The monsoon rains of Mumbai poured relentlessly, bouncing off the asphalt streets with a rhythm that mirrored Shiwang's restless heartbeat. He leaned against the window of his small apartment, a steaming cup of chai cradled in his hands, eyes fixed on the gray clouds dancing in the storm. The city was alive with chaos—horns blaring, street vendors shouting, the occasional splash of a rickshaw skimming through puddles—but Shiwang's mind wandered far beyond the crowded streets.
He was thinking of her.
Not the women who passed him in real life, not the classmates at college who waved cheerily, not even the chatter of his friends back in the hostel lounge. He was thinking of Ma Xiaotao, the fictional warrior whose fiery spirit had somehow burrowed into the very core of his being. She was a character, yes—a character in a 2D world of cultivation and martial souls—but for Shiwang, she was something more. Something real. Something destined.
He chuckled softly, a sound that was both light and dark, like a faint bell echoing in a distant cathedral. "Crazy, aren't I?" he muttered to himself. "Falling for a character. A world I'll never reach… or so I thought."
And yet, every fiber of his being resisted the word "impossible." There was something about her. Something that called to him across worlds, across lifetimes. He couldn't explain it—not in logic, not in science, not even in dreams. But it was there. And it was growing.
Shiwang's playful side emerged as he grabbed his laptop and booted up the Soul Land 2 streaming files he had watched countless times. He mimicked her movements, smirking as he attempted her combat stances in the cramped living room. "If only you could see me, Ma Xiaotao," he whispered, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I'd beat you with my bare hands… maybe."
The room was small, cluttered with textbooks, a half-finished Rubik's cube, and an old guitar that hadn't been strummed in months. But here, in this chaos, Shiwang felt a calm energy flowing through him—one he could not fully name. Something ancient, something deep. It stirred when he thought of her.
And then, as the rain lashed harder against the window, the other side of Shiwang emerged—the serious side, the side that had carried him through lifetimes he barely remembered. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, the playful smirk vanished. His breathing slowed, and a sharp, cold wind seemed to rise from within his chest.
It was a feeling of awakening, subtle at first, like the brush of ice against bare skin, then growing into something undeniable. Shiwang had always felt different. Even in mundane moments—tests, fights, heartbreaks—he had carried a power, dormant and patient, like a storm waiting for permission to rise.
"Not now," he whispered, but even as he said it, he could feel it. The power beneath his skin. The pulse of something older than memory, older than this world.
He remembered flashes, strange visions in the corners of his mind—images of fire and ice, a battlefield that spanned continents, a shadowed figure kneeling in meditation beneath a starlit sky. There were names he did not recognize, chants he did not understand, and yet, somehow, they resonated deep within him. His heart raced, and the room seemed colder, quieter, charged with an energy that made his hair stand on end.
Shiwang opened his eyes and looked at his reflection in the dark windowpane. The face staring back at him was familiar, yet it carried a depth no one could see—the weight of lives lived, of trials endured, of a destiny he had not yet claimed. And then, just as he thought he could ignore it, he felt it: a pull, faint but insistent, like a string tethered to another world, another life, another heart.
It was Ma Xiaotao.
Shiwang's lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. He had fallen, fully, though he didn't yet know it. Not for a person in his own world, not for someone he could touch or speak to, but for a soul in another universe. A warrior of fire, fierce, loyal, unyielding… the one who had already claimed his heart without even knowing it existed.
And in that moment, the world seemed to shift. The rain outside became a rhythm not of Mumbai, but of some grander, older pattern. The air around him thickened, charged with something he could feel pressing at the edges of his senses. Shiwang stood, placing his hand flat against the window, as if trying to reach the invisible boundary between him and that other world.
"Soon," he whispered. "I'll reach you… no matter what it takes."
The words themselves carried weight, and as they left his lips, a shiver ran through him—not from the rain, not from the chill in the room, but from power awakening. His dormant Tapasyā, accumulated over lives he barely remembered, stirred within him. It was slow at first, a simmering warmth in his chest, then a fire, then an ice-cold current that danced through his veins.
Shiwang stumbled back, gripping the edge of his desk, his mind reeling. He could feel something within him unlocking, responding to an emotion he had never known before: pure, untainted love.
It was terrifying, exhilarating, overwhelming.
He fell to his knees, gripping his head as memories not his own flashed through his mind: chanting in ancient temples, meditating beneath the sun and moon, standing amidst battlefields where the sky itself had burned with power. And in every vision, a single truth remained: the love he felt now was no coincidence—it was destiny, the catalyst that would awaken what had always been his.
Shiwang opened his eyes once more. They were no longer the eyes of a carefree student or a playful dreamer. They were the eyes of someone who had glimpsed eternity, of someone who carried the weight of destruction and protection, of ice and fire.
He stood slowly, feeling the energy solidify around him. The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle, but inside, the room crackled with life. His smirk returned, faint but sharper now. "Looks like things are about to get interesting," he murmured. "Time to see just how far this world—and every world beyond it—can stretch for love."
For the first time, Shiwang did not feel ordinary. He felt the stirrings of Demon King of Destruction, of God of Ice, of a destiny that spanned realms and lifetimes. And most importantly, he felt ready.
Ready to leave behind the world he knew, ready to pursue the soul that had claimed him, ready to embrace a power he had never imagined.
The storm outside cleared slightly, revealing a sliver of moonlight cutting through the clouds. Shiwang's gaze followed it, unwavering. The road ahead was unknown, dangerous, and eternal. But his heart was certain.
And somewhere, in a world he could not yet touch, Ma Xiaotao's fate was waiting.
To be continued....