The battlefield had grown silent in a way that did not feel natural, as though the air itself held its breath in anticipation, and in that silence Anshvi moved with a swiftness that broke the definition of motion. She did not step—she simply vanished. The next heartbeat landed with violence so sudden and absolute.

  SLAP!

  Pranav’s head snapped aside under a palm so sharp it might as well have been divine decree instead of flesh. The sound was like a thunderclap trapped inside bone.

  Pranav’s body flung through the air like a weapon, his limbs limp as though consciousness had been struck from him before his mind could register the pain. He collided with the mountain with bone-shatter intensity, stone cracking open in fractures like veins of lightning frozen in earth, and his figure embedded itself deep within rock.

  Dust and broken stone cascaded downward like a landslide mourning its own destruction, but the man did not rise, only stillness announcing his death.

  Anshvi’s eyes did not harden with cruelty nor soften with pity, instead she spoke, her voice unshaken, composed and almost casual as she looked toward the crater where Pranav lay broken, “"Let us clear the field first. You stay here."

  There was no hesitation in her tone, no tremor of uncertainty, nothing that betrayed effort in the slaughter she had performed in a single breath.

  Eklavya nodded and answered simply, “Alright,” though inside his chest a tremor rippled, not of fear but of realization that this girl—who smiled playfully to him—held power that bent the world without strain.

  She closed her eyes, lashes lowering like curtains over a storm. A deep and rich ocean-green glow began to pulse from within her ki core, and with her next inhalation the air stilled, as if awaiting instruction. Then she exhaled slowly.

  BOOM!

  BOOM!

  A dark greenish-blue wave burst outward, expanding in concentric rings like ripples over a boundless sea, yet so dense with ki that the sky itself seemed to bend to its movement.

  The boom that followed was not heard—it was felt, a vibration traveling from bone to soul.

  She disappeared again, but to say vanished felt insufficient, because it was not speed alone, space simply failed to grasp her existence. Eklavya, whose senses had surpassed mortal limits due to his Supreme Body, concentrated every shred of perception he possessed.

  His eyes caught faint threads of her movement, elegant and silent like a celestial feather drifting between worlds, each step or shift made within intervals too narrow for most beings to notice. Yet even he could track the divine speed she embodied, and it became clear to him, why others saw nothing at all.

  High above the battlefield, where torn clouds swirled like wounded serpents, Laksh and Ishant hovered mid-sky, bodies gashed and robes shredded by relentless combat. Their blood dried in streaks across skin and cloth, and their breaths left faint mist despite the heat of exertion.

  They paused only for a moment, sensing the ki surge below. Laksh’s brows knitted slightly, his sword hand tightening, and he asked, “You have one more Spirit warrior?” His voice carried suspicion edged with exhaustion.

  Ishant laughed, not with amusement but the unstable mirth of someone whose body bled more than it held, and he answered, “Hahaha! You can say so.”

  Laksh frowned in confusion, for the response did not declare ownership nor denial. Ishant’s ambiguity lingered like a riddle within the sky. Laksh eventually dismissed the uncertainty with a brief shake of his head and muttered that she was only a one-star Spirit Warrior, dismissing her potential. Without further hesitation, both resumed their brutal dance, blades and fists clashing like thunder rolling across the sky spine.

  Far below in the shadowed corridor of air where the wind tasted like iron, Elder Sahas, a half-step Spirit Warrior, fought desperately against Akran, whose presence held the weight of a two-star Spirit Warrior. Their battle lay detached from the central conflict, drifting high in the sky yet feeling distant from salvation.

  Sahas staggered, his breath shallow and vision blurred by blood seeping from a wound across his brow. His bones ached like cracked clay, ki faltering like a candle cornered by wind. He was not winning—only delaying the inevitable.

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  Akran’s hand gestures sliced through air like inscriptions carved onto reality, forming gleaming runic sigils that spiraled above them in a formation full of destructive purpose. “Mountain destruction palm,” he declared, each syllable heavy with death.

  Above Sahas, light gathered like a growing sun, divine yet murderous, prepared to descend with power enough to erase stone and flesh simultaneously.

  Sahas looked up, with his tired eyes and lips parting with resignation rather than fear. He whispered almost peacefully, “So, this is how I die.” His tone carried acceptance, not cowardice but the solemnity of a warrior who knew he had given what he could.

  Then, Anshvi appeared behind Akran, sudden as revelation, her presence slicing through the formation’s concentration like a blade through silk. There was no momentum build, no prelude, only arrival. Her foot rose and swept sideways with controlled grace, delivering a side-kick that cracked bone and integrity in one controlled strike.

