As they made their way toward the dark elf tribe, weaving through the dense forest with Fa Git leading the way, Shotaro suddenly slowed his pace.
Something was off.
His crimson eyes narrowed.
A sensation—subtle, but unmistakable—crawled up his spine like a warning from the depths of his very soul.
His gaze flicked toward a distant mountain, an ominous silhouette against the darkened sky. There was something wrong about it. Not just its shape, though that was unsettling enough—it jutted out at an unnatural angle, as if the land itself had rejected its existence. But more than that, something deep within it felt... bad.
A presence.
A wrongness.
Shotaro's steps veered slightly in its direction.
"Oi, hold up," Fa Git called from behind, frowning. "Where are you going?"
Shotaro didn't answer immediately. He kept his eyes locked on the eerie mountain as he continued forward.
Fa Git stepped in front of him, waving his arms. "Wait, wait—seriously, don't go that way!"
Shotaro finally turned to look at him. "Why?"
The dark elf hesitated. "B-Because… you just don't."
Shotaro wasn't convinced. "That's not an answer."
Fa Git grimaced, glancing nervously toward the mountain as if just mentioning it would invoke something terrible. He lowered his voice and muttered,
"The Penetrator is there."
Shotaro blinked.
Paliv stopped mid-step.
A stiff silence hung in the air.
Then—
"...Huh?" Shotaro tilted his head. "P. Diddy is there?"
Paliv, who had been silently trying to process the name, finally lost it. "Who the fuck is P. Diddy?"
Shotaro waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it."
"No, worry about it," Paliv snapped. "Because that was one of the dumbest things I've ever heard you say."
Meanwhile, Fa Git looked utterly confused. "Whoever this P. Diddy is, I can promise you he's not worse than the Penetrator."
Shotaro sighed and crossed his arms. "Alright, fine. Who the hell is the Penetrator?"
Fa Git took a deep breath, his expression shifting from horror to something more solemn, more reverent—like he was about to recount something far older than himself.
"The Penetrator isn't just some monster hiding in that mountain," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He's… a legend. A relic from a time before even the first merging of the elves. A warrior clad in blackened steel, walking without flesh, without a soul—just an empty suit of armor, cursed to roam these lands forever. And in his hands…"
Fa Git swallowed.
"A lance. Not just any lance, but the lance. The one that earned him his name."
Shotaro's brow furrowed. "The Penetrator... because he used a lance to penetrate?"
"Exactly."
Paliv crossed her arms. "Sounds like a dumb name."
Fa Git whipped his head toward her, his face contorted in sheer offense. "HOW DARE YOU!?"
Shotaro raised an eyebrow. "You're really passionate about this guy."
"He is a legend," Fa Git insisted. "An unstoppable force of destruction. It's said that wherever he appears, war follows. Entire armies have fallen before him, impaled upon his lance. Some say he was once a knight, others say he was a war god made manifest—either way, he never stops. He never tires. And he never lays down his weapon."
Shotaro listened, his expression unreadable.
Paliv, however, scoffed. "Pfft. So what, some ancient murder-hobo in a tin can just stabs people for eternity? Big deal."
"It's not just stabbing!" Fa Git shouted, exasperated. "It's—" He paused, catching himself. He took another deep breath. "Look, just trust me. You don't want to go there. No one does. That mountain is cursed."
Shotaro stared at the distant, jagged peak, its shadow looming like the gaping maw of some ancient beast. The air around it felt heavy, thick with something unseen—something wrong. A normal person would turn away. A sane person would choose another path.
Shotaro was neither of those things.
"Fuck it," he muttered under his breath. A slow, reckless grin crept onto his face. "We ball."
And with that, he took a step forward, heading straight toward the path leading to the forbidden mountain.
Paliv, who had spent enough time with him to know that common sense had long since abandoned his soul, sighed deeply, pinched the bridge of her nose, and muttered, "Ugh… dumbass…"
Then she looked at the peak.
Then she looked at Shotaro.
Then she looked at the peak again.
"...Fuck it. We ball."
And she followed after him without hesitation.
Fa Git, who had been watching this unfold in abject horror, made a strangled noise in his throat. His instincts screamed at him to run the other way, to abandon these lunatics before they inevitably got themselves killed. He could still go home. He could still sleep in his own bed tonight.
But then he imagined that bed being empty.
He imagined his mother's face when she found out he accompanied an Imperial Elf and her mysterious, terrifying companion to just march toward the mountain of death.
He imagined her reaction when she found out he didn't even try to stop them.
He would never hear the end of it.
His mother would skin him.
His ancestors would disown him.
And worst of all… Paliv might think he was a coward.
Fa Git clenched his fists, inhaled sharply through his nose, and then—
"Uhhhhhh…." He hesitated, his whole body twitching with indecision.
Then, with a deep, soul-crushing sigh, he accepted his fate.
"Damnit..."
He shut his eyes.
He exhaled.
And then—
"FUCK IT, WE BALL!!"
And with that, he sprinted after them, cursing every life decision that had led him to this moment.
As they made their way up the hill, Shotaro took the lead, his posture relaxed but his senses sharp.
"Stay behind me," he muttered, waving a lazy hand at the two elves. "I don't need you two getting yourselves skewered by some ancient bullshit."
Paliv, of course, had a problem with that.
"Tch, as if I'd ever need you to protect me, shit face."
"Yes, ma'am," Shotaro replied without looking back. "I totally believe the girl who got folded by a single punch again and is still nursing her ribs like an old man with arthritis."
Paliv's eye twitched.
Meanwhile, Fa Git was trailing behind her, looking a little too blissful for someone who had just been racially slurred.
