Training Kishore in the Dark Arts

Even as he pushed himself beyond mortal boundaries, Krish did not forget his little brother. Kishore's magic was growing, but it was wild, uncontrollable, a force that could destroy him if not tamed. Krish made sure to keep Kishore's training as brutal as his own.

"Magic is not just about power, Kishore," Krish explained one evening as they sat by the fire. "It's about control. You need to be able to direct it, shape it. Otherwise, it will consume you."

Kishore nodded, his small hands glowing with the faint traces of dark energy. "But... my magic feels different from what's in the book. It doesn't feel like the light magic Mother used."

Krish frowned. He had noticed this as well. The magic Kishore wielded was unnatural—shadows coiled around his fingers like living entities, responding to his emotions rather than incantations. Still, Krish refused to let it deter them.

"Then we'll adapt," Krish said firmly. "Magic is magic. Even if it's dark, we'll learn to use it like any other."

With that, their training intensified. Krish forced Kishore to practice spells relentlessly, sometimes to the point of exhaustion. The boy would collapse, panting and drenched in sweat, but Krish would not let him stop.

"Again," he commanded.

"I can't..." Kishore whimpered, his body trembling from magical exhaustion.

Krish crouched beside him, gripping his shoulders tightly. "You must. Because one day, they will come for us again. And if you're weak, they will kill you. Do you understand?"

Kishore swallowed hard and nodded, summoning the last of his energy to stand. And so, the training continued.

The Hidden Truth of His Power

Despite his rapid evolution, Krish still did not fully understand what was happening to him. The strength, the endurance, the unnatural resilience—these were not mere signs of physical conditioning. It was something far beyond human limits.

It wasn't until one night, when he tested his full strength, that he realized the horrifying truth.

Standing before a thick, ancient boulder—one that even the strongest warriors would struggle to break—Krish clenched his fist. He inhaled sharply and, with a single punch, struck the rock.

The explosion was deafening.

The boulder shattered into dust, obliterated as if struck by a force beyond comprehension. The ground beneath his feet cracked from the sheer force of impact. Krish stared at his hand, not a single wound or bruise in sight.

He knew then.

This was no ordinary strength.

The meat of Nyxar, the Phantom Dread, and Vaelthar, the Abyss Coil—beasts of legend—had transformed him. Their magic, embedded deep within their very cells, had been absorbed into his body. For any magic wielder, consuming such creatures would be a death sentence—their magic would reject the foreign energy, leading to destruction from within.

But Krish was different. He had no magic to reject the energy. His body had accepted it completely, fusing the power of the beasts into his very bones, his muscles, his blood.

He had become something the world had never seen before.

A warrior beyond the laws of magic.

A force that defied all logic.

And soon, the world would know his name.