89 – The Battlefield of Chains
Moon and Kai had just been wrenched out of that suffocating flashback, their minds still echoing with fragments of grief and rage. When their eyes fluttered open, the world around them was no longer familiar.
They were standing upon a battlefield—though it was unlike any battlefield they had ever seen. The ground beneath their feet was not soil, not stone, but a smooth, dark surface that pulsed faintly, like the skin of some colossal creature. And around them, rising into infinity, stood walls so massive they dwarfed mountains. They were carved from a black material that reflected no light, their surfaces jagged and shifting, as if the stone itself was alive. The walls climbed higher and higher until they seemed to stab through the clouds and vanish into the void above.
There was no sky—only a bleak, suffocating dome of twilight, smeared with streaks of crimson and violet, colors that didn't belong in any natural world. The silence was absolute, broken only by the low hum that vibrated through the ground, like the heartbeat of a monstrous god watching them from afar.
It was a prison disguised as an arena. An endless colosseum with no audience, no exit—only suffering promised at its core.
Kai was the first to stir. His body ached as though it had been torn apart and stitched back together a thousand times, every nerve raw and trembling. He reached inward instinctively—
Yes, his essence storage answered his call. He could feel the familiar well of energy swirling within him, a reassuring spark in the midst of this nightmare.
But when he sought the system, there was only silence.
No code.
No interface.
No guiding voice.
The emptiness cut deeper than any wound. It was like having a limb severed—something that had always been part of him, suddenly ripped away.
He exhaled sharply, forcing himself upright, only then realizing his state. His body was naked, exposed to the cold air of the arena. The only thing concealing him was a thick black chain, coiled again and again around his waist like a cruel belt. The links were wide and ancient, etched with symbols that glowed faintly red, pulsing like veins filled with molten iron. It covered his groin but left the rest of his body bare, vulnerable, as if mocking him.
His hand brushed against the links, and he shuddered. The metal was ice cold, yet it carried a strange weight, not just physical but spiritual—as if it wasn't merely binding flesh, but soul.
He raised his head, scanning the vast emptiness.
"Moon?" His voice was hoarse, breaking against the silence.
But the void offered no reply.
Only shadows.
Only walls.
The silence pressed against him like an invisible ocean, heavy and suffocating.
Then—memory returned.
It came in fragments, sharp and merciless.
Lily. Albert.
Their faces. Their voices. The way they had died, snatched away senselessly.
Kai's chest tightened as though crushed by an unseen hand. His throat burned. For a moment, grief tried to take him, clawing its way up, demanding he collapse under the weight of loss.
But this was no place for sorrow.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked, his jaw locking tight. His heart was a storm, but his face was steel.
Grief could come later. If there was a later.
His eyes caught something gleaming on the ground. A sword.
It was forged entirely of blue crystal, emanating a chilling aura, almost freezing the air around it. The blade stood at least 1.3 meters long—large, yet when he grasped it, it felt as natural as breathing.
But the moment his fingers closed around the hilt, he heard it—
A grotesque chorus of screeches behind him.
He turned.
From the shadows, thousands of essence creatures swarmed toward him. Some crawled, some flew, others stumbled with twisted limbs. Their bodies dripped with corrupted energy, their hollow eyes fixed only on him.
Kai inhaled sharply, then grinned.
"Perfect."
And then—
Slash! Splatter! Crack! Tear!
His sword tore through their bodies like lightning through storm clouds. The ground was painted with their dissolving remains. He soon realized—they were nothing but rookies, weak fodder thrown at him to test his edge.
On the other side of the arena, Moon's fate mirrored his brother's. Naked, chained, body shivering under the cold void of this place.
But unlike Kai, what awaited him was not a sword. It was a black gauntlet, its surface marked with faint red carvings, its claws razor-sharp and glinting with hunger.
The moment he picked it up, the air trembled. The gauntlet pulsed, fusing with his arm as if it had been waiting for him. A sinister smoke seeped from its carvings, crawling into his veins.
Then—
The roars came.
A tide of creatures poured into the arena before him, larger, more vicious than those Kai faced. Bone-armored beasts, their steps shaking the ground.
Moon's face, however, remained expressionless. He raised his clawed hand and moved forward.
Punch. Slash. Elbow. Knee.
Boxing, Muay Thai, raw brutality—every strike split skulls, shattered spines, shredded flesh. For him, it was child's play, his body moving with lethal precision, his face carved in stone.
Until—
Slash!
A sudden arc of invisible force cut across him. One moment he stood, whole. The next—his head and body separated, falling into silence.
At the same time, Kai too felt it. A sensation crawling over his skin, a déjà vu. Then—darkness.
When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer fighting.
He was bound in chains.
The same cosmic chains he had once seen after being slain by Ruok. They wound tightly around his limbs, his chest, his throat, suspending him in a space that wasn't space. The battlefield was gone. Now, there was only a vast void, endless darkness scattered with shimmering fragments like broken stars.
Seconds later, Moon appeared beside him—also bound, also crushed by those same chains.
And then it began.
The chains bled.
From the ancient, jagged links, a strange, luminous fluid seeped—thick, golden, yet glowing with prismatic veins of violet and crimson. It pulsed with a rhythm that was not of this world, almost like the blood of a star being forced through flesh that was never meant to hold it. The moment it touched their skin, Moon and Kai felt it sink past muscle, past bone, past soul.
And then—
Pain.
Not pain as mortals knew it. Not cuts, not burns, not broken bones. This was pain on a scale so vast it was almost incomprehensible—the unraveling of existence itself.
Their bones twisted inside their flesh like snakes writhing to escape. Their nerves screamed, each strand lit on fire, raw and exposed. Their veins boiled, rivers of essence igniting into molten lightning.
