Chapter 28 – The Gaze Beyond
Far beyond the veil of stars…
Beyond the Rift, the multiverse, and the lattice of dimensions…
A place existed where no wind stirred, where time never ticked, where matter held no meaning.
Here, in a realm of impossible geometry and chaotic stillness, the watchers stirred.
They were not all gods. Some were greater. Some lesser. Some were born at the edge of entropy. Others had been forgotten before the birth of light. They spoke in concepts, in pulses of existence and language older than sound.
And they had turned their gaze… to him.
---
The clash between Andrew and Zekrav had meant nothing to them—until that final moment.
The shockwave that rippled through the dimensions had not torn space, but resonated with something buried. Dormant. Ancient.
It was not Andrew they feared.
It was what moved through him.
What echoed behind his aura. What twisted around his soul when the darkness boiled not with mana, but with origin.
A ripple.
A signature.
> "It's stirring again…"
"No. It responded to him. Just a fraction—but enough."
"Impossible. That thing was sealed before stars were born."
"And yet its echo found a host."
"He doesn't know what he's wielding."
"He will."
Some beings whispered in concern. Others watched with detached amusement. A few… smiled.
And far, far beneath the collapsing echoes of the void—
One Being Awoke.
It didn't rise.
It didn't roar.
It simply opened a single eye.
And the stars around it began to die.
---
Meanwhile – In the Arena World
Back on the battlefield, the world rejoiced. Mortals screamed victory. Systems blinked and rewarded survival.
But in the sky—above clouds, beyond sight—omens began to ripple.
> A star flickered.
Birds flew in reverse for three seconds.
The wind reversed in one part of the Earth, then stilled.
And every god, every Sponsor, and every divine construct… paused.
---
Somewhere deep in a distant realm, a Sponsor watched the footage in silence.
She—the goddess of chaos, Nyx—tilted her head with a curious smile.
"You weren't supposed to awaken yet, little shadow. But now they've all seen you."
"You've made your mark. Let's see what you do next."
She reached toward the viewing pool—fingers trailing violet fire.
And the next phase of the arena stirred.
…
Clara stood with blood-soaked skin, limbs trembling from exhaustion, and her eyes wild with adrenaline. Her opponent, a towering mutant brute with reinforced bone armor and a face half-melted by her flames, staggered backward. The field around them was scorched black, the cracked stone beneath their feet glowing with the aftermath of her last explosion.
And still, he stood.
He roared, his voice shaking the very air, and charged again. Clara twisted her body mid-air, narrowly avoiding the crushing hammer blow. Her boots skidded across the rubble as she landed, and then she vanished in a burst of chaotic flame, reappearing behind him.
Another slash. Another explosion. Another blast of wind and frost.
But he would not fall.
Blood streamed down her back. Her left arm hung limp. She was being tossed like a ragdoll, her body refusing to hold together. But something inside her refused to let go.
The chaos within her was growing more stable. Less wild.
It answered her.
With every second she maintained control, her power grew. Her attacks began to hit harder. Her flames seared deeper. Her ice pierced through mutated flesh. Wind cut through bone. It wasn't just a battle anymore—it was an evolution.
Her power surged.
The brute stumbled, his movement slowing. She had done enough damage to cripple even the most stubborn of monsters.
Clara inhaled deeply, her vision flickering. Her mana was almost gone. Her body was at its limit. But this was it. She gathered every last shred of energy, all that remained, into a single strike.
She didn't scream. She didn't roar. She simply moved.
With a flash of flickering chaos around her blade, Clara surged forward in one last burst, her speed unnatural, body wreathed in spiraling flame and darkness. Her sword arced.
Clean.
The brute's head flew off its shoulders.
Its body remained upright for a second longer before crashing to the ground.
Clara fell onto her back, gasping. Her eyes welled up.
Tears spilled, not from sorrow, but from overwhelming relief.
"I did it," she whispered.
Then, without warning, her hand burned.
A swirling, shimmering mark appeared on the back of her right hand. Purple, black, and silver—like a fractal star with ever-moving edges. The air vibrated.
> [SYSTEM NOTICE — MISSION COMPLETE]
Awakening condition fulfilled. Chaos Lineage recognized.
You have been acknowledged by: [Nyx, Goddess of Chaos].
Her seal now protects you. Chaos backlash reduced. Affinity increased.
Unique Skills granted.
Initiating Full Awakening Protocol...
Clara's eyes widened.
Then she passed out.
---
The battlefield was scorched and broken.
