The night stretched on, the streets of Mumbai quieting as the rain receded to gentle drizzles. But in the small apartment where Shiwang resided, the world outside had no meaning. Time itself seemed to bend, folding around him as he knelt cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, palms pressed together in silent meditation.
The energy within him hummed, a subtle vibration at first, growing steadily like the pulse of some ancient drum. Every breath he took seemed to pull fragments of forgotten worlds into his soul—fragments that belonged to lives long past, lives in which he had endured trials no ordinary being could survive.
And then, as if stirred by his meditation, the visions began.
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He saw himself standing beneath the scorching sun of a barren wasteland, the ground cracked and blackened beneath his feet. Around him, flames danced, wild and unrestrained, yet obedient to his command. Every step he took left scorched footprints, every exhale a wave of fire that twisted and leaped across the horizon. Soldiers, beasts, and celestial beings alike bowed before him—not out of fear, but reverence.
Shiwang opened his eyes—but they were not the eyes of his current self. They were deeper, older, carrying the weight of countless years. His heart raced, yet he remained calm, understanding what he had seen: a past life where destruction was both his path and his refuge.
The vision shifted. Snow fell instead of fire, yet the cold was sharper, more biting. Ice wrapped around him like armor, reflecting a pale, eternal light. Mountains rose around him, frozen rivers glittering like crystal veins in the frozen continent. And in the heart of that ice, a presence whispered his name—a presence of purpose, of devotion, and of fate.
Shiwang felt it then: the duality of his soul, locked in a delicate balance. Fire and ice. Destruction and protection. Power to annihilate, and power to preserve. Both had existed in him since the very beginning, and both were bound to the destiny that now stirred to life.
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He inhaled deeply, and the visions expanded. He saw temples carved from stone and ice, where monks chanted in languages older than memory. He saw battles raging under twin moons, blood and energy intertwining in chaotic harmony. And in every vision, there was a thread—a single, golden thread that connected him to a figure of fire and spirit: Ma Xiaotao.
It was not a random echo of affection, nor the trick of a dreaming mind. The thread pulled at him, irresistible, undeniable. Every past life he had lived, every trial he had endured, had led him here—to the point where his love could awaken what had slept for eons.
Shiwang's heartbeat echoed in his ears. He rose slowly, standing amidst the shadows of his apartment that now seemed alive with his power. He lifted his hands, and though no one could see it, the air shimmered, charged with energy both blazing and freezing.
"I see now," he whispered, voice low, resolute. "It's not just me… it's everything I have ever been. Everything I have ever endured. And it's for her. Always for her."
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For hours, he remained in this meditation, traveling through lifetimes in mere minutes. He saw himself kneeling in temples under starlight, sweat and blood mingling as he performed Tapasyā that would make gods themselves pause in recognition. He saw himself facing calamities, wars, plagues, and betrayals, and yet never faltering. Every trial had been a brick in the foundation of what he was becoming.
And through it all, the visions grew sharper, clearer. A presence began to manifest at the edge of his consciousness—a being of infinite calm and authority, cloaked in light that burned without consuming. Shiwang instinctively bowed, knees bending slightly even though there was no floor beneath him, only the void of his awakening mind.
"Shiwang," the voice intoned, deep, resonant, eternal. "You have walked the path of countless lives. You have endured. You have loved. And you have waited for this moment."
Shiwang swallowed hard, a shiver running down his spine. "Who… who are you?" he asked, voice steady though every fiber of him trembled.
"I am one who watches over the balance," the voice replied. "The one who grants power not lightly, nor without purpose. Your love has proven pure, and your Tapasyā has borne fruit. You are ready to ascend—not as a mortal, not as a mere cultivator, but as a being of destruction and protection. A Demon King, and a God of Ice."
Shiwang's mind reeled. "Demon King… God of Ice… me?"
"Yes," the voice echoed. "But this is only the beginning. Your powers are to serve love, to protect, and to fulfill the destiny that has awaited across realms. Only when your heart truly embraces her—fully, unconditionally—will the path to cross worlds open before you."
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A warmth flowed into Shiwang's chest, mingling with the icy currents that danced along his arms and legs. His body felt lighter, yet infinitely more present, as if every cell had awakened in unison. He could see the threads of power weaving around him—threads that could annihilate mountains or freeze oceans, threads that could shape worlds according to his will.
And still, amidst this newfound omnipotence, his gaze softened, directed toward the golden thread that tied his soul to Ma Xiaotao. He realized then that his power—though immense—was nothing without her. She was the reason for the awakening. She was the anchor to his eternity.
Shiwang's lips curved into a faint, confident smile. "So… this is what it means to be more than human. To be something eternal."
The presence spoke again, softer this time, almost tenderly: "Walk carefully, Shiwang. Power without purpose is dangerous. Destruction without love is hollow. Guard your heart, and it will guide your hand. Your journey begins when you step beyond this world. There, the fate of fire and ice, love and life, will be yours to shape."
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As the night waned, Shiwang sat once more by his window, staring at the remnants of rain-slicked streets below. The city seemed so small, so limited compared to the vast multiverse that awaited him. Yet he felt no fear. The visions, the voices, the awakening power—they all aligned into a single certainty: his life had been preparing for this moment, this purpose, this love.
He rose and stretched, a playful glint returning to his eyes. "Looks like I'm done dreaming for now," he said aloud, voice carrying the edge of mischief and certainty. "Time to prepare. Time to cross worlds… for her."
And somewhere deep within, a spark of anticipation ignited—a spark that promised destruction and protection, ice and fire, laughter and seriousness, all intertwined in the soul of a man who would soon become more than mortal, more than legend… a Demon King, a God, a lover across worlds.
---
The city slept, oblivious to the storm that had awakened within a young man in a small apartment. But Shiwang did not sleep. He could not. For now, his heart burned with love, purpose, and destiny, and the path forward, though unseen, called him with irresistible force.
One day soon, the worlds would bend. One day soon, he would leave the city behind. One day soon… he would reach her.
To be continued....