"Oh, she's so assertive," he mumbled dreamily. "So fiery. Like a wild beast that spits venom and hatred. My mother would despise her. I think I'm in love."
Shotaro stopped walking. Slowly, he turned his head back.
"You what?"
Fa Git, still lost in his fantasy, didn't hear him.
Paliv, however, did. And she turned just enough to give him a look of absolute disgust. "Kill yourself."
Fa Git let out a deep, dramatic sigh, his hand pressed against his chest as if he had just received the greatest honor of his life.
"She acknowledges me," he whispered, eyes practically shimmering with admiration.
Paliv, standing a few feet away, scrunched up her nose in utter disgust.
"Eugh."
Shotaro didn't even dignify this exchange with a response. He was too busy surveying the terrain, his sharp crimson eyes scanning every inch of the mountain's surface. Something felt… wrong.
He crouched down, brushing his fingertips against the soil. His expression darkened. This wasn't the mountain's natural dirt. It was loose, scattered, almost like—
Displaced soil.
His brows furrowed. The particles weren't compacted the way they should be if they had been there for centuries. No, this was fresh. The kind of dirt that had traveled, carried by time, by wind, by something unnatural, before settling here.
Shotaro stood up, rolling his shoulders. His usual casual demeanor flickered, replaced by something far more serious.
Something was off about this place.
He heard some noises from behind, metallic clangs of something walking from behind him.
'The Penetrator,' it was a big, rusted black armor, 10 feet tall, with a 12-foot-tall lance.
Shotaro tilted his head, arms crossed, as he casually addressed the towering, ancient, and quite possibly mythical suit of armor before him.
"So, you're the Penetrator?" His voice carried the usual lazy irreverence. "Not gonna lie, I had a certain American-African rapper in mind when I heard that name."
The massive suit of armor stood still, unmoving, its towering lance gleaming under the dim moonlight. Then—
"Kalki~~~"
The sound wasn't spoken in a human voice. It was layered, echoing from within the armor like countless whispers overlapping at once. A voice lost to time itself.
Shotaro's crimson eyes widened.
"Wait—how the hell do you know that?"
His answer came in the form of pure, unrestrained violence.
The Penetrator lunged.
A flash of steel. A blur of motion.
Shotaro barely had time to react before the lance was already inches from his skull. Instinct kicked in. His body moved before his brain had fully processed what was happening.
CLANG!
The sound of metal screeching against metal ripped through the air as Shotaro's katana, Alakshmi, intercepted the attack. The force behind it was monstrous. The ground beneath Shotaro's feet cracked from the sheer impact.
And then—
"KALKI!!!!!!!"
The Penetrator screamed, its voice splitting the air like a war cry from another era.
Shotaro gritted his teeth, gripping his sword tighter.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he barked, pushing back against the overwhelming force of the lance. But something was wrong. Something was off.
It wasn't just raw speed. It wasn't just sheer power.
His attacks were arriving before they were even executed.
Shotaro's eyes flicked, tracking the movements—no, the lack of movement.
Time itself felt disjointed, like reality was struggling to catch up with what was happening. The moment the Penetrator moved, the attack was already landing, as if causality itself had been rewritten.
His expression darkened.
"He's… time traveling," Shotaro muttered under his breath.
That was the only explanation.
This thing wasn't just fast. It wasn't just strong.
It was a paradox.
Shotaro's crimson eyes widened as his instincts screamed at him—Dodge. Block. Move.
But how?
The Penetrator's lance was already there.
The moment Shotaro's muscles tensed to react, the attack had already arrived, the tip of the ancient weapon cutting through the air before its wielder even moved.
What the hell—?!
Shotaro barely twisted his blade in time, his katana Alakshmi deflecting the attack with a sharp CLANG! Sparks flew, the sheer force of the impact rattling through his arms like a shockwave. He staggered back, the ground beneath him shattering from the sheer power of the strike.
His mind raced.
"He didn't even wind up for that attack!"
Another strike.
This time, Shotaro saw it—The Penetrator hadn't even moved yet, but the lance was already in his face. He had no time to process it—only react.
CLANG!
Shotaro barely managed to tilt his katana at the last possible moment, the tip of the lance grazing past his shoulder. He twisted his body, rolling with the force, but even then, a thin line of red bloomed across his arm. A superficial wound—but a warning.
"His attacks are reaching me before he even executes them!!"
Shotaro's breathing was steady, but his heartbeat pounded like war drums. He narrowed his eyes, observing the way the armor should have been attacking.
There was no wind-up. No moment of intent. The lance simply existed where it needed to be.
It wasn't speed. It wasn't teleportation.
It was something else.
The Penetrator wasn't striking faster than he could react—he was reaching into a reality where he had already struck and bringing it here.
Shotaro exhaled, rolling his shoulders.
"So that's how it is, huh?"
The air around them tensed as the Penetrator's armor groaned, the engravings across its surface glowing with eerie, ethereal light.
KALKI.
It spoke again, its voice hollow, ancient, and filled with something Shotaro couldn't quite place.
The lance moved.
Shotaro braced himself. He exhaled, lowering his stance, crimson eyes locking onto the Penetrator's glowing form.
He could feel it.
The weight of history pressing down on this moment. The presence of something ancient—something beyond his understanding—something that had already attacked him before he even decided whether or not to fight.
This was it.
This was the moment where he had to make a choice.
Would he stand his ground? Would he dig his heels in and clash against this monster of legend, a relic of war, an entity that bent reality itself?
Would he risk his life, defy the odds, and prove himself against this walking, time-bending nightmare?
…
…
…
"Yeah, nah, fuck that," Shotaro muttered under his breath.
