The wind carried nothing but ash and regret.
Akaalnemi was gone—erased not by victory, but by severance. The battlefield still pulsed with residual energy. Smritidhaara trembled faintly around Astha's arm, and Viraagnaya hovered near his palm, as if reluctant to return into slumber.
Astha stared at the spot where the disciple had crumbled.
"He didn't bleed," he murmured.
"He was already half-erased."
Luv stood nearby, his storm-spear lodged in a cracked boulder. His silver armor steamed, still glowing faintly from the contact with divine erasure. His face, however, was serious—too serious.
"That wasn't even the Shatter God. Just one of his echoes."
Vaidehi coughed behind them.
The black veins on her body had spread—now reaching her collarbone and fingertips. The cursed divine essence infused into her during the Herald's attack was awakening.
---
They rested in the skeleton of a forgotten monastery—a dome of crumbling prayers and silent monks, all reduced to dust years ago. Only the mantras carved into the walls remained, flickering like dying fireflies.
Vaidehi sat against the wall, sweat clinging to her brow, breath ragged.
"He's closer than we think," she said.
"The Shatter God... he's not hunting us. He's waiting."
Astha frowned.
"For what?"
"For belief to fall below critical mass. Once enough people give up, he becomes unstoppable."
"How much time do we have?"
She shook her head.
"Time isn't what we're losing. It's faith."
---
A sudden flare of golden energy filled the monastery.
Runes of celestial design appeared in the air—too perfect, too divine. The heat smelled like honey and judgment. Then, he arrived.
Clad in mirrored armor, bearing a long trident with a crescent blade, his presence demanded reverence.
A voice thundered, though his lips barely moved:
"Astha of the Forgotten Flame. Luv of the Thunder-Willed. You stand accused of divine rebellion."
Luv tensed.
"I know that aura. He's one of the Deva-Adityas."
The emissary stepped forward, ignoring Vaidehi entirely—as if her existence was already invalid.
"Return to Swarnalok for cleansing. Or be struck from the Cycle."
Astha stood.
"We refuse."
The emissary didn't react. He simply raised a finger—and space folded around them, crushing air, bending stone.
---
But Astha didn't falter.
Ashvaanta responded, bursting into a new form—a curved, single-edge longblade, glowing with mantra glyphs.
Smritidhaara surged around his arm, flame chains dancing like serpents.
And from his open palm, Viraagnaya appeared again, hovering silently like judgment.
"Tell your gods," Astha said,
"The next time they send someone… make sure they're not replaceable."
He threw Viraagnaya—not as a weapon, but a message.
The emissary caught it. And for a moment, his hand cracked—a sliver of divine favor peeling away.
He stared at it in shock.
"What are you becoming?"
"Something the gods will remember... and fear."
The emissary vanished in golden light, no threats left to speak.
---
That night, as Luv kept silent watch under lightning stars, Astha sat beside Vaidehi again.
She trembled.
"Don't lie," she whispered.
"I won't last this arc, will I?"
Astha didn't answer immediately. His hands wrapped her in flame-threaded bandages, his expression unreadable.
"Maybe not," he said finally.
"But when you fall, I'll carry every part of you… until I burn the sky."
Vaidehi smiled weakly.
"Then I'll make my last moments count."
She closed her eyes.
And from her body, a small rune formed on its own—the mark of a Watcher, an ancient god of forgotten prophecy.
A silent warning:
Something worse is coming. Not just erasure… but corruption.