Moon, who once had embraced agony, who had laughed at wounds, who had found joy in the ache of his own bloodied knuckles—collapsed. His lips trembled, his eyes wide, his breath fractured into gasps that sounded like sobs. The gauntlet on his arm shivered with him, absorbing some of the torment, amplifying the rest.
Kai—
Kai broke faster.
His body convulsed uncontrollably, jerking against the chains like a marionette under the cruel hands of a sadistic puppeteer. His throat tore with screams, but the chains suffocated the sound into silence, leaving him to choke on his own terror. His mind splintered under the weight, fragmenting between past regrets and the endless, merciless now.
It wasn't just pain.
It was deconstruction.
Their muscles shredded into fibers, then reknit, only to be shredded again. Their organs liquefied, boiling into sludge, then reformed, only to rupture once more. Their very souls shrieked, split apart into strands of raw essence and then forcefully stitched back together.
There was no reprieve.
No moment of stillness.
No release in death—only endless repetition.
And this was not measured in seconds. Not in hours. Not even in days.
The torment dragged across an eternity—a full month by mortal reckoning—where each heartbeat was a lifetime, and each breath was the scream of a universe collapsing.
Then, without warning, the cycle shifted.
They respawned.
The battlefield returned—yet they were no longer together.
Moon gasped as his eyes opened, his head lying on the same ground where he had once been decapitated. The gauntlet was still fused to his arm, its claws glimmering faintly, as if eager for blood. Around him lay mountains of corpses, beasts torn to pieces, their essence already dissipating into the air like smoke.
But something moved.
From amidst the carnage, towering over the corpses, stood a silver praying mantis. It was as tall as a man, but monstrous in form, its limbs ending in scythes the size of swords, their edges wet with blood. Its compound eyes glowed with alien malice, faceted mirrors of cruelty that reflected Moon's trembling figure.
It hissed—a screech that sliced into his skull like a blade—and lunged.
Moon raised his gauntlet.
Claw met scythe. Sparks ignited, scattering across the dark battlefield. For a heartbeat, he kept pace with it—each strike, each clash ringing like steel against steel. His arm burned with strain, his muscles threatening to tear apart.
Then—another slash.
Faster.
Heavier.
Merciless.
His guard shattered.
The scythe cut through his defense, and once again, the world collapsed into darkness. The chains reclaimed him.
Kai's test mirrored his brother's nightmare.
The mantis before him was the same—silver, sharp, merciless. But Kai had his sword, and he fought with every ounce of fury left within him. The crystal blade danced in his hands, slashing in blurs of cold blue light. For moments, he matched the creature, blow for blow, steel ringing like frozen thunder.
But the mantis was endless. Relentless. A predator designed for the sole purpose of slaughter.
One misstep—
Slash!
The scythe cleaved through him, tearing his torso from his legs. His body fell, broken, lifeless.
And again, the chains took him.
The cycle repeated.
Death. Resurrection. Torture. Battle. Death again.
Six times. Seven times. Maybe more. Time dissolved into meaningless fragments.
Each time the chains welcomed them back, the liquid fire poured into them, and their screams etched deeper scars upon their souls.
Kai's spirit withered. His eyes lost light. He moved through the cycle like a prisoner who had accepted his sentence, hollow, beaten, a man who had lost the will to resist.
But Moon—
Moon shattered.
When he resurrected yet again, his body trembled uncontrollably. His hands clawed at his head, his fingernails drawing blood as he ripped at his own scalp. His vision blurred with tears, cascading down his face like rivers that would never end. His skull pounded as though trying to crack itself open.
"Pain… no… no more pain… no more pain… I hate pain… I HATE IT!"
His voice cracked, raw with despair. He slammed his head into the ground with thunderous force. Once. Twice. Again and again. Each impact sent splinters of blood across the battlefield. His bones cracked audibly, the sound echoing through the void like broken bells.
The mantis appeared once more, raising its blade.
Moon twitched, his body half-broken, his lips trembling as he whispered—
"No more pain…"
And then he screamed.
It was not a scream of battle.
Not a roar of courage.
It was the scream of a man whose soul had finally split.
The sound was feral, broken, primal—so loud it shredded his own throat. His vocal cords ruptured, blood spraying from his lips as the roar became a gurgling howl.
He threw his punch.
A punch so devastating, so saturated with raw essence and madness, that it tore the very air apart. Reality rippled like shattered glass. In the real world, such a strike could have obliterated an Earth-sized planet into dust and silence.
The fist struck the mantis.
And nothing happened.
The mantis did not bleed. Did not flinch.
The only one to break was Moon himself.
The backlash consumed him. His body tore inward. His organs ruptured into pulp. His bones snapped into splinters. His eyes, his ears, his mouth, his nose—all bled rivers, flooding the ground with crimson.
The mantis raised its claw for the final blow.
And then—
CLANG!
The strike was stopped.
An old man stood there.
He looked like a relic from another age, his hair medium length and pure white, his mustache styled. His muscles were carved like marble, more defined and imposing than even Moon or Kai's at their strongest. His very presence bent the battlefield, commanding the air, the earth, even time to bow before him.
With one effortless motion, he shattered the mantis into pieces. Its body dissolved into dust, vanishing into the void.
The old man knelt beside Moon's broken husk, placing one massive, calloused hand upon his chest. A radiant light—warm, pure, timeless—flooded through him. His wounds closed. His bones reset. His shredded throat healed. For the first time in eternity, Moon breathed without pain.
On the other side of the colosseum, Kai's story unfolded the same.
Hollow. Defeated. Eyes dim.
Another mantis bore down upon him, claws raised.
And then—another old man, identical in every detail to the first, appeared before him. With a single strike, he obliterated the creature, then laid his hand upon Kai's chest.
Light surged. Warmth spread. The agony faded.
To be continued…