And then—
He turned.
And bolted.
"SO LONG YOU METALIC SHIT!!" he yelled, his voice echoing across the mountain.
His feet slammed against the dirt, his body moving at speeds that could make seasoned warriors look like amateurs. He didn't look back—he didn't need to.
Because he could hear it.
The thunderous clanking of ancient metal. The earth-quaking force of something very large and very angry gaining on him.
Somewhere, somehow, miles away from any sane civilization, Fa Git and Paliv were having yet another beautifully racist exchange.
"Listen here, soot skin," Paliv huffed, arms crossed, nose turned up, exuding all the regal arrogance of a pure-blooded imperial elf. "If you're going to follow me around, at least do it at a respectful distance."
Fa Git, ever the delusional simp, smiled dreamily.
"So I can admire your divine presence from afar?"
"NO, SO I DON'T HAVE TO SMELL YOU!"
"A blessing, my princess, a divine insult from your sacred lips—"
Then, in the distance—
Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-
The ground began to tremble.
Paliv's ears twitched. Fa Git blinked.
They turned their heads.
And there—
Shotaro.
Running.
Like his life depended on it.
Because it did.
And behind him—
An unholy, impossible, absolutely horrifying hunk of metal—barreling down the mountain like a freight train with a vengeance.
Paliv squinted.
"…Is that…?"
Shotaro, still running at speeds no human should be able to reach, locked eyes with them.
"RUN, YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!!!"
Fa Git blinked. "Wha—?"
BA-BOOM.
The Penetrator leaped, the very air screaming as it crashed into the ground where Shotaro had been half a second ago. A shockwave erupted, sending dirt and rocks flying, the sheer force of its landing enough to make the trees shudder.
Fa Git screamed. Paliv screamed.
The ground trembled behind him, a relentless metallic juggernaut tearing through the terrain like a divine executioner descending upon a world unworthy of its presence. Every thunderous step the Penetrator took sent another explosion of dirt and debris flying into the night sky.
Shotaro didn't need to turn around.
He could feel it.
A presence so massive, so unshakable, that it warped the very space around it—like a star collapsing in on itself, dragging all reason and logic into its gravitational pull.
And it was screaming.
"KALKI~~~~~~~~~~!!!!!!"
Shotaro gritted his teeth.
"Oh, for fuck's sake—"
Paliv and Fa Git, still frozen in place, snapped their heads toward him.
Paliv's emerald eyes narrowed.
"Shotaro, who the fuck is Kalki?"
Shotaro, still sprinting for his life, barely spared her a glance.
"That's my other name."
Paliv's brow furrowed. "What?"
"Like how Goku is Kakarot, I am Kalki."
"Who the fuck is Goku?"
"Don't worry about it."
Paliv threw up her hands. "What the fuck do you mean 'don't worry about it'—"
"Paliv, we have bigger problems!!!" Fa Git shrieked, pointing frantically at the monstrosity hurtling toward them.
Paliv turned.
And for the first time in her entire, privileged, aristocratic, pompous imperial existence—
She shut the fuck up.
Because there it was.
The Penetrator.
A monolithic, armor-clad terror—a legend from before the first emergence of the elves. A walking nightmare, an iron behemoth that shouldn't exist—but did.
And it was closing the distance.
Shotaro?
Shotaro was already ten feet ahead.
Because he knew what was coming.
He wasn't about to wait for the cinematic buildup or some long-ass monologue.
He had one goal:
Get the fuck out.
And judging by the sheer blood-curdling horror spreading across Paliv and Fa Git's faces—They too had the same goal
"Wait a minute!!" Shotaro skidded to a halt so abruptly that dust and loose soil kicked up around his feet. His crimson eyes widened in realization, a flicker of self-awareness igniting within him. "Why the hell am I running?"
The earth still rumbled beneath him, the sheer force of the Penetrator's monstrous advance sending deep, guttural tremors through the terrain. A lesser man would have continued fleeing. A reasonable man would have already been halfway across the valley, never daring to look back.
but Mugyiwara Shotaro?
He turned.
Slowly, deliberately, he pivoted on his heel, facing the oncoming juggernaut with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, his silver hair catching the dim light as the wind howled around him. His grip on Alakshmi tightened, the katana's blade humming with a subtle, deadly energy.
His crimson gaze locked onto the towering, ancient horror barreling toward him, a living relic of a bygone era, clad in indomitable plates of timeworn steel. The air itself seemed to warp in its presence, an entity that defied history, logic, and perhaps even reality itself.
Shotaro exhaled.
And with all the confidence, arrogance, and sheer reckless bravado that made him who he was, he extended a hand, curled his fingers inward, and beckoned.
"KALKI!!!!!"
The Penetrator lunged, its massive lance tearing through the air with a force that could split mountains. The sheer pressure of the attack sent shockwaves through the earth, kicking up a violent gust of wind that howled like a dying beast. But just before the devastating strike could connect, a flash of silver cut through the chaos—Shotaro's blade, Alakshmi, intercepting the oncoming destruction with inhuman precision.
The impact was cataclysmic. Sparks exploded upon contact, a blinding burst of crimson and white as steel met steel. The force alone was enough to crack the ground beneath them, jagged fissures splitting outward like veins across the battlefield. Shotaro locked eyes with the Penetrator, his expression hardening, his grip tightening around his weapon. There was no hesitation, no fear—only pure, razor-sharp focus.
Then, without another word, they moved.
