CHAPTER 140: FOREVERINE METAL

"What the fuck just happened?!"

Her voice cracked as her wooden colossus was hurled backwards, shot into the sky at speeds beyond comprehension eight hundred meters per second almost double the speed of speed of sound.

The impact reverberated through the construct, and though she was shielded, she felt the raw violence of it. Vines wrapped frantically around her body inside the giant, cushioning her from the worst of the inertia. Without them, the force alone would have pulped her flesh against the wooden chamber.

Pain still rippled through her nerves, not mental but physical, a backlash from the damage her construct had endured she felt it inside the vines weren’t speed shock proof and they hard as fuck.

Her eyes darted downward, catching a glimpse of the wound.

A curved gash had been carved deep across her colossus’s stomach, bending inward as though a dull but unstoppable force had struck with impossible speed. It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t precise. It was raw, brutal power. A blunt slash delivered with such force that even her reinforced wood had buckled inward.

For a horrifying second, she thought her colossus might shatter entirely. But the divine wood held. It cracked and splintered, but it did not collapse.

And then, like a wound scabbing over, the gash began to heal. The living wood trembled and groaned, fibers twisting and stretching, reknitting themselves with frantic urgency. The wound closed, thick layers of bark sealing over as though stitched by unseen hands.

"Damn it..." Sylva hissed, gripping the control tighter. Her jaw clenched as her wooden giant flapped its massive wings, the sound booming like thunderclaps. The effort slowed her descent, each beat dragging the colossus back under her control.

She tried to smile. Slowly, she forced the massive construct to halt its wild momentum. The giant steadied, hovering high above the battlefield, wings spread wide, body scarred but intact.

Her eyes burned with a cold fury. She still hadn’t recovered from the humiliation of being tossed aside earlier, and though confusion lingered in her heart, anger drowned it out.

She didn’t care anymore.

Her colossal wooden body bent forward as her wings of bark and branches spread wide. With a thunderous beat, she shot downward from the skies like a meteor, the tip of her enormous blade locked firmly onto the shadow giant below. Her speed was so great that to mortal eyes she would have seemed to vanish completely, a streak of living wood hurtling straight for her foe.

But just as she closed the distance

The shadow giant was suddenly beside her.

It hadn’t moved in the normal sense. It had appeared, materializing out of nowhere like a phantom stepping between layers of reality. Its massive frame loomed at her side, its sword already mid-swing, posture flawless, timing perfect.

Sylva’s reflexes screamed.

Her giant construct twisted violently, wooden arms snapping up as her sword came to guard. The impact landed like thunder.

BOOOOOOOM!

Her body was hurled back through the skies, pushed away as though she weighed nothing. But this time, she had braced herself, prepared for the impact. Instead of being flung helplessly, she absorbed the force, letting her giant stumble back but remain steady.

Still, the frustration burned.

How? she thought furiously. How in the hell does he strike with such strength? I am a walking mountain, fully made of ancient wood my weight alone dwarfs literal mountain. And yet... he bats me away like a child swatting a branch...!

Her anger boiled over, and Sylva roared, swinging her sword with renewed ferocity. Mana surged through her wooden construct like rivers of molten light, hardening every fiber, sharpening every limb. Her colossus moved with impossible speed for its size, blade whistling as it tore through the skies toward the shadow giant.

Razeal met her again without hesitation. His massive weapon collided with hers, each clash resounding like the cracking of worlds.

The sky became their battlefield.

Every strike thundered, shaking the air. Each blow exploded with earth-shattering roars, shockwaves ripping outward in concentric waves that hammered into the protective shield far below. Even thousands of meters above ground, the people of Aetherion felt the storm of their battle, Celestia’s radiant barrier groaning under the relentless force.

For minutes, they clashed without pause. Blow for blow. Strike for strike. Neither yielding.

And then...

Sylva began to laugh.

"Ohhhhhh... oh, yes... yes!" Her voice echoed wildly through the colossus, unrestrained and feverish. Her laughter rose like a storm, sharp and unhinged. "It’s been so long since I’ve fought like this!"

Her swings grew wilder, faster, as though driven by madness. She no longer cared for conserving mana, no longer cared for the cracks and splinters in her construct. Every wound her colossus suffered, she simply healed, replacing broken sections with fresh growth. Her fighting style became merciless, unrelenting a hurricane of blades driven by the ecstasy of battle itself.

And her weapon responded to her frenzy.

The pink disc embedded in her sword began to glow. At first, a soft pulse, then a radiant gleam, until light wrapped the entire blade in a shimmering aura. Wind gathered to it, wrapping the weapon in slicing gales, making it faster, sharper, deadlier.

The transformation spread.