  Akran’s body spun through the air with blood arcing from his lips, and the sky-runes above Sahas disintegrated into harmless motes, dissolving like fireflies drowned in the darkness.

  She spoke to Sahas with gentle clarity, saying, “No, Elder. You still have to live long.” The words were neither a request nor reassurance, they were command and truth.

  Akran steadied himself mid-air, fury igniting beneath bruised flesh. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, his voice trembling between rage and disbelief as he spat, “You… A one-star spirit warrior dares to kick me.” His pride bled as deeply as his wound.

  Anshvi regarded him with icy amusement, as one might study a creature barking in defiance despite already being chained. “Oh! So, you are a two-star Spirit Warrior? I didn’t realise when I kicked you earlier. Too weak,” she said, voice laced with sharpened mockery crafted to pierce deeper than her strikes.

  “You… I will kill you. You bitch!” Akran roared, losing the last fragment of composure, rage warping his features into animalistic hate.

  Anshvi drew a long breath, one steady and unbroken. Wings then materialized from her back—not like feathers but like the manifestation of divinity. Their golden sheen shimmered beneath the sky, each feather tinted with peacock iridescence, shifting blues and greens that matched ocean depth and forest gleam, while a crown formed atop her head woven from multicolored feathers like jewels grown from air. Her irises shifted to luminous blue like a starlit glacial ocean, while her pupils deepened like the endless abyss beneath. Her robes changed as though woven anew by heaven itself, now threaded with emerald silk and azure patterns of living plumes, and below her eyes arcane markings surfaced, unveiling power once dormant beneath disguise.

  In that state she did not resemble a girl—she resembled a sovereign of primordial celestial blood.

  Ki erupted from her like a blinding aurora, each wave bending the world, and when she spoke, the coldness of her voice could frost fire. “Oh! Can you even see me?”

  A spear appeared in her hand, double-headed with peacock design coiled along its shaft, radiating majesty and murder in equal harmony. She vanished once more, but vanish again is inadequate—the world simply failed to track her presence.

  Akran blinked and in the blink his fate was sealed.

  She appeared before him with the spear already thrust through his flesh, the weapon piercing his torso with effortless inevitability. He looked down mechanically, as though confused by the new hole where his life once resided.

  Blood poured from his mouth, hot and metallic, dripping down the radiant spear that held him suspended like prey pinned for dissection. His hands wrapped around the spear’s shaft, trembling as he attempted to pry death from within him, but Anshvi twisted the spear instead, slow and merciless, grinding nerves and organs into ruined pulp. His scream fractured through the sky yet held no meaning; his body convulsed under the impossible pain.

  “You… Just who are you!!” he managed to choke out, voice half-ruined.

  Anshvi gave no answer—she did not need to. She pulled the spear free then threw him with strength that shattered stability. He flew like a broken star, crashing into the mountain behind him. Stone buckled, the peak ruptured, and the mountain collapsed like a demolished tower, crumbling into dust and shattered earth.

  The pressure of the impact carved a crater where the structure once stood. Akran’s body lay destroyed within the debris, his organs scattered like shattered gems atop blood-soaked rubble. Anshvi exhaled lightly, smirking with quiet disdain, saying, “You could not even survive my first attack, even though I am only a one-star Spirit Warrior.” But yet she carries power equal to five-star might.

  Eklavya watched from afar with parted lips, astonishment freezing him like sculpture. He had never seen Spirit power wielded with such elegant cruelty, such beautiful devastation. His mind churned, not with fear but with a reverence he struggled to name.

  Magha’s voice threaded into his mind, perplexed and concerned. “Hey! I don’t understand her personality. She sometimes teases you and tries to be cute around you. When facing any enemy she changes her personality into like Ruthless Queen.” His confusion felt genuine, bafflement woven through thought.

  Eklavya nodded slowly, replying, “That’s her personality what you said.” His tone held acceptance, quiet rather than uncertain.

  Magha sighed, a deep rumble of intuition rather than fatigue. “Oh!! I am telling you her background is not as simple as yours.”

  Eklavya frowned slightly, tilting his head, confusion settling like mist. “I know that her background is not simple but why are you saying my background is not simple. I belong to the Rudra clan as far as I remember.”

  Magha offered no answer.

  The silence that followed felt heavier than the fallen mountain. Something unspoken lingered in the air—mystery, history, fate twisting like smoke around a candle flame yet refusing to reveal shape.

  Eklavya stared at Anshvi’s divine silhouette, wings glowing like celestial banners, and he wondered not how strong she was, but what she truly was.