The Buddha said: all beings spin through six modes of rebirth, also called the Six Realms or Six Paths. They are…
The Naraka.
The Preta.
The Animal.
The Asura.
The Human.
And—the Deva.
Asuras have no sky above, no ground below, no shackles, no bonds, yet lack the virtue of heaven. They're depicted with green faces and fangs, born angry, fond of conflict. They dwell on Mount Sumeru, or scattered along the shores, or hidden under the sea. Those who practiced the Ten Virtues, yet clung hard to rage, arrogance, and doubt, are born there. Their most obvious trait—
Many arms.
…
"You mean you didn't know that either?"
In the corridor, by the window, Maha shot Zeno a dangerous look.
Multi-armed Asuras, Hundred-Type Guanyin, Buddhist "Heart-Source"…
When Roy revealed four arms, Maha immediately thought of Netero. And with the kid just back from the Hunter Exam? If that old dog hadn't met him, hadn't said anything, Maha wouldn't believe it for a second.
Zeno had Innocent stamped on his forehead and wanted to say, I really didn't know. But one glance at his grandfather's eyes and he shut his mouth. Whatever he said now, the old man wouldn't buy it. He grumbled inwardly: could Netero really have whispered something he shouldn't?
White hair drifting in the breeze, Zeno suddenly remembered Netero's "jokes"—
"How about you let me adopt Roy?"
A chill ran down his spine.
"It must be Netero's fault," he blurted.
"As I thought!" Maha snorted. "Just watch. I'll settle accounts with him later."
A gust of wind.
Three blades in hand.
The swords and fire were wrapped in the True Meaning of Heat and Ken. Yubashiri and the cane-sword reddened, igniting in waves of flame that shifted toward a terrifying white.
The short sword rested quietly in Roy's third hand, sheathed in shimmering water-light—still and gentle, the complete opposite of fire's tyrannical violence.
The contrast was so bizarre, so wrong, that it somehow looped back around into a strange kind of harmony. Just looking at him made people feel something they couldn't name.
"So that's your trump card?"
Crack—
Silva's whip lashed out. Roy's one free hand snapped up, compressing his magnetic field into a Magnetic Shield to block it. And then—
The fight hit fast-forward.
"Sun Breathing, First Form: Dance…"
"Eighth Form: Sunflower Thrust…"
"Water Breathing, Third Form: Flowing Dance…"
"Seventh Form: Drop Ripple Thrust…"
Three swords moving at once, Roy stopped bothering with "one discipline at a time" and simply let Sun and Water Breathing explode together, driving a storm of strikes at his father.
Fire and water rolled out in waves, covering the sky and earth. In Ilumi's empty fish-eyes, whip shadows and sword light intertwined in a mad tangle. He swallowed without realizing it; even with Gyo, he was struggling to follow the speed Silva and Roy had reached.
Fast.
Faster.
With three arms swinging blades and the fourth hand constantly twisting the magnetic field—pulling, pushing, yanking Silva's timing off—Roy's mind split four ways, and somewhere in there he simply…snapped. In a good way.
Nice sword work. That wild brain of yours, and now four arms to back it up…
Silva parried and countered without hurry, eyes full of admiration, mouth cold as stone. His thoughts were generous; his tone was not.
"If that's all your trump card amounts to…"
"Then today ends here."
He blew his nen wide open.
Boom.
Something detonated in Roy's chest. Instinct screamed. His sword paused for a fraction of a second—and Silva seized the opening. The whip smashed into him and sent him flying. As Roy hung mid-air, his senses locked onto his father below.
Silva's silver hair flared up behind him like a banner, nen pouring off his body—brutal, heavy, domineering. In that moment, his presence spiked, then erupted.
Strength-Type and Emission-Type nen users never cared for fancy tricks the way the Conjurers, Manipulators, and Transmuters did. Silva's lash wasn't some clever setup—it was pure, clean arithmetic.
"My strength is above yours.
My nen pool is above yours.
My understanding of nen is above yours.
So tell me, son—how exactly am I supposed to lose?"
Unless… you use mechanical kill conditions. Rules and vows. Cheat moves.
"Hoho… Zeno, what do you think happens if I whip him three times?"
Maha eyed Silva, then the boy who'd just cratered into the ground, fingertips itching.
Zeno: "..."
He bowed his head and, like his son, answered with Silva's own logic.
"Grandfather's strength is above his, and your nen pool is above his, so… if you did decide to fight Silva, I honestly don't know how you'd lose either."
"Tch."
Maha smacked his lips, clearly pleased. He gathered his voice into a thread of sound that reached the courtyard.
"Keep it simple. Life and nen both are like this—don't chase more, chase less."
Cut anxiety.
Cut pointless inner friction.
Cut unnecessary ties.
Pour everything into the one thing in front of you, the one person in front of you. Chase the extreme of specialization.
Great-Grandfather's telling me to "simplify," huh…?
Roy staggered upright, bracing on the cane-sword. The skin between his thumb and forefinger had split under that last lash; blood dripped onto the tiles: drip, drip, drip.
He tasted the old man's words over and over. Then, like a curtain lifting, another line surfaced in his memory:
Borrow, mimic, then create your own thing. Walk your own road…
And he finally saw it.
I don't have anything that's truly mine.
Sun and Water Breathing—borrowed from Demon Slayer.
Magnetism—taken from Moritonio's "Blood Magnet."
Four arms—from the Hand Demon.
Swamp Space—from the Swamp Demon.
Deception—from the Man-Faced Apes…
He had too many tools. And there would only be more in the future. When that day came, which one would he choose? Or worse—would he freeze, paralyzed by choice, and die before he picked?
"Subtraction… I have to start doing subtraction…"
His brows slowly smoothed. His ragged breathing calmed. Roy took a long breath, then tilted his head back to the sky.
His eyes cleared.
Fusion.
He had to fold everything together.
Simplify.
Strip it down.
So start with the two he knew best:
Magnetism and the sword.
A tiger in his chest, rose in his hand; eyes closed and focused, Roy let his borrowed forms fall away. His ribs folded down; the extra arms vanished. He discarded cane-sword and short blade and let them stand in the dirt. He gripped Yubashiri with both hands and took the most basic of iaido stances—feet in a bow, blade at his hip, body coiled.
Then he closed his eyes.
He poured all his nen into magnetism, condensed it into Ken, and layered it onto the blade. Then, with a snap—
He drew and sheathed as one flowing motion, cutting toward the sky.
"Gravity Blade: Rising Dragon."
In broad daylight, purple-edged magnetic nen coiled up from the sword in the shape of a dragon, roaring into the heavens. It punched straight through the atmosphere, clamped its jaws around a drifting meteorite, then turned, dragging it down toward the earth.
~~~
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