The aura crawled across her massive body, wrapping the colossus itself in a veil of wind and light. Piece by piece, it manifested into form a flowing robe of luminous pink, draped across the mountain-sized goddess of wood. The robe shimmered like woven wind, trailing in the skies as she moved.

Her speed surged. Her power multiplied. She became a tempest given shape.

Sylva grinned wildly, eyes blazing emerald as she dove again. "Now this... this feels right!"

Her colossus blurred forward, sword slashing faster than storms.

But even with her enhancement, even with her robe, even with her madness

CRASH!

The shadow giant’s blade met hers, and once again she was thrown back.

She growled, furious. How... how is his strength still overwhelming mine? Where does this boy draw such unreasonable power?!

And yet, it was not one-sided.

Her sword tore into the shadow giant’s form with disturbing ease. She split it down the middle, hacked through its limbs, cleaved its chest into ribbons. Every strike should have been fatal. But the shadow giant did not fall.

Instead, its body reformed. Every cut sealed instantly, shadows flowing back together as though its body were water. No matter how many times she broke it apart, it returned.

Her emerald eyes narrowed. Where is he? Where is the real body?

By now, they had exchanged tens of thousands of blows. She had cut the shadow giant apart hundreds of times, yet she still hadn’t touched Razeal himself.

The truth was simple.

That Razeal’s body never stayed still.

Inside the giant, he was constantly shifting. The shadows bent to his will, carrying him from one corner of the colossus to the next, always a step ahead of her blade. Each time she swung, the shadows themselves obeyed, moving his body to safety, repositioning him just beyond her reach.

And the stalemate became clear.

Her defense was ironclad. His strikes dented, cracked, and splintered her wood, but never shattered it. Her material was too dense, too resilient.

But his regeneration was endless. She could cut his giant apart all day, and it would reform instantly, unbroken.

Maybe, in the end, it would all come down to who had more mana. And Razeal knew she could keep going for years if it came to that.

There was no comparison. But his mana was burning like fire, raging, devouring itself.

I need to finish this fast, Razeal thought. Should I considered using that but just as the idea took hold, his focus slipped for a fraction of a second.

But just as he began to gather focus, his concentration split for a moment. And in that gap

Sylva spoke.

Her voice echoed, calm and resonant

"Spirit Art... The Majestic Sword of Silence."

From within the chest of her colossal construct, Sylva’s own emerald eyes blazed like stars. The words left her lips like a divine decree, and her weapon answered.

Her eyes flared a brilliant green. The air itself seemed to pause as her power awakened. The soft pink glow that once flickered around her blade condensed into a radiant, terrible silence. Her entire colossus trembled as the aura expanded, transforming her sword into a weapon that could cleave the heavens.

She smiled faintly, almost tenderly, her voice carrying like a whisper of doom.

"You should feel honored," she said. "You’ve made me use my Spirit Arts."

The giant statue of wood glowed with a violent emerald brilliance.

And then silence.

The colossus stood frozen, as if possessed by something beyond mortal will. Its head lowered ever so slightly, its massive frame leaning forward. Then

Cut.

In a single impossible instant, the air split apart. The statue’s arms blurred, its wooden blades moving faster than sight could follow. What appeared to be a single swing was, in truth, thousands layered together, overlapping like the strokes of a thousand masters painting across the heavens. Emerald light erupted, and with it, a storm of wind slashes poured forth, all converging on the shadow giant standing before it.

The sky turned into a field of green light.

"No..." Razeal whispered, his face paling. His instincts screamed death.

He willed the Flow to tighten around him, weaving a shield of pure instinct and desperation. His arms crossed before him, his stance bracing as he felt the calamity descend.

And then it struck.

BOOOOOOOM.

The world was ripped open.

The shadow giant his own creation, his battlefield extension was shredded into millions of fragments within a heartbeat. The strikes didn’t cut once; they cut endlessly, tearing through shadow like it was nothing more than paper.

"Fuck me!" Razeal’s body convulsed. Blood erupted from his mouth as one strike, impossibly sharp and heavy, tore past his Flow shield. A savage wound split across his torso, from neck to waist, nearly rending him in half. His organs screamed, blood spilling freely yet still he lived.

His obsidian skeleton held firm. It stopped the strike from claiming his life, though his focus shattered.

And then he fell.

Like a missile with its engine ripped apart, his body was hurled downwards at blinding speed, his fall carving a streak of black through the sky. The velocity was so great that to the crowd below it looked as though a star had fallen from the heavens, and wherever it landed, nothing could possibly survive.

The arena trembled with fear.