Blades clashed. Each strike was an attempt at annihilation, a perfectly executed dance of death between two warriors who had no intention of holding back. Shotaro weaved through the onslaught, his movements impossibly fluid, dodging, parrying, countering with surgical precision. But the Penetrator was no mindless brute—it matched him step for step, attacking from angles that seemed impossible, its every motion a seamless extension of pure violence.
"What the fuck is happening??"
Paliv's voice cracked as she staggered backward, her emerald eyes wide, struggling to comprehend the sheer insanity unfolding before her. She had seen battles, had witnessed war, but this? This was something else entirely.
"Those two are too fast to comprehend," Fa Git muttered, his own expression twisted with equal parts awe and terror. He swallowed hard, then without another thought, he did what any self-respecting dark elf would do in this situation.
He scooped Paliv up in a princess carry and bolted.
"WH—PUT ME DOWN, YOU FILTHY SOOT SKIN—"
"NOT A CHANCE!!"
And just like that, the two vanished into the night, leaving Shotaro and the Penetrator locked in a battle that shook the heavens.
Shotaro barely deflected the incoming strike, his blade screaming against the sheer force behind the attack. His muscles tensed, arms trembling from the impact as his feet skidded backward, carving deep trenches into the dirt. The sheer weight of the blow sent a violent tremor through his entire body, forcing him to dig his heels in just to stay upright.
His crimson eyes narrowed. This wasn't normal. This wasn't just overwhelming speed or strength. This was something far worse.
"There are normal attacks," Shotaro muttered under his breath, his voice steady despite the burning strain in his limbs. "Then there are attacks as fast as infinity—instantaneous strikes that ignore the space between the weapon and the target, making sure they land the moment they are executed."
He spat to the side, adjusting his grip on Alakshmi as the Penetrator loomed before him, its eerie, hollow stare fixated solely on him.
"But your attacks…" Shotaro exhaled sharply, his breath ragged. His mind raced, putting the pieces together even as his body screamed at him to move. "They're faster than instantaneous."
His jaw clenched.
"They don't just ignore space… they ignore time."
The realization sent a cold shiver down his spine.
"Your strikes travel into the future—no, they rewrite the future to make sure they always land."
A new wave of pressure bore down on him as the Penetrator shifted its stance, preparing its next attack. Shotaro braced himself, every fiber of his being screaming that he was already too late.
Shotaro's breathing steadied as his mind dissected the nature of the Penetrator's attacks, his crimson eyes sharpening with newfound clarity. He could feel it now—not just the speed, not just the raw force, but the fundamental distortion at play.
"This isn't just speed. This isn't just technique." His voice was low, edged with tension, yet steady with realization.
"You're transcending the very concept of causality itself."
His grip on Alakshmi tightened. The blade vibrated, almost as if reacting to the sheer absurdity of what it was up against.
"You aren't just striking faster than instantaneous—you're imposing a reality where your attack has already landed before you even move. A world where you never miss."
Shotaro exhaled, feeling the weight of what that truly meant.
"You're taking that fabricated certainty, that absolute outcome, and forcefully spreading it into the real world—overwriting everything else, twisting fate itself to make sure your strike always connects."
The Penetrator took a step forward, its towering presence exuding an overwhelming sense of inevitability. Shotaro readjusted his stance, jaw tightening.
Fighting something like this head-on was suicidal.
Shotaro exhaled sharply, his crimson eyes locked onto the towering mass of cursed steel before him. His body tensed, instincts screaming at him that he should have been cut down already—that by all logic, he should be dead.
But he wasn't.
Because logic didn't apply to him the way it did to others.
"If I wasn't acausal, I would've died a long time ago," he muttered, rolling his shoulders, the weight of inevitability pressing down on him like a vice.
His very existence spat in the face of predetermination. The Penetrator's strikes weren't just fast—they didn't simply ignore distance or bypass reaction speed. No, they rewrote the past, present, and future to ensure their success. The moment he decided to attack, reality itself adjusted to accommodate that decision, molding history so that his blade had always landed. Against anything bound by the constraints of cause and effect, his blows were inescapable, inevitable, absolute.
But Shotaro stood outside that chain.
He always had.
Even when he was still on Earth, his nature had been an anomaly. A single, unchanging existence across an infinite multiverse. Other people had parallel selves—endless variations of who they could be, shaped by different choices, different circumstances. But there was only ever one Mugiwara Shotaro. No matter how many timelines branched, how many possibilities split off into their own realities, there was never a second version of him.
Many had tried to exploit this contradiction. Travelers who wielded time as a weapon, beings who thought themselves gods, had sought to undo his existence—erase him from history before he could ever become a threat. Yet, no matter how far back they went, no matter how many futures they attempted to reconstruct, he was always there. Always untouched. Always unbroken.
Shotaro was not bound by the rules of time. He was the rule that time could not break.
Shotaro's heat vision flared, twin beams of searing crimson crashing against the ancient metal, bathing the entire battlefield in a blinding, almost blasphemous glow. The air itself shimmered under the weight of the assault, thickening with the heat of the twin rays, as the ground beneath them cracked like an ancient temple breaking under the strain of an eternity's worth of force. And yet—
The Penetrator stood unyielding, its towering, mechanized form wreathed in the hellish light of Shotaro's fury, its body glowing red-hot, but nothing more. No melting. No warping. No fracture. No hint of weakness. It was an immovable object—a colossus with an aura of invincibility.
Shotaro's lips pulled back into a snarl, eyes narrowing with focused fury. He gritted his teeth, feeling the thrum of his own heartbeat reverberating through the battlefield like the pulse of a war drum. Fine. If fire wouldn't work, then—
With a guttural growl, he ripped the sleeveless black compression shirt from his body, exposing the raw, chiseled form of a warrior forged by the very universe itself. Every muscle, every sinew, every inch of his sun-kissed skin seemed to crackle with the latent power of creation. The battlefield seemed to hold its breath, as if the very earth itself had paused in awe, waiting for the storm that was about to unfold.
