Chereads / Awakening in The World of Gods / Chapter 48 - The Awakening of Chaos — II

Chapter 48 - The Awakening of Chaos — II

Eryndor knelt beside Seraphina's lifeless body, his trembling hands cradling her as though his touch alone could tether her to this world. His breath hitched, his vision blurred by tears that refused to stop. The battlefield's cacophony faded into an eerie silence. Time itself seemed to still, leaving him trapped in a suffocating void of grief.

"Seraphina," he whispered, his voice breaking like brittle glass.

Her final word echoed endlessly in his mind, a fragile plea that carried the weight of eternity:

"Protect…"

The word pierced him like a blade, severing the strings of despair and pulling him back to the present. Eryndor's gaze shifted, his lifeless eyes landing on his son, Poll. The boy stood motionless amidst the chaos, yet his presence loomed larger than life. Tendrils of condensed energy spiraled around him, undulating with a rhythm that defied natural law. His once gentle blue eyes now glowed with a light so piercing, it seemed to see through the world itself.

"Poll," Eryndor murmured, his voice trembling. "My son…"

Yet, as he looked deeper, a chill spread through his veins. This was no ordinary awakening. The aura around Poll was alive, a chaotic amalgamation of power and purpose. It wasn't just magical energy—it was the essence of Poll's will, unleashed without restraint. The battlefield's air grew heavier, charged with a malevolence born not of malice but of unbridled justice.

With deliberate care, Eryndor lowered Seraphina's body to the ground, brushing a final kiss against her forehead. He stood, his resolve hardening as the weight of her last wish settled upon him.

"I will protect him," he vowed, his voice steady. "I will protect us all."

Tiara's cackling laughter echoed across the battlefield as her claws clashed against Eric's radiant fists. Sparks of light and shadow danced in violent arcs, each collision shaking the ground beneath them. Despite his mastery of purification magic, Eric's expression was grim. Tiara's attacks grew more ferocious with each passing moment.

Nearby, Celestia lay slumped against a shattered tree, her body broken from Tiara's earlier assault. Her breaths were shallow, her trembling hands clutching the torn fabric of her robes.

"What should we do?" she gasped, her voice barely audible.

One of her masked squadmates whispered, "We can't stop her. She's… unstoppable."

Celestia forced herself to look up. From the shadows emerged reinforcements. A tall woman with flowing black hair stepped forward, her robes shimmering with faint magical energy. Luna, an Arch-High-Ranked Mage, surveyed the battlefield with sharp, calculating eyes. Two companions flanked her, their expressions grim.

"This aura…" Luna's voice was filled with disbelief. "It's unlike anything I've ever seen."

Celestia managed a weak nod. "Are you the reinforcement team?"

Luna glanced at her. "Yes. But this…" Her gaze returned to Poll. "This changes everything."

Eryndor's steps faltered as the air grew colder. His instincts screamed at him to stay back, but his heart compelled him forward. Poll stood in the center of it all, his head bowed, his aura swirling like a tempest.

Inside Poll's mind, everything was clear—painfully clear. Time felt malleable, every second stretching into an eternity. He could see the battlefield as though from above, every movement, every sound reduced to patterns and vibrations. His anger simmered, not out of control, but deliberately left unchecked. He didn't want to suppress it. This rage was his fuel, his clarity.

No,… this wasn't supposed to happen, Poll thought. But now… I see it all. I see what needs to be done.

[Poll was no ordinary child. From the moment he was born, it was clear he was a genius—a mind that grasped the world with unparalleled clarity. He possessed a unique gift: a profound understanding of the world and an innate ability to visualize complex ideas and knowledge. Yet, this brilliance came with a shadow. At times, he feared himself—not because of what he couldn't do, but because of what he could.

Living in this world, Poll was not content to merely exist. He experimented relentlessly, delving