The morning air was crisp, but that didn't matter. Ashura Bellet's presence alone warped the atmosphere of the city. His guild members, the Amethyst Guild, had been instructed to return to their families, ensuring that everyone they cared for was safe and prepared. He watched them leave, their silhouettes fading into the morning sun, before he turned his attention to the scene where the continental-level hunter had met his end.
With a subtle smirk, Ashura rose into the sky, riding the wind with effortless grace. He moved like a blade through air, performing an aerial step so precise it seemed like dancing. Seconds later, he hovered above the scene, standing upside down, arms folded, black coat trailing, the faint purple amethyst sparks crackling around him. The world below seemed insignificant, shadows of fear and awe stretching with his form. Closing his eyes, he tapped into the invisible threads of energy—sensing life, fear, and malice intertwined.
It didn't take long.
"Oh?" he murmured, eyes opening slowly, revealing the faint glint of purple lightning within. "Look at this."
Through the veil of dimensions, he had sensed the escape of one of the outergod soldiers' vessels. The soldier was Kurokami, a regal, arrogant, and prideful commander of the outergod armies. Ashura's grin widened. Kurokami had anticipated the hunter's arrival and had fled the scene, thinking himself clever. But in his new dimension, Kurokami immediately felt the weight of devastation. His hair stood on end as an intangible dread filled him. Something… massive, inhumanly precise, and unrelenting was nearby.
Kurokami turned his head instinctively—and there, beside him, floating with casual arrogance, was Ashura. Hands in his pockets, coat fluttering like a shadowed flame, the faint halo of black and amethyst lightning circling him.
"Beats… why did you flee?" Ashura asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Tell me… can you feel fear?"
Kurokami gripped his sword, his aura flaring with confidence and arrogance. "I… I can handle this. If you dare—"
"If you survive three attacks," Ashura interrupted smoothly, "I'll let you live."
The next moment, three strikes of impossibly precise black-and-purple lightning blended with martial arts mastery and swordplay tore through the space around Kurokami. The commander's defenses, even his own immense powers, were too slow. The world itself seemed to slow as the fury of Ashura's strikes converged from multiple directions simultaneously. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it ended.
Kurokami was gone. Offscreen. Not a trace remained. Ashura's smirk didn't falter. "Pathetic," he muttered under his breath, flicking a streak of amethyst lightning casually across his palm.
Before he could linger, the scene shifted. In a dark, looming hall on the planet, an assembly of outergod soldiers gathered. Their leader, Kurogami, a tall and imposing figure draped in black robes that seemed to devour light, addressed the army. Their eyes, burning with otherworldly fire, were fixated on Ashura.
"He grows too strong," Kurogami said, his voice like thunder rolling over frozen lands. "He cannot be allowed to live freely. He will be sealed. Every vessel, every soldier… converge. The threat must be extinguished. He is the beginning and end of our reckoning."
Behind him, legions of soldiers, their bodies shimmering with divine energy and alien constructs, shifted, readying themselves. The air vibrated with anticipation, the weight of uncountable deaths ready to be unleashed. Yet, none of them knew that Ashura had already been two steps ahead.
The scene snapped back to the dimension Ashura had entered. With the ease of a god strolling through a garden, he emerged from the dimensional threshold. Not a scratch, not a mark, and yet he carried with him the vessel's treasure as if it were nothing more than a trinket. The air around him hummed softly, the faint crackle of amethyst lightning dancing over his coat and hands.
He floated just above the ground, looking almost bored. "What a waste of time," he muttered, though the smirk on his lips suggested amusement more than irritation. "And yet… entertaining."
Ashura folded his arms and let the wind carry him lightly forward, the city sprawling beneath him, unaware of the storms already forming beyond the veil. His eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked to the horizon. Somewhere, far away, other soldiers were moving, armies preparing—but he didn't flinch. Ashura Bellet had survived the beyond catastrophic; he had fought demi-gods, the Nameless God's trial, and the fury of the Frost Domain.
And now, he would show the world why he was the Nameless Apostle, the harbinger of ruin for any who dared challenge him.