His lungs expanded, sucking in the very air around him, the atmosphere vibrating with the primal force of his being. The ground beneath him trembled as his body coiled like a predator about to spring. His chest swelled, his heart pounding like the relentless march of an army, the rhythmic beat shaking the very fabric of reality. The world seemed to bend beneath the power building within him. And then—
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"
A deafening roar erupted from his throat—a sound that wasn't just heard, but felt, deep in the marrow of every living thing nearby. It was a force of nature, a shockwave of pure willpower and unrelenting fury that tore through the air itself. The atmosphere buckled under the sheer weight of his presence, warping and twisting as if the very laws of physics were trying to flee from the overwhelming force that Shotaro unleashed.
The earth beneath him cracked open, splitting like a chasm, while the soil itself recoiled in terror at the magnitude of his power. Trees in the distance bent away, their trunks snapping like twigs as though they too understood the futility of standing in his way. His silver hair whipped and thrashed wildly, like a banner caught in a cyclone, illuminated by an otherworldly radiance that seemed to burn with the intensity of a dying star. His sun-kissed skin glowed with the force of an untold energy, his crimson eyes blazing like twin supernovae, their light piercing through the darkness with an otherworldly brilliance.
And his mantra… it didn't just flare. It roared. It bellowed. It screamed into existence with a demand that could shatter the heavens themselves. The power that flooded from him wasn't just that of gods, nor that of devils. It was something greater—something beyond mortal comprehension, something that threatened to unravel the very fabric of the cosmos itself. It was the power of everything—the embodiment of the universe's will to endure, to break, and to rise again. It was the sound of the stars shattering, of creation colliding with destruction, of the laws of existence being rewritten in an instant.
Paliv watched from a distance, her breath caught in her throat as she witnessed Shotaro—her adopted older brother—unleash a power she had never seen before. His crimson aura burned like a supernova, painting the battlefield in a searing glow. Her emerald eyes widened, the light reflecting off her short golden-brown hair, her mind struggling to grasp the sheer magnitude of what was unfolding before her. Never had she seen him like this, never had she imagined that the little boy she once knew could become this force of nature.
He really can get cool when he needs to be, she thought to herself, her heart hammering in her chest. The boy who had once been so sassy, so sarcastic, was now a storm incarnate—a true warrior of legend. And yet, there was something else—a flash of envy that sparked deep within her, something that burned hotter than the very energy pouring from him.
"Damnit," Paliv muttered under her breath, frustration twisting her features as she clenched her fists. Why didn't you teach me to do it?
Her voice barely registered above the chaos, a whisper to the universe that felt like an afterthought in the wake of Shotaro's raw power. But the reality of the situation set in quickly as Shotaro, amidst the flames and destruction, turned his fierce crimson gaze toward her and the small dark elven boy beside her. His words were simple, but they carried a weight that seemed to shake the very air around them.
"Fa Git," Shotaro's voice rang out, clear and commanding amidst the roaring energy. The little dark elven boy, barely older than Paliv herself, looked up at Shotaro, his purple eyes flickering with the smallest glimmer of purpose. His tiny hands fidgeted nervously, fingers brushing through the amethyst-colored strands of his hair as he took the twig that had become lodged in it during their journey.
"Take Paliv and leave," Shotaro continued, his voice a low growl that reverberated like thunder across the battlefield.
Fa Git nodded, the wordless command settling deep within him. He hesitated for only a moment before steeling himself, the fear in his eyes overtaken by the fragile ember of courage that had ignited inside him.
"Y-yes," Fa Git stammered, the uncertainty of a child thrust into a life-or-death situation weighing heavy in his chest. He looked back at Paliv, his voice barely audible but laced with the first taste of responsibility. "!!!!."
Paliv's chest tightened, her mind racing with the implications of what Shotaro had just ordered. She opened her mouth to protest, to argue that this was a plan doomed to fail, but before she could speak, Shotaro's voice broke through her hesitation, louder, more commanding than before.
"Take Paliv to your tribe," Shotaro said, his tone unwavering, his words laced with the promise of something far beyond the realm of mortal fear. "I will take care of him."
"But—" Paliv started, her voice shaking, but Shotaro's intensity shut her down. She swallowed her words, feeling a chill settle deep in her bones. This was real.
"But his people hate imperial elves," Paliv's voice cracked with the weight of reality. "They'll kill me."
Shotaro's crimson eyes locked onto hers, glowing like burning jewels, their light cutting through the chaos with an intensity that almost made her flinch. His spiky silver hair, which had once been meticulously styled back, now whipped wildly in the hurricane of his power, looking more like the mane of a storm god than a human boy. He was a force of nature—a living, breathing tempest—and yet, beneath the fury, there was something that grounded him, something she knew she could trust.
"Just tell them we have their princess in our custody," Shotaro shouted back, his voice booming over the battlefield, carrying with it a weight that could topple empires. His words were not those of a scared boy or a reluctant leader. No, they were the commands of someone who had crossed the threshold into a realm where only the strongest survive. He was beyond their world now.
The energy surrounding him crackled and burned with a life of its own, a force that could melt mountains. And yet, despite everything, he reminded Paliv of someone—someone who, despite the hate and prejudice between their people, she knew had given her life meaning.
Ni Gah… Paliv's mind whispered the name, the thought cutting through the whirlwind of emotion like a blade. Shotaro's resolve, the way he carried himself in that moment—it was exactly like her.