"He... he won’t die, right? I didn’t... do too much...?" Sylva muttered, her manic glee fading as clarity struck. Her colossal wooden figure slowed, her emerald glow dimming as she watched his form plummet. The shadow giant was gone vanished into nothing, as though it had never existed. The realization tightened her chest.

Regret tugged at her. She wanted to reach for him, to save him from the fall but she knew. At that speed, even if she caught him, her own powers would crush him further. Wood, stone, water, even wind no element at her command could soften the descent. It would only rip him apart further.

Should I save him?

Inside the royal chamber, Celestia’s fingers twitched as she watched Razeal crash toward the ground. his body limp.

He looked like a man about to die.

Her lips parted as she weighed the choice. She had only a second.

She was just about to move when no, he is... alright She snapped her fingers.

The platinum shield that stretched over the empire shifted, molding like liquid light. It reshaped, sealing itself tighter around the coliseum. A perfect cube of platinum walls formed, enclosing the arena on all sides while leaving the sky above open. The audience gasped as they felt the shield’s shift. The square formation sealed them off from destruction yet left Razeal to crash freely into the arena’s heart.

Celestia’s gaze softened, a rare smile ghosting her lips. Her eyes glimmered with curiosity as she whispered, "No... he’s not done yet."

And she was right.

As his body tore through the air, Razeal suddenly twitched. His muscles coiled, his eyes snapped open, and his body twisted violently. With an impossible contortion mid-fall, he spun, flipping backward in the air. His body rotated like a predator correcting itself in flight, every motion controlled.

Then

BOOOOOOM!

The coliseum shook as Razeal slammed into the marble floor, the impact splitting the ground in every direction. Cracks spider-webbed outward, sharp and jagged, but no deep crater formed only the etched scars of an impact that should have ended him. Dust lifted into the air, rolling outward in waves, and for a moment silence consumed the arena.

Through that dust, his figure stood.

Razeal’s legs were bent slightly at the knees, his stance wide and unbroken. Blood trailed freely down his chest, glistening against torn flesh. A deep, jagged gash ran from his collarbone down past his waist, splitting through muscle and nearly carving into the organs beneath. His shirt had been shredded completely, leaving him half-naked, his dark obsidian skeleton faintly visible beneath the torn layers of skin. It gleamed black, alien and unbreakable, shielding what should have been a life ending wound.

The crowd gasped. Even the strongest warriors would have been left broken or buried. Yet Razeal remained upright, his body trembling, but alive. Slowly, before their eyes, his wounds began to knit together. Flesh crept across exposed bone, everything stitching themselves into sinew and muscle, the horrific injury gradually closing.

"Arghhhh..." Razeal exhaled through clenched teeth, his voice carrying strangely casual notes despite the ruin of his body. "Man... what the hell was that? Did she seriously just use those ancient Spirit Arts... or whatever she calls them?"

He forced a crooked grin, but then his words faltered.

Something felt wrong.

Air brushed against his neck cool, bare, unnatural. His expression stiffened, and a cold silence fell across him. Slowly, almost mechanically, he raised his right hand behind his head. His fingers brushed against what should have been his long, thick ponytail.

But it wasn’t there.

His hand closed on nothing only a few stray strands of hair dangling weakly. He pulled them forward. His fingers trembled. And then, in a slow, silent cascade, the rest of it fell.

Purple strands rained around him, scattering across the cracked marble floor like fallen petals. His once long, flowing ponytail his defiant crown of royal blood lay severed in his palm. His hair, once reaching down his back, now hung ragged and uneven, cut short by the merciless strike.

His entire body trembled. His hands shook violently as he stared at the strands in disbelief. The color was a royal purple, the shade he hated, the reminder of a bloodline he despised. Yet it had been his. His long beautiful hairs.

And now it was gone.

A silence heavier than steel spread across the arena. The audience, who moments ago had thought him finished, stared in disbelief. Not only had he survived, but he still stood after enduring what should have been death itself. Yet the moment they saw his trembling hands, his broken expression, something changed.

His face lowered. Shadows hid his eyes.

Then

Killing intent apeared in his eyes. But sadly no one saw it there focus entirely somewhere else.

High above, they saw the aftermath of Sylva’s attack. The green sword lights still lingered faintly in the heavens, fading into the distance like falling stars. And where once had stood the colossal black giant of shadow there was nothing. Wiped clean, erased from existence.

But Suddenly

"Wha... wha what’s that?"

A trembling voice rose from among the spectators. The man’s hand lifted, pointing toward the arena floor, his finger quivering like a leaf caught in storm winds. His voice cracked midway, and the words died in his throat. But he didn’t need to finish. The entire audience followed his gaze.

They too saw it. And once they did, silence swept the coliseum like a tidal wave.

