Chapter 12: Resurrect.
The disturbance began as a subtle distortion in the air, like heat wavering above stone. Mitamcha sensed it before he understood it. The spiritual pressure around the tomb shifted, not violently, but deliberately — as if something vast had just awakened and stretched within invisible confines.
Then the world changed.
The forest, the burial mound, the officers, even the night sky dissolved without rupture. There was no explosion, no flash of light. The environment simply replaced itself. In a single breath, Mitamcha found himself standing in the middle of an abandoned city.
Tall buildings stood cracked and hollow. Windows gaped like empty eye sockets. The streets were layered in unmoving dust. There was no wind. No sound of insects. No stars above — only a dim, colourless sky without source.
Mitamcha did not panic. He understood immediately.
"Punsiba Leikot…" he murmured.
A high-level barrier technique capable of reconstructing environment through layered spatial distortion. Not illusion. Not projection. True environmental override within a sealed domain.
Achou Maithou level.
He reached inward for Sagoi Uchek.
Nothing answered.
The spiritual tether that connected him to his Pitbull manifestation was severed, not destroyed, but isolated. The contract existed — he could feel it faintly — but the channel had been cut by a superior field.
He was alone inside her domain.
A voice drifted from above.
"You understood quickly."
Mitamcha looked up.
Hingthoileima stood upon the remains of a fractured balcony several stories above him. Her expression carried neither urgency nor strain. There was no visible exertion maintaining the domain. For her, it seemed effortless.
Beside her stood Senior Police Officer Boicha.
He no longer wore the standard uniform. Instead, he had changed into traditional Meitei attire, ceremonial in appearance. In his hands, he held a wooden box wrapped in cloth.
Mitamcha's gaze hardened.
Boicha did not respond.
Hingthoileima smiled faintly.
"Boicha has always been loyal."
"Loyal to what?" replied by Mitamcha.
"To history," she replied.
Mitamcha saw a Object with highly dense energy in the hand of Boicha.
Without hesitation, Mitamcha activated his technique.
A circular field expanded outward from his body — ten meters in radius. The ground beneath him darkened as spiritual energy condensed along its boundary.
Self Refinery Estate.
Within that zone, his energy would circulate at accelerated refinement, reinforcing muscle fiber, bone density, and reaction speed.
Hingthoileima extended one hand.
Dark spheres formed around her fingertips — condensed distortions of corrupted light.
She released them.
The projectiles moved without sound.
Mitamcha shifted his stance and deflected them with reinforced strikes, dispersing each sphere upon impact. The force behind them was immense, but predictable. He used the rhythm between attacks to close distance, launching himself toward her position.
Boicha moved first.
He descended with controlled precision and intercepted Mitamcha mid-advance. The wooden box remained secured beneath his arm as he delivered a sweeping kick.
Mitamcha blocked and countered, redirecting Boicha's momentum before throwing him aside with brute force.
He reached Hingthoileima and unleashed a series of reinforced strikes aimed at her torso and shoulders. His fists connected once — twice — enough to fracture the spiritual coating shielding her body.
She did not appear distressed.
Black tendrils erupted from the space behind her, coiling around Mitamcha's leg. The grip tightened instantly, and he was thrown across the ruined street with crushing force.
He landed hard, blood rising to his mouth, but forced himself upright.
This opponent was far beyond standard engagement parameters.
He inhaled sharply and reactivated Self Refinery Estate.
The energy intensified.
Patterns began to spread across his skin — intricate markings tracing along muscle and vein. His body swelled as condensed Thawai accumulated beneath the surface.
He used both Self Refinery Estate and Body Maculation.
The final stage.
The markings were not decorative. They were compression seals. By igniting them, he could release a refined burst far exceeding his base capacity.
He burned them.
The energy erupted outward.
Mitamcha closed the distance again, faster than before. His strike this time carried destructive refinement, enough to crack the air around his fist.
The blow connected with Hingthoileima's side.
For the first time, she moved back.
A fracture appeared across her manifested form — not deep, but real.
Boicha reentered the battlefield.
He set the wooden box down carefully before raising his hand.
A thin line of pale light formed between his fingers.
Cold Light.
There was no explosion. No discharge.
The energy vibrated at photonic frequency, forming edges too fine to reflect light properly. It sliced forward silently.
Mitamcha shifted instinctively, but one edge grazed his shoulder. The wound appeared a fraction of a second later — clean, precise, bypassing reinforced durability.
Boicha's breathing became heavier.
The technique consumed tremendous reserves.
They clashed directly.
Boicha's movements were precise and efficient, designed for elimination rather than confrontation. He released bursts of Cold Light between physical strikes, forcing Mitamcha to divide his defense.
Mitamcha's power was greater.
Boicha's technique was sharper.
Hingthoileima observed.
Mitamcha attempted another burst — but fatigue from Body Maculation began to claim his muscles. His strikes slowed. The refinement burn had drained him more than expected.
Boicha seized the opening.
A light-speed rotational kick struck Mitamcha's temple.
The impact silenced the domain.
Mitamcha collapsed.
Boicha stood unsteadily, breath ragged, Cold Light dissipating. The energy cost had nearly emptied him.
He turned toward Hingthoileima.
"It is done."
She descended gracefully.
"You have served well."
Boicha attempted to kneel, but exhaustion overtook him. He collapsed unconscious.
Hingthoileima approached the wooden box.
She removed the cloth wrapping and opened it.
Inside lay a small fragment of bone.
The moment it touched air, a dense spiritual pressure filled the domain — far greater than anything displayed thus far.
Ningtham Maithou level.
She knelt beside Mitamcha's body and gently placed the bone fragment into his mouth.
The ground trembled.
The tomb reappeared within the cityscape, materializing behind them as if it had always been there. Its stone surface cracked open, releasing a torrent of dark spiritual energy.
A soul emerged.
Ancient.
Heavy.
Waiting.
It flowed into Mitamcha's body.
His fingers twitched.
His chest rose sharply.
His eyes opened.
They were no longer the eyes of Mitamcha.
They were calm.
Aware.
Amused.
He sat upright slowly and looked at Hingthoileima.
A smile formed on his lips.
"What a wonderful era to awaken into," he said, voice steady and unfamiliar. "How many years have passed, Hingthoileima?"
The domain remained silent.
Hingthoileima lowered her head in acknowledgement.
"Far too many."
The abandoned city did not crumble.
It stabilized.
The resurrection was complete.