She shook her head, snapping back to reality, her heart racing. She couldn't stop him. She couldn't stop what had already been set into motion. Her world was crumbling around her, and yet, in the midst of all the chaos, one thing remained clear: Shotaro, her brother, had become something beyond her understanding.
She turned to Fa Git, her words catching in her throat. "We have no choice."
And with that, they ran—Paliv's heart thumping in her chest, torn between the fiery intensity of Shotaro's last command and the fear of the dark elven tribe she was about to face.
But no matter what happened, one thing was undeniable: Shotaro would handle it. Because if there was one thing she was certain of now, it was that he wasn't the boy she once knew.
Shotaro stood, unyielding, his crimson aura crackling around him like an unstoppable storm, facing the towering monolith of metal that was the Penetrator. The ancient suit of armor loomed before him, its massive frame exuding an almost suffocating presence, an iron titan that seemed to consume the very space it occupied. The air was thick with tension, the battlefield silent save for the low hum of energy radiating from the Penetrator's core.
And then, it spoke.
"KALKI!!!!" The roar, a guttural, distorted scream, reverberated across the landscape, shaking the very earth beneath them. The voice was like a thunderclap, an ancient cry that rattled through the ages, a name bound to an old prophecy.
Shotaro's expression hardened, his crimson eyes narrowing in an intense, burning glare. The Penetrator's voice had not been the first time to invoke that name, but it was the first time he'd heard it in such a twisted, thunderous roar. He stood there, his feet planted firmly in the cracked earth, his body glowing with the raw intensity of his power. But even as the very air around him shimmered with heat, his mind was ice-cold, calculating, preparing for what was to come. He'd been called many things in his short life, but that name—Kalki—was one he had not expected to hear, especially not from this ancient relic of war.
"First of all," Shotaro's voice rang out, a sharp, almost mocking tone cutting through the chaos. His words were deliberate, each one carefully measured, yet there was an edge of anger buried deep within them, like a blade waiting to strike. His chest rose and fell with the heavy rhythm of his breathing, his body pulsing with energy as he steadied himself, his feet digging into the earth with the force of a mountain.
"How do you know that name?" Shotaro's voice demanded, the words echoing with the weight of a thousand questions, a thousand possibilities. His mind raced, the implications of what he'd just heard swirling around him like a storm. He had long since grown accustomed to the mysteries that surrounded his existence.
But before the Penetrator could respond, Shotaro's voice sliced through the air once more, sharper this time, tinged with a frustration that burned like fire.
"And second of all," Shotaro's tone was now a low growl, his eyes glowing with an intensity that seemed to burn the very air around him. "Stop calling me with that!!"
His words were a command, a defiant roar that rattled the earth beneath his feet, as though the very fabric of reality itself trembled at his fury. The crimson light that radiated from him seemed to flare brighter, fiercer, hotter—as if it, too, was feeding off the storm of emotion that swirled within Shotaro's chest. His silver hair whipped wildly in the wind, no longer the sleek and controlled style it had once been. It was now a wild, untamed mess, an outward reflection of the internal maelstrom that raged within him.
The Penetrator's colossal frame loomed before him, unwavering, unmoving, its dark, ominous armor reflecting the crimson light of Shotaro's aura, the two forces locked in a tense, unspoken standoff.
The battle between them was not just one of strength, but one of meaning. The name Kalki——this name the gods used to call him by backon earth—wasn't just about survival. It was about something.
He stood there, unwavering in the face of the Penetrator's yell, his voice steady as the earth beneath them, but his heart thundering like the war drums of old.
And in that moment, he realized: this wasn't just a fight. This was the beginning of something much, much greater.
Somewhere, deep within the shadowed expanse of the world, beyond the reach of sunlight and forgotten by time itself, there lay a valley—a place where the air itself seemed to throb with a dark, ancient energy. It was the kind of place that legends were woven from, a land so steeped in mystery and untold history that even the most seasoned travelers would hesitate to approach it. It was nestled just one hill away from the Greytstone Valley Divide, a land where the great mountain range of Drakastradorn loomed ominously, its jagged peaks piercing the sky like the claws of some ancient god that had long since abandoned the earth.
The valley, known only by the locals as the Evening Glory valley, was a land shrouded in perpetual twilight. The sun never fully rose here; it was as though the heavens themselves had abandoned it to the perpetual embrace of dusk. A half-light clung to everything, casting long, haunting shadows and distorting the land into a world that seemed not quite real, as if it existed on the very edge of the mortal realm. The trees here were twisted, their branches reaching out like gnarled hands, and the air carried the scent of ancient earth and unspoken secrets.
Officially, however, on many maps stamped with the seal of the Aetherian Church of Drakastradorn, it was marked as a place of reverence, known as the Evening Glory valley, a name given by those who sought to sanitize its darker reputation. To most, it was a sacred place—a mystery. But for those who truly understood its depths, it was a realm of exile, a place where Dark elves ruled, and no imperial soul could truly claim dominion. It was a place where even the bravest of souls could lose themselves, consumed by the land's overwhelming, almost suffocating sense of history and fear.
Fa Git, unlike the vast majority of travelers, had lived his entire life within the shadowed confines of the dark elven valley, his home nestled among its ancient, twisting trees and fog-shrouded hills. His small form moved with the ease of someone who had spent years navigating the treacherous terrain, his feet barely making a sound as they tread over the twisted roots and uneven ground. To him, the valley was not an unknown, eerie wilderness, but a place of familiarity, a place where the dark elven community had built its home, hidden from the world that feared and despised them.
a task that weighed heavily on his fragile shoulders. With Paliv, the imperial elf princess, at his side, they traversed the valley in silence. Every step they took felt like a journey into the very heart of the unknown. His small, hesitant form was wrapped in the shadows, blending into the eerie twilight, the amethyst hue of his eyes barely visible under the dark canopy above. His dark hair, streaked with pale violet, fluttered like a ghost in the wind as he moved swiftly, his feet silent against the earth, barely disturbing the soil beneath.
