally):
— ...What the hell is that thing?
SWOOSH!
A dark breath burst from Grijan.
BOOOOM!
An explosion of black energy devastated the area.
The ground cracked. The air became heavy, unhealthy.
A shock so brutal that everyone jumped.
Bakuran (shouting):
— SAKOLOMÉ!!!
Salomé (terrified):
— Big brother!!
But a silhouette emerged above the smoking crater.
Sakolomé, unharmed, floated in the air, eyes wide open. He watched the smoke slowly dissipate.
Sakolomé:
— What was that...? Did it come from him?
Rivhiamë (deep, focused voice):
— Yes.
What you just saw is an indirect manifestation of the demon buried inside him.
Sakolomé:
— An indirect manifestation?
Rivhiamë:
— Grijan has just entered what is called the active evolution process.
The more you hit him...
The more he adapts, strengthens his body, learns from your blows.
Every attack you inflict now makes him stronger and more resistant.
Sakolomé (frowning):
— ...Great. A guy who becomes a tank by getting beaten up.
Rivhiamë:
— It's not just about physical resistance.
It's as if the demon voluntarily dozed off,
letting Grijan access certain abilities...
But without awakening the true monster.
He exploits the demon's echoes to gradually transform... to his advantage.
Sakolomé (gritting his teeth):
— Tch... This guy's living cheating.
In the crater, a form slowly rose.
Grijan's body... had changed.
His skin was whiter, thicker.
His arms were streaked with glowing veins, pulsating like magma circuits.
His eyes shone with a scarlet light, and a mad grin stretched across his face. His wings were enraged.
Grijan (hoarse, distorted voice):
— You thought you won, Satsujin Otoko?
Look closely... I'm becoming something much greater.
Sakolomé steadied his stance, his fists crackling with mana again.
Sakolomé:
— ...Alright. Round 2, then?
Sakolomé, still suspended in the air, clenched his fists.
In front of him, Grijan completed his transformation.
His muscles pulsed, his skin gleamed like metal under pressure, and his breath hissed like a wind of death.
Grijan (smiling, mad):
— Come on, Sakolomé. Give it your all. It's the only way you have... to make me even stronger!
Sakolomé:
— You're nuts, man.
And he charged.
BAM!
Sakolomé struck first at the face.
A direct, sharp, clean hit.
But this time... Grijan didn't flinch.
He took it. And smiled.
Grijan:
— I remember that hit.
The first time, it made me writhe in pain.
This time... I didn't feel a thing.
Sakolomé (internally):
— Damn... He's really starting to take it.
He immediately followed up:
A side kick, a hook to the liver, an elbow to the neck.
But Grijan, faster than before, dodged some blows and countered others.
BOOM!
An unexpected uppercut sent him flying several meters.
Sakolomé caught himself mid-air, panting.
Grijan (laughing, finger pointed):
— See?! You're helping me become a god with every hit you give!
Sakolomé (to himself):
— This lunatic's starting to outpace me...
He clenched his teeth and changed tactics.
Sakolomé (low voice):
— Killer Style... Variant 6.
He dove in a dive, his fist surrounded by a swirling spiral of mana.
He aimed at Grijan's leg.
A precise strike to neutralize his movement.
Impact!
The leg buckled, but... Grijan didn't fall.
He turned and struck him with a knee to the stomach.
Sakolomé gasped for air.
It hurt.
Grijan (coldly):
— You think I won't adapt to your speed?
You think I don't recognize that spiral of mana? I feel it... I'm already imitating it.
A green glow, a distorted imitation of Sakolomé's mana, ran along Grijan's forearm.
Sakolomé (shocked):
— He's copying my style?!
Rivhiamë (telepathically, tense):
— He's not just copying.
He's assimilating, absorbing the concepts behind your techniques.
You must constantly change, vary your forms, or he will absorb everything.
Sakolomé (panting):
— He's forcing me to improvise... every strike...
Grijan charged in turn, faster than ever.
His attacks were now technical, structured, and some...
were distorted mirrors of Sakolomé's styles.
BOOM! BAM! BAM!
The exchange became violent, brutal, almost equal.
Shockwaves burst in the air with every impact.
The ground crumbled, the atmosphere vibrated like a war drum.
Salomé (worried, internally):
— He... he's starting to rival my brother...
Bakuran (to Grafay, clenching fists):
— We have to go, he's about to...
Grafay (stopping him):
— No. Not yet. He hasn't said his last word.
Sakolomé retreated, breath ragged.
He had taken more hits than he had dealt, this time.
Sakolomé (internally):
— I have to find a way to hit him where he can't adapt.
Rivhiamë:
— There might be a solution...
Sakolomé (urgent):
— Say it quick!
Rivhiamë:
— Raw techniques are no longer enough.
You must use... complex intentions.
Blows that are more than physical gestures.
Attacks charged with meaning, with symbols.
Sakolomé (surprised):
— ...Like hits with emotional weight? Spiritual?
Rivhiamë:
— Exactly.
If your fist is no longer just an impact,
but a will, a memory, a promise,
then even his adaptation will fail.