Stone shattered beneath clawed feet as Kartarus advanced, his four eyes glowing with cold, calculated fury. The Kervian's obsidian armor shimmered faintly with heat, blood already staining its jagged edges — but none of it his own.
Arthur stood at the center of the crumbling field, his breath ragged, his arms trembling. The side of his face was bruised purple, and a trail of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. His sword, cracked near the hilt, hung low at his side.
He had been outclassed from the start.
Kartarus didn't fight like a beast. He fought like a veteran gladiator — efficient, brutal, methodical. Every strike came down with bone-breaking force, and Arthur had barely survived the initial flurry, sent flying more than once across the broken terrain. The ground bore witness to his pain — deep furrows where he'd skidded, pools of blood where he'd landed.
"You're slowing," Kartarus said, voice guttural but precise. "Is this the best Hermes can offer?"
Arthur coughed, spat blood. Then he grinned. "Not yet."
The air shifted.
It was subtle at first — a flicker of silver across Arthur's pupils, then a sudden, violent snap of tension like the world itself braced for something.
Hermes' Blessing.
A divine rush surged through his body — not power, but speed. His thoughts quickened, his senses sharpened, and time seemed to unravel just slightly in his favor. Kartarus moved — fast, lethal — but Arthur saw it before it happened.
He stepped sideways, just enough.
The Kervian's fist blurred past, missing by inches. Arthur retaliated instantly, blade flashing upward — deflected, but not unseen.
He moved again. Sidestep. Lunge. Pivot. Slash.
Their blades and claws met in a cascade of sparks. Every second now held a dozen decisions — parry high, duck low, bait an overreach — and Arthur was keeping up. For the first time, he was not being thrown, but dancing just outside the reach of death.
Kartarus roared, infuriated.
He swept low with a tail strike. Arthur leapt above it, twisted midair, and raked his sword across the beast's chest. Blood spilled — shallow, but real. Another step forward.
Then another.
But even now, Arthur couldn't afford to be touched.
Every time Kartarus landed a glancing hit — even through a block — Arthur felt bones shudder and muscles scream. One hit had already fractured his ribs. Another had dislocated his shoulder before he forced it back into place. He couldn't afford a mistake.
The tide was shifting. But slowly.
And time… was running out.
Kartarus lunged, fangs bared. Arthur dodged left, then immediately ducked under a backhand, sword flicking upward to slash the creature's jaw. It wasn't enough. Kartarus spun, elbow catching Arthur's side. He flew back, body ragdolling through cracked stone.
Something tore in his chest.
He tried to rise. Blood poured from his side. His vision blurred.
He couldn't keep this up.
Unless…
Arthur planted his foot. The divine speed still surged through his veins. His breathing was ragged. His bones ached. His sword was chipped.
But his will hadn't wavered.
Kartarus charged.
Arthur met him head-on.
There was no dodge this time. No retreat.
He slid under the first strike, twisted behind the creature's ribs, and threw his entire weight upward — driving his sword toward Kartarus's heart. But the beast's elbow came crashing down toward his side—
He didn't hesitate.
He raised his left arm and took the blow full force.
Bone snapped. Flesh tore. His arm was crushed.
But his blade struck true.
It plunged deep into Kartarus's chest, the point erupting from the back in a spray of black blood.
The Kervian's eyes widened. His body staggered. He swiped once, blindly — missed.
Arthur tore the blade out and kicked him backward.
Kartarus stumbled. Fell.
Didn't rise.
Arthur stood for just a second longer. Then his legs gave out. He collapsed to one knee, vision dimming, blood gushing from his ruined arm.
Everything went black.
---
He awoke to warmth.
Voices. Light. Pressure on his chest.
"—his pulse is stabilizing."
"He's lost too much blood—keep the arm steady—"
Arthur blinked, then groaned as white-hot pain tore through his shoulder.
"Don't move," came a soft voice. "Just stay still. I'm reattaching it now."
Above him, the healer's hands glowed faint blue, threads of mana stitching torn tendons and shattered bone. His arm — or what remained of it — was being held in place, slowly reattached through painstaking magic.
Beside her, their other companion knelt, sword drawn, watching the sky for threats. "You're a damn idiot," he muttered. "But a lucky one."
Arthur managed a breathless grin before passing out again.
---
Meanwhile, elsewhere, Andrew drifted in a void beyond comprehension.
No light. No sound. No direction.
Only an endless, all-consuming darkness.
It was a void that defied reality, where time and space lost all meaning.
And within it, something ancient and immense watched.
A presence beyond gods and stars.
It was not hostile—yet.
It waited, patient and silent, as Andrew floated, suspended between existence and oblivion.