For the first time, Razeal’s body was visible completely visible. His upper clothes had been torn away, shredded in battle, leaving him bare from the waist up. At first their eyes caught only the massive gash that split him from shoulder to waist, an ugly wound still knitting itself together. But as their eyes adjusted, they began to see more.

Not one scar. Not two.

His entire body.

Every inch of him was carved with scars.

Deep, jagged lines. Thin lashes. Circular burn marks. Twisted ridges of flesh where skin had been torn, cut, branded, and then healed only to be torn again. His back, his chest, his arms front to back, top to bottom were coated in the remnants of torment. Layer upon layer, as if he had been carved up again and again. These were not the scars of battle. They were the scars of torture. Relentless, merciless, cruel.

The arena froze. Warriors who had seen death countless times, hardened killers who had spilled rivers of blood, all went silent. This wasn’t the body of a soldier or a fighter. This was the body of a man who had been made into someone else’s experiment.

On the royal balcony above, Nova stood frozen.

Her lips parted soundlessly. Her pupils dilated. Her chest tightened until she could barely breathe. Then her whole body began to tremble violently, as though the sight alone was striking her nerves with invisible lashes.

The boy she had sworn would never suffer a single scratch. The boy she had dressed in the softest clothes, guarded with the greatest wards, shielded from every cruelty of the outside world. The one she had held close, even when she was told to harden him.

And now... this.

Her mind flickered back five years ago. That day. That single, unforgettable moment when she had beaten him. Her hands shook even now remembering it. The way the whip cracked in her grip. The way she lashed him not because she wanted to, but because his mother had commanded it.

"Will you do it, or should I?"

She had chosen herself, to spare him the wound of being struck by his own mother. She had chosen to take that hatred onto her own shoulders, so he would not hate the woman who bore him. And even then, after that day, she had tortured herself endlessly for the pain she caused him. Her palms, even now, remembered the feel of the lashes. She had never forgiven herself.

But this this was different. These scars... were not hers. These were not from her. This was

Marcella, standing just behind Nova, noticed the change in her. The perfect composure of the the woman who never let emotions rule her was unraveling before her eyes. Purple aura, barely restrained, was leaking out of Nova’s body. It wasn’t intentional. She wasn’t summoning it. It was just... slipping free, wild and unhinged.

Marcella’s breath caught. I can’t believe it. She’s losing control. Nova the perfect heir, the flawless successor is breaking her composure right here, right now.

Her glasses caught the light as her sharp eyes fixed on Razeal again.

Is this what happened to him during those five years he vanished? Was this because of me?

Her hollow gaze locked onto him. But then, she froze.

The wound across his chest the one from Sylva’s Spirit Art was healing rapidly, shadows and sinew pulling together again. But then, as the flesh mended, something began to appear.

Glowing silver letters, carved into his flesh like molten metal.

BREAD THIEF.

The words stood bold across his chest, cruel and mocking, seared into his very being as if someone had branded him with molten steel.

Nova’s knees nearly buckled. Her lips moved, her voice barely a whisper.

"...Bread... thief..."

The words twisted in her throat like poison. Her pupils trembled violently, and she felt her chest hollow out. She didn’t need anyone to explain. She didn’t need context. She understood all too well what those two words meant.

The son of the world’s second strongest woman ..her nova virelan’s BROTHER had been reduced to stealing bread. To survive.

And someone... someone had the audacity to brand him for it.

Her throat closed. Her eyes burned. And a single tear, hot and heavy, slid down her cheek. Just one. But the weight of that single tear felt as if it could collapse the entire arena.

"Gasp~" Marcella choked, her hand flying to her mouth.

Her eyes widened in horror as realization struck. "That... that’s not steel... or silver... That’s" her voice trembled despite her strength, "that’s Foreverine metal."

The words stabbed through Nova like a blade. Her sword trembled at her side, vibrating violently in resonance with her unraveling emotions.

Her eyes shrank, hollow then sharp, collapsing into fury.

And then

BOOOOM!

The aura she had barely kept in check ruptured. A violent, explosive wave of violet light tore out from her body, shaking the air, rattling the balcony, sending a shock through every soul present.

---

Yooo guys, sorry for being late but hey, 10k words delivered! 💀 Three Chapters in total: two regular daily Chapters and one extra.

Honestly, I thought it would take at least a week to hit 60 golden tickets for 3k words... but you all smashed it in a single day. So yeah, goal completed!

Not gonna lie though, it was tough I had to sacrifice an entire night of sleep just to get this done 😭😭.

So👉👈 I think 100 golden tickets for 3k words would be more reasonable. It’s really hard to push out 10k words, and believe me, most people only release that kind of content in big drops.

Thanks so much for reading and supporting, guys. I’m off to sleep now 💤

----