The air was still heavy after the last encounter. The abyssal beasts had retreated, but the scars of their invasion remained carved into the land and into the hearts of the Celestial Tempest. Bolt, though stronger than ever after pushing himself into 13% mastery, felt an even greater weight pressing on his shoulders. He knew the battles ahead would not be won by confidence alone; they demanded something deeper—unyielding discipline, relentless training, and a will sharper than any blade.
At dawn, while the others still rested, Bolt stood at the cliff overlooking the valley, his eyes closed, focusing on the hum of energy coursing through him. Lightning arced faintly along his skin, sparking at his fingertips before dissipating into the air. His breathing was steady, but each inhale was laced with determination. Thirteen percent is not enough… not against what's coming. He knew it as clearly as he knew his own heartbeat.
Akane joined him, silent at first, her eyes watching him wrestle with the storm within. "You won't break yourself before the real fight even begins, will you?" she asked, her tone sharper than her usual fiery remarks.
Bolt opened his eyes and smirked faintly. "If I break here, then I was never meant to lead."
Her lips tightened, but she didn't argue. Instead, she ignited a flame in her palm. "Then let's train. Push me, and I'll push you. We can't afford to be weak anymore."
What followed was grueling. They sparred at the edge of the cliff, lightning clashing with fire, heat meeting electricity in bursts that cracked the ground beneath them. Akane's flames roared with frustration—anger at herself for her earlier defeat—and Bolt's lightning burned with unyielding willpower. Every strike, every dodge, every collision of their elements sharpened them both.
Soon, Aether and Sylva joined, drawn by the noise. Wind swirled as Aether created pressure zones to force Bolt to adapt, while Sylva raised earthen pillars to obstruct his movements. The team wasn't just training him—they were testing his limits, forcing him into scenarios where his mastery couldn't simply brute force an answer.
Bolt struggled, but he welcomed it. Lightning danced wildly around him as he pushed himself harder, his control slipping at times, but each mistake became a lesson carved into his body. Sweat poured, his muscles screamed, but he didn't relent.
Valea and Darian added to the pressure. Valea's light lanced toward him, forcing him to shield or redirect the beams, while Darian flooded the battlefield with water currents that twisted and dragged at his footing. It was chaos, but Bolt endured, weaving lightning through water, fusing speed with precision, forcing his body to obey even under crushing strain.
By the time the session ended, his chest heaved like a war drum, his arms heavy, his body aching. Yet beneath the exhaustion was progress—small, but undeniable. He could feel it: his mastery inching upward, no longer stagnant.
That night, while the others slept, Bolt lay awake staring at the sky. The stars glittered above, indifferent to the struggles below. His mind drifted to Kairos—the man orchestrating the abyssal assaults. Bolt clenched his fists, sparks igniting between his fingers. I won't let you destroy everything. Not while I'm still breathing.
Far from their camp, Kairos stood in the abyssal realm, his body framed by endless darkness and rivers of black mist. His transformation had not fully settled, but already, he radiated power that made even his closest followers tremble. His eyes glowed faintly with abyssal energy, cold and merciless. Before him knelt abyssal beasts of all shapes and sizes, their forms twisted, their bodies warped with unnatural strength.
"You ask me for more, Kairos," came the deep, thunderous voice of the Abyssal Monarch, echoing from the shadows above. "But tell me—what will you give in return?"
Kairos bowed his head slightly, though his pride never vanished from his tone. "I give you victory. I give you blood and land, kingdoms drowned in fear. But more than that, I give you Bolt." His voice tightened, a mixture of envy and obsession bleeding into it. "The chosen child who dares stand against me… I will break him. His light, his will, his bonds—they will all shatter before the abyss."
The Monarch's laughter shook the realm, low and terrifying. "Then take what you need. Send the beasts. Let despair take root."
Kairos rose, his cloak of darkness flowing around him like living shadows. He extended his hand, and abyssal energy rippled outward, summoning a host of creatures. Dozens of them, their roars shaking the abyss, their claws scraping against the stone ground. But among them, one stood taller, its presence suffocating, its power burning like a corrupted star. A beast nearly the size of a fortress, a B+ rank Abyssal entity—monstrous, cunning, radiating the might of something beyond natural comprehension.
Kairos smirked. "Go. Tear into their world. Leave them no peace."
As the beasts surged through the veil into the mortal plane, Kairos lingered, his gaze darkening. He thought of Bolt again—his rival, his mirror. The boy who carried everything Kairos had lost, everything he now despised. A bitter grin twisted his lips. You think your training will save you? You think your bonds will carry you through? No. I will drown you in a sea of darkness until even you beg for release.
Back in the camp, Kaori stirred awake, her aura trembling. She sat up suddenly, sweat running down her face, her spirit energy flaring uncontrollably. She could feel it—the ripples of abyssal energy pushing through the veil, the malice growing closer. "They're coming…" she whispered, her voice breaking the silence.
Bolt, already restless, sat upright at her words. His eyes hardened. There was no time left. Training was over; the storm was coming.
He stood, sparks crackling around him like restless serpents. His body ached, his mastery wasn't complete, but none of that mattered. For the first time, he didn't feel like the boy struggling to keep up. He felt like the leader, the shield, the spearhead of their resistance.
The night sky rumbled faintly, as if responding to the awakening of both sides. The abyss prepared its strike, and Bolt prepared his storm. Neither would yield.
And as the first tremors of the abyssal invasion reached their world, two paths—one forged in light and storm, the other in darkness and abyss—moved ever closer to collision.