A month and a half had passed inside the Forbidden Zone.
A part of the forest terrain, once pristine, now bore scars of endless slaughter—charred craters, cracked earth, and trees split in half by violent gales. Where once stood towering trunks that made city skyscrapers seem small, now some lay fallen, their roots exposed like the bones of dead titans. And standing amidst it all was a pair who had grown sharper, fiercer, and deadlier than anyone who had entered this trial.
Om's eyes glowed faintly gold, his breathing calm, his body tougher and leaner than before. His broken inheritance had not held him back—it had reshaped him into something monstrous. Around him, faint Sanskrit characters shimmered on his arms like burning tattoos, each symbol whispering the weight of a forgotten scripture.
And beside him—towering like a war god reborn—stood Dawon.
The lion had transformed beyond recognition. His once weak and scarred body had swelled with power; muscles rippled beneath his golden fur, his mane now wild and majestic, swaying in the restless wind. Dawon's size had doubled, his height towering more than twice Om's own. And most fearsome of all—his eyes glowed with the same golden Sanskrit as Om's, a silent proof that their bond had transcended flesh and blood.
But Dawon's transformation was not only physical. He had mastered Vayavastra in ways Om had never imagined. Gusts danced around his body like living armor, and with a single bound, he could ride the winds themselves, soaring into the skies and striking down with blades of air. His roars no longer announced his presence—they carried the weight of tempests, shredding foes to ribbons.
And yet, no matter how much they grew, the Forbidden Zone had endless horrors waiting.
.
.
.
.
The first signs came with a tremor.
The forest floor shivered beneath Om's boots. Birds—what few remained alive in this hellish terrain—screeched and fled. From the thickets came the sound of snapping branches, the buzz of wings, the growl of predators.
Then they emerged.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of hybrid beasts poured out. Wolf-like bodies with insectoid claws, their backs plated with jagged chitin. Their mandibles clicked as if mocking, eyes gleaming with hunger.
"Again," Om muttered, his fingers curling.
The first wave leapt.
"Grutva Akarshan!"
Golden Sanskrit flared across his right arm. The ground beneath the front line of beasts caved in with a heavy BOOM!—gravity pulled them down with crushing force, their bones snapping, bodies flattening against the earth as if the world itself rejected them.
But more came, swarming around, their claws slashing.
"Vajra Kaya!"
Symbols spread across Om's torso and limbs, his skin hardening like diamond. The claws scraped against him but left only sparks. With enhanced strength, he struck—a single punch sent a beast flying back, ribs shattered, ichor spraying across the air.
Above him, Dawon moved like a phantom of the storm.
The lion leapt high, paws meeting the invisible currents. The air itself bent to him.
"ROAAARR!"
His roar exploded outward. Wind surged like a cannon, blades of air slicing through the swarm. Heads flew, legs severed, wings shredded. Riding his own gust, Dawon shot forward like a golden arrow, tearing into beasts mid-air, his claws glowing faintly with Sanskrit as Vayavastra gathered at their tips.
Om glanced up briefly—his lips curved. "Good. You're faster than me now."
Dawon landed beside him with a thunderous crash, eyes locked forward. More were coming.
The ground quaked.
From the forest emerged something far larger.
A beast unlike the rest—its body horned and plated with thick armor, towering over trees, four crimson eyes glowing with malevolence. It let out a guttural roar that shook leaves from branches. Around its body, faint distortions pulsed.
"The leader," Om muttered. "Figures."
The horned beast stomped forward, earth cracking. With one slam of its massive claw, the shockwave toppled weaker monsters around it, scattering them like ants. It was a predator born only for destruction.
It lunged.
Om's arm flared golden. "Grutva Akarshan!"
The beast's charge faltered as gravity spiked beneath it, its body pressed down, knees buckling into the dirt. But its roar tore through the pressure—it resisted, muscles bulging, pushing forward even under crushing weight.
"Persistent bastard…" Om growled. His barrier flared—Vajra Kaya wrapped his body as he dashed forward. His fist met the beast's armored jaw with a thunderclap. The monster staggered back, but the armor held.
Before it could counter—Dawon struck.
The lion soared above on rushing winds, claws glowing. "ROAAAR!"
Wind condensed around his strike, a massive Vayavastra Slash tearing down like the judgment of the heavens. It crashed into the beast's shoulder, shredding chunks of armor, spraying green ichor across the battlefield.
The beast howled in rage, its claws lashing wildly, carving trenches into the earth.
Om ducked, rolling aside, his palm slamming to the ground. Sanskrit lit up.
"Grutva Akarshan: Field!"
The very air warped—gravity shifted in a wide radius, dragging dozens of the smaller hybrids to the ground, pinning them. They screeched and struggled, but Om's eyes were merciless.
"Dawon!"
The lion understood. He leapt into the storm, wind gathering around his massive body. His mane flared like fire as he spun mid-air, roaring once more.
A cyclone erupted.
Wind blades and torrents shredded the trapped beasts, cutting them apart like grass before a scythe. Blood sprayed upward, scattering like crimson rain. The battlefield turned into a storm of gore and broken chitin.
But the leader still stood.
Wounded, furious, its roar summoned even more. From the shadows of the trees, hundreds more hybrids poured out—an army swelling into the hundreds, surrounding them in a tightening circle.
---
Om's breathing grew heavier, sweat sliding down his temple. His energy burned, Sanskrit characters flickering faintly.
He glanced at Dawon. The lion's chest heaved, but his eyes glowed fiercely.
Om exhaled. "A group, huh? This is the problem…"
He clenched his fist. "Against one, I can crush them. But against this many…"
For a moment, he thought of using Ulka-Patt, the meteor rain. But he knew better. His body couldn't take it. The last time nearly shattered him.
No. Not now.
Instead—he let the battlefield dictate him.
His gravity pulled the enemies inward, forcing them into tighter clusters. Dawon took advantage, soaring above, his roars splitting the sky. Every gust was death. Every claw carved storms. Together, they turned slaughter into rhythm, a dance of death between man and beast.
The leader charged once more, blood spraying from its wounds, desperate to kill the two who defied it.
Om braced, Sanskrit blazing across his body. "Vajra Kaya!"
He met the charge head-on. The impact shook the ground, cracks spiderwebbing across the terrain. But Om did not falter—his barrier held.
And then—Dawon struck from above with one final, colossal Vayavastra Roar.
The gale crushed downward, pinning the leader into Om's gravity field. The beast's body crumpled under both forces, torn apart from within, its roar cut short in a wet gurgle.
The army faltered. Leaderless, they scattered, fleeing back into the shadows of the forest.
Zero, not interested. Announced results.
[ Kill count: 3780 ]
[ In 18 days, 1220 more kills needed ]
Silence returned.
Om stood in the ruins, his chest rising and falling. Blood soaked his fists, ichor coated his barrier. Slowly, the Sanskrit marks dimmed and vanished.
Beside him, Dawon stood tall, his mane whipping with the fading winds, his body glowing faintly golden.
Om looked up at the lion, lips curving into a rare, tired smile.
"Good work, partner."
Dawon lowered his head, brushing his massive mane against Om's shoulder, his deep growl rumbling like thunder.
For the first time, Om allowed himself a moment of pride. After all, together they had survived what would have slaughtered entire teams.
And the Forbidden Zone… was far from done testing them.