Paliv followed, her heart pounding like a war drum in her chest. The valley was unsettling—no, more than that. It was suffocating, a place that pressed down on the chest and made each breath feel like it was being stolen away. The chill in the air felt unnatural, as if it were woven from the very fabric of something older than the stars themselves.
Fa Git moved quickly, his eyes flicking nervously to the darkened expanse of the valley as he led Paliv through the winding paths and towering trees, ensuring that they remained unseen. His heart raced, not just from the weight of the secrecy but from the knowledge that he was bringing Paliv into his most sacred space—his home, hidden deep in the heart of the valley. Every rustle of the leaves seemed to echo loudly in his ears, and he was keenly aware of the tense, watchful eyes of his community, who surely sensed the presence of the imperial princess.
With practiced ease, Fa Git reached the entrance of his humble hut, a structure woven from the very earth itself—twisted wood, moss-covered stone, and thick vines that curled around the frame, as if the valley itself had embraced his home. It was small, nestled deep beneath the shadow of the towering trees, where the sunlight never fully broke through. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of wood smoke, spices, and the faintest hint of something older—something almost forgotten. The flickering light from the hearth cast long shadows against the walls, illuminating the simple yet warm space. The floor was covered in woven mats, and the walls were lined with rough-hewn shelves filled with dried herbs, fishing nets, and the occasional trinket that seemed to hold a story all its own.
As Fa Git ushered Paliv inside, he immediately closed the door behind them, the soft creak of the wooden frame muffled by the heavy silence that descended over the room. For a moment, they stood in the dim light, both of them trying to adjust to the unfamiliar surroundings, the tension of the outside world forgotten in the relative peace of the small, intimate space.
"So, Soot skin, what is this place?" Paliv asked, her voice softer now, no longer laced with the edge of suspicion that had once marked their earlier exchanges. The walls of Fa Git's hut, though humble, seemed to soothe her for the moment, grounding her in a reality that was far removed from the chaos of the outside world. She couldn't help but feel a flicker of curiosity, a small, tentative desire to understand him, to understand his world, if only for a moment.
Fa Git scratched the back of his head, a nervous, almost boyish gesture that betrayed his discomfort in the presence of someone like Paliv. "This is my home," he replied, his voice quiet but tinged with a strange pride. "This isn't much, but me and my… extremist mother live quite comfortably here. I go out during the day to fish, while she stays at home and cooks. We make do with what we have." His words were simple, but there was a weight to them, a history that could not be ignored. The life he described was one of survival, not of luxury or grandiosity, but of an existence carved out in the margins of a world that had forgotten about them.
For a brief moment, Paliv's eyes softened as she took in the room around her, the quiet intimacy of the space contrasting sharply with the grandeur of the imperial palaces she had grown up in. It was a world so different from her own—one that did not depend on the pomp and circumstance of royalty, but on something far more personal, far more real. She was about to respond when Fa Git's voice interrupted her again.
"After my father died during a storm some years ago, protecting me," he added, his words carrying a weight that seemed to press down on the room. His voice cracked ever so slightly at the end, and for a moment, Paliv caught a glimpse of something deeper within him—a pain that ran beneath the surface, something he rarely allowed others to see.
Paliv's breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she was struck silent, the walls she had built around herself crumbling just slightly. There was something about the vulnerability in Fa Git's words that shook her, made her pause. Protecting me. She had never truly thought about the concept of protection the way he did. She had always been the one in the position of privilege, the one in need of protecting, the one who could afford to be guarded. But Fa Git, his father had given his life for him—to protect him. A strange thought, one that momentarily erased the layers of prejudice she had built up over the years.
"So… your father died protecting you too?" she asked, her voice softer now, quieter, as though she were testing the waters of empathy for the first time. For a while, she found herself no longer focusing on the differences between them—no longer seeing him as merely a dark elf, an enemy, but as someone who had experienced loss, who had suffered in ways that were not so unlike her own people. The thought, however fleeting, was enough to stir something deep within her, a ripple of understanding that she hadn't expected.
Fa Git looked down at the floor, his gaze momentarily lost in the flickering shadows of the fire. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He was the one who taught me how to fish, how to survive in this valley. He never got to see me grow up." His hand clenched into a fist at his side, as if the memory was one he had not fully come to terms with. "But I remember him—his lessons, his strength. That's what keeps me going. I owe it to him to stay strong. To make sure that I don't forget."
Paliv stood there, silent for a long while, her eyes fixed on Fa Git as he spoke. The walls between them, once built so high, seemed to crumble little by little, piece by piece. She had come here with a mind full of doubts, of anger, of distrust. But now, for the first time since meeting Fa Git, she found herself questioning those thoughts. They were both just children of a world that had forced them to become something they never wanted to be. And in that moment, in the quiet solitude of Fa Git's humble home, something shifted in her.
Fa Git let out a small, quiet sigh, his gaze drifting to the small window of the hut, where the faintest glow of twilight seeped through the thick canopy outside. The shadows inside the room seemed to grow longer as the fire crackled softly, the rhythmic snap of the flames filling the air with a comforting warmth that stood in stark contrast to the cold, unyielding world outside. He shifted uncomfortably, his posture betraying a quiet humility as he spoke again, the weight of his father's memory still hanging heavily in the air.
