They journeyed through the labyrinthine paths leading to the Cave of Crystals, a place bathed in refracted lights bouncing off gemlike walls—beautiful, but eerily silent.
Every step echoed through the crystalline chamber like a whisper from the past.
Kiyomi walked with cautious grace, scanning for anomalies. The Kid remained alert, hands pulsing slightly with restrained energy. Seko walked slow, his senses sharp, more focused than he appeared. And Atama… he was humming. Lazily, as usual. At least, to everyone else.
They searched for hours.
Nothing.
No traces of the so-called Angel, no foreign energy signatures, no unusual magical interference—at least none the others could perceive.
Kiyomi sighed in frustration. "There's nothing here. Rumours, like I said."
The Kid frowned. "Or it was cleaned up too well."
Seko stood quietly, fingers brushing against a section of wall. The temperature—unnaturally cold. Not like the rest of the cave. And the light here… refracted differently. More like it was being siphoned than reflected. His sharp eyes narrowed, but he said nothing yet.
Meanwhile, Atama had stopped humming. He stared at a crystal formation, tilting his head lazily. But his eyes weren't idle.
They were calculating.
He gently placed a hand on the side of a tall glowing shard—then smiled faintly.
"Funny," he muttered. "This one's humming back."
The others glanced at him, confused. But Atama said nothing more. Just turned around, hands behind his head, walking as if nothing had happened.
The angel floated midair, his presence causing even the crystal walls to hum in a low, dissonant frequency. The divine cube in his hand glowed with an intensity that seemed to reject all shadows, its sharp edges outlined in ancient sigils no one could quite decipher. The white divine energy surrounding both the angel and the cube shimmered like liquid light, making it almost painful to look directly at him.
His voice echoed through the chamber—not loud, but absolute. It didn't vibrate through the ears, but through the soul.
"The weight of time, the fracture of fate, the heresy of resistance... You carry them all, Bhishma."
He looked directly at the Kid, unblinking. The cube pulsed once, and even the crystalline structures dimmed around it.
"You were not meant to be here—not in this era, not in this rebellion. Your existence... is a breach."
Seko didn't flinch. He was crouched low, ready to move again. "The temperature dipped seven degrees before you appeared," he muttered, eyes locked on the divine glow. "Smelled like singed ozone and dead gods. I knew it."
Atama charged, moving fast—but not recklessly. He didn't aim for the angel directly. He struck the air just beside the cube, sending a concussive ripple of energy that bent the light around it. "You really had to reveal your Vamp-ness now, huh Seko?" he shouted mid-swing, grinning.
Kiyomi activated the full arc-shield, a flickering hexagonal barrier that hummed to life just in time—but not before Bhishma leapt past it.
"No!" she shouted, reaching out. But it was too late.
Bhishma had already dashed toward the angel, energy crackling along his limbs, golden like a dying star. His hands formed the mark of the ancient Eight—one of the seals of divine origin he only ever used in dreams.
He struck.
The angel, still hovering, gently tilted the cube. In an instant, the air twisted—the blow never reached him.
Instead, the divine cube sang—high, pure, and terrifying.
Bhishma was thrown back midair, not by force, but by something older than gravity itself—divine rejection.
The angel now turned his eyes to them all.
"You tread where only Judgment may walk. I hold no hate... but I carry the balance. And you," his gaze narrowed on Bhishma, "were supposed to remain forgotten."
The cube pulsed again and light began to bend unnaturally.
Atama took a step back, cracking his neck and flicking the last bite of fruit off his fingers.
"It's your fight, kiddo," he said casually, though his eyes—usually lazy and unfocused—were sharp for once, like blades hidden behind laughter. "I will not intervene."
He leaned against a jagged crystal pillar, folding his arms like he was watching a street play. But deep down, everyone there knew: if things went truly wrong, Atama wouldn't stay still for long.
Seko, calm and unreadable as ever, merely gave Bhishma a single nod. No words. Just a firm gaze that said this is yours. The kind of gaze that one warrior gives another before they march into a storm.
Kiyomi, tense at first, looked from Seko to Atama, and finally to Bhishma. Her fingers twitched near her sword's hilt, but she didn't draw. She inhaled deeply, exhaled slower. She understood.
Some fights are personal. Some fights shape the path of gods and devils alike.
This was one of them.
She stepped back beside Seko, whispering just loud enough for only him to hear, "He has to do this… not just for us. For himself."
The air between Bhishma and Luzriel grew thicker, heavier. The divine energy from the cube churned around the angel like a controlled storm, radiant yet unyielding. Bhishma stood there, bruised but resolute, his fists clenched, his eyes glowing faintly with an ancient light—something older than even he understood.
Luzriel watched him in silence, his unreadable face still shining with divine serenity.
And for the first time since he emerged… the angel readied himself for war.
The angel's voice rang out like a divine bell struck at the edge of time. Calm, cold, and absolute:
"Agnisamhara: Trinetra Dharana… Rudra Swaha…"
With each word, the divine cube spun slowly, radiating layered waves of white fire that didn't burn the body—but the soul. The crystalline walls trembled, the ceiling above distorted as if space was trying to fold inward.
Bhishma froze.
Not in fear—but in recognition.
His eyes widened. Not with panic… but awe.
"That's… Lord Shiva's combat oath," he whispered, as if saying it too loudly would tear the world. "It wasn't even supposed to reach Earth until Parashurama's time…"
His body instinctively shifted, adapting his stance with reverence—as if preparing for a duel with a god. For a moment, he didn't look like a boy at all. He moved like a reincarnated veteran from a forgotten age.
Atama, chewing on some kind of orange fungus stick, blinked once. Then just gave a slow, lazy shrug. "🤷♂️"
He whispered to himself, "Infinite possibilities, endless simulations… not once did that technique appear in my damn brain. What the hell even is that oath…"
But he didn't interfere. His eyes, however, never left the divine cube.
Seko and Kiyomi stood side by side, bathed in the refracted light from the crystals around them. Neither spoke. Seko's gaze was firm, evaluating. Kiyomi's eyes were narrow, her pulse synced to the rhythm of the divine.
They knew this was beyond anything they'd trained for—but not beyond Bhishma.
Because Bhishma, in that moment, let go of hesitation.
He began to move with fluid mastery—shifting between martial forms that none of them had ever seen before. His hands blurred with Asi Mudra, his footwork echoing Natya Shastra, his shoulders carried the weight of thousands of years.
His expression was calm—too calm for a child.
Every punch, every dodge, every breath—was measured like a master playing chess ten turns ahead.
And then…
He whispered a mantra not even the angel expected.
"Vishnu Sankalpa… Adityahridayam…"
A burst of golden energy radiated from Bhishma, like the sun breaching dawn's edge. He didn't attack with raw power. He attacked with intention. With truth.
The divine cube paused its rotation for just a heartbeat.
Luzriel's serene face tightened—only slightly.
This was no ordinary boy.
This… was a remnant of divine rebellion.
And the battle was only just beginning.