The iron gates of Vaikunth Dham trembled as if the very hinges knew what was about to arrive.
And then… he came.
A six-year-old shadow, shoulders straight, head tilted slightly downward, gauntlets humming faintly. Behind him, the horizon boiled black — despair's clouds devouring the once-bright sky. In front of him, five thousand armored men, shields raised, spears glinting, chakra formations drawn into glowing runes on the ground.
A commander shouted, voice breaking with nervousness:
"Hold the line! He's just a child—"
The rest of his words were drowned under the sound of Aryan moving.
First Wave
Ten elite guards broke formation and rushed forward, spears drawn. Their footsteps pounded like drums.
Aryan whispered, voice calm, almost playful:
"Ten pieces of kindling."
He moved faster than their eyes could follow. A twist of his gauntlet — CRACK! — the first man's chest caved in. Another thrust came — Aryan sidestepped, grabbed the spear mid-air, spun it backward, and skewered three in one line.
The system's voice chimed nervously:
[Warning: User has activated Overdrive Reflex Of Shadows. Skin burning and durability dropping by 3%.]
Aryan smirked as smoke curled from his forearm where his skin seared.
"Three percent? That's all? Guess I can go faster."
He leaped — spinning kick snapping two helmets in half — and then slammed his gauntlet into the earth.
BOOOOM!
Five more soldiers went flying like rag dolls.
The first wave was gone.
Second Wave
The commander screamed, "Second unit, forward!"
Twenty men advanced, chakra blades burning blue. Their combined aura shook the ground.
They struck together — a dazzling, coordinated slash.
Aryan ducked under the first strike, skin blistering as his body bent beyond human limits. He let the gauntlet absorb the second strike, sparks exploding. Then he whispered a single word:
"Pulse."
The gauntlet released a shockwave that ripped through the air like thunder. The twenty men's chests imploded at once, armor shredding as blood sprayed like rain.
The system stammered:
[Warning: Energy output… TOO HIGH! Burn ratio at 17%. User, your arm is literally on fire—]
Aryan, grinning as his sleeve caught flame:
"Then I'll fight brighter."
Third Wave
Now fifty soldiers charged as one, chanting in unison, their combined chakra forming a blazing spear of light. The formation spearhead aimed straight at Aryan's heart.
Despair's voice chuckled in his mind:
"Ahh, now they're fun. Let's see you tear the spear apart."
Aryan crouched low, his gauntlets glowing crimson. He caught the incoming chakra-spear with both hands.
The impact rattled the ground, creating cracks in the stone road. His skin burned open, steam rising from raw flesh. But Aryan… laughed.
He pushed back.
"Too weak."
With one surge, he snapped the chakra spear in two and spun with it — using the broken shards like weapons. The fifty soldiers didn't even have time to scream as their own formation tore through their bodies.
The field reeked of blood. Smoke, fire, broken steel — all painted crimson.
The Avalanche
From fifty, the numbers grew. Hundreds tried to surround him. Arrows blotted the sky. Techniques of fire, water, wind clashed from every direction.
Aryan's gauntlets blazed, his bare skin sizzling each time he forced more power through. He moved like a demon child born of despair — crushing skulls with his fists, burning soldiers alive when his cracked skin flared with chakra fire, tearing through platoons like paper dolls.
The system's voice became frantic, almost comical:
[Stop! STOP! You're at 48% burn threshold! That's not bravery, that's barbecue! You're not fighting — you're self-destructing!]
Aryan spun mid-air, blood and ash trailing, and laughed.
"Then let me explode beautifully."
He gathers more chakra than he can hold and fire's a massive devastation beam of Pure Raw Form of Chakra at their army.
By the time the battlefield fell silent, thousands of corpses littered the ground. The mighty 5,000 had been reduced to a nightmare painting.
Aryan stood at the center, his clothes in tatters, skin cracked and bleeding, gauntlets glowing with a dull, murderous hum.
That's when his eyes caught it — a single guard running towards the palace gates.
Aryan tilted his head. His grin widened.
"Oh? A messenger to my prey?"
He stepped forward, each movement cracking the earth beneath him.
"Now… let's see who the real king is."
And with that, Aryan marched toward the palace — the gates trembling before his shadow.
The stone path leading to Vaikunth Dham's grand court trembled as Aryan dashed forward. His gauntlets glowed, still dripping with blood and smoldering aura from the massacre of thousands. The clouds above cracked with thunder, but just as his foot crossed the threshold of the marble stairs—
A voice cut through his head.
System:
Hold on. Who… are you?
Aryan's body staggered mid-run, his aura flaring like wildfire. His shadow elongated unnaturally on the ground, shivering as though alive. Despair chuckled inside his chest.
Despair:
Oh? Finally curious, tin-box? I am the gift. The blessing. The chaos Mahadev slid into this brat's fragile body. Without me, he's nothing—just a broken vessel with leaky chakras.
The System's tone sharpened.
System:
Wrong. He's Aryan, and you're hijacking him. Why are you trying to control?
Despair:
Control? Hah! I'm improving him. You really think this fool could have slaughtered 5,000 men without me? He couldn't even swallow chakra properly. His body rejected energy like it was poison. I forced it in. I molded him into what destiny needs.
The words echoed in Aryan's skull like war drums. His teeth clenched. For the first time, his real voice cracked through the haze.
"…Stop… talking like I'm not here."
That single whisper inside triggered a chain reaction. Despair's laughter faltered.
Aryan's soul, faint but stubborn, pushed back. The burning force Despair had spread through his veins trembled. His consciousness surged forward, pushing Despair's black miasma toward a corner of his body—not destroyed, not erased, but contained.
Despair:
Tch—what?! Impossible. You were weak, broken. You needed me.
System:
System responded in a smirking tone; Seems the dumb Aryan you mocked… still has a spine.
A flash.
The court doors thundered open. The great hall, filled with King Rudrayan, Bishop Veerabhadra, ministers, and guards, fell silent as the boy stepped in. His small frame was drenched in blood, his head lowered, shadows cloaking his face.
But the aura…
It wasn't steady. It wasn't controlled. It was exploding in every direction like a storm about to consume the palace itself.
Cracks raced across the marble tiles. Chandeliers above trembled. Curtains swayed violently even without wind. The ministers gasped, many stumbling back.
"W-What kind of monster…?" one stammered.
King Rudrayan narrowed his eyes, jaw tightening. So this is the boy. The… defect?
But as Aryan lifted one trembling foot forward, the truth surfaced—his aura wasn't rising out of dominance. It was leaking. Uncontrolled. The pressure of too much chakra, forced into the body of a child who wasn't built to hold it.
To the court, it looked like a walking doomsday weapon.
To Aryan, it felt like fire tearing his skin apart.
Despair:
No! You'll waste it all! You're not ready! Give me control again!
Aryan:
…No.
System:
Good. You're back, Aryan. And your luck stat… oh, haha, it just returned. Things are about to get… interesting.
As Aryan stopped before the throne, his fists clenched, his head still lowered, his aura raged like a living storm.
The king's ministers screamed, the guards reached for weapons, and Veerabhadra rose to his feet, his chakra flaring defensively.
To them, it wasn't a boy standing there.
It was a bomb waiting to explode.