"My father," he began, his voice softer now, tinged with a note of something almost wistful. "He was a great favorite among the community. Everyone respected him, not just for his strength, but for his heart. He was the one who kept us grounded, who reminded everyone that we were more than the hatred the world had cast upon us. He taught us that survival wasn't just about existing—it was about living with honor, with pride, no matter what anyone else thought of us." Fa Git's eyes darkened for a moment, a shadow crossing his features as he spoke of the man who had been both protector and symbol, the beacon of light in the darkened world they inhabited. "He was a leader in his own way, though he would never have called himself one."
Paliv listened quietly, her emerald eyes studying him as he spoke. She could hear the quiet reverence in his voice, the underlying admiration that he held for his father. The way Fa Git spoke, as if his father's influence was a lingering force in his life, gave her a sense of the kind of person he had been. In a way, Fa Git's words painted a picture of a man who had not only been a father, but a cornerstone of their community, someone whose very presence had been a source of strength and unity for the people who lived in the valley. It was a stark contrast to the world Paliv had known, where leaders often reveled in their titles and wealth, rather than earning their respect through actions.
"He wasn't just loved by our people," Fa Git continued, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "He was admired. Not because of his strength, though that was undeniable. No, it was his ability to bring people together, to make them believe that they could fight for something greater than themselves. He taught us that family wasn't just those you were born to—it was everyone who stood beside you when things got hard." He paused, his gaze turning inward for a moment, as if remembering the warmth of his father's presence. "When the storms came, he was the one who stood between us and the world, who kept us safe. Even when the storm took him, he made sure that we wouldn't break."
Paliv, for the first time in her life, felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—a mix of awe and sorrow. She had grown up surrounded by noble blood, by those who had been born into positions of power, but never had she heard anyone speak of their parent in such reverent terms. Fa Git's words were not just a tribute to a lost father; they were a testament to the values his father had instilled in him, the lessons that had shaped him into the person he had become. She realized then that, perhaps, it wasn't just the light elves or the dark elves who had to fight for respect. Perhaps it was every living being, struggling to carve out meaning in a world that never seemed to care.
"I've tried to live up to that," Fa Git said, his voice carrying a quiet resolve, though the uncertainty in his eyes remained. "I want to be someone my father would have been proud of. I want to make sure his legacy lives on, even if he's gone. That's why I do what I do, even when it feels impossible. Even when the world feels like it's falling apart around us." He let out another breath, this one heavier, as though he were releasing a burden he had been carrying for years. "It's why I protect this valley, protect my people. Because I'm not just protecting them—I'm protecting everything he stood for."
Paliv, once so brash and certain of her superiority, felt something shift inside her as she listened. In the dim light of Fa Git's humble hut, she could no longer see just a dark elf—a member of the race she had been taught to despise—but a young soul, shaped by loss and love, striving to uphold a legacy that transcended hatred. She had always thought of her people as the ones who fought for honor, who fought for what was right, but she had never understood that others could carry the same burdens of loyalty, pride, and strength. Perhaps, she thought, they weren't so different after all.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the crackling of the fire, the soft murmur of the wind outside, and the lingering weight of Fa Git's words. The night had fully descended now, casting the room in shadows that seemed to stretch longer, deeper—stretching not just over the room, but over the space between them. In that silence, Paliv felt a shift in herself, a quiet stirring of realization. This world—this valley, this people—was so much more than she had ever known. And Fa Git, in his own quiet way, had opened her eyes to that.
It was strange—how quickly a moment of shared understanding could alter the course of one's thoughts. Where once she might have seen Fa Git as nothing more than a relic of a hated race, she now saw him as something far more complex, far more human. And it was in that moment of shared silence, in the shared space of their grief, that she understood something that had always been missing from her life: the power of true connection, born from respect, loss, and shared humanity.
And, in the warmth of that revelation, the fire seemed to burn brighter, its light flickering in both their hearts.
The stillness of the room was shattered by a sudden rustle. As Paliv glanced around, her gaze fell upon a small, weathered book lying carelessly on one of the shelves in the far corner of the hut. The title, barely legible but unmistakably bold, was inscribed in crude lettering: "To End an Imperial Elf: A Guide to Ethical Cleansing by Kum Slet." The words were like a slap to the face, their meaning instantly clear.
For a moment, Paliv stood frozen, her emerald eyes widening in shock. Her mind raced as she processed the implications of what she had just found. This—this book—how could it possibly be in his home? Her breath caught in her throat as the reality of the situation settled over her like a thick fog. The irony of the situation, of her being here in the first place, now seemed almost cruel. Fa Git, who had just spoken so earnestly of his father's ideals, of living with honor, was now the owner of such a vile piece of literature.
The moment stretched out, the space between them growing heavier, more tense. Paliv felt a flare of anger, a sharp sting of betrayal. How could he, someone who had made her question her own prejudices, possibly have something like this in his possession? Her heart, which had just begun to soften toward him, hardened in an instant. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into the palms of her hands as she tried to hold back the rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.
Fa Git, sensing the shift in the air, turned around slowly. His eyes immediately locked on the book, and a deep flush spread across his face, turning his dark skin a few shades lighter. He stared at it, then back at Paliv, and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, as though the mere act of touching the book had somehow brought an unbearable weight upon him.
"Uhhh, yes," he stammered, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. "Did I say my mom is a radical extremist too?" His voice cracked slightly, as though even the words themselves tasted wrong in his mouth. The humor in his voice was forced, thin, like a brittle mask trying to cover up the discomfort seeping from every pore. He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting from Paliv to the book and back again, as if looking for an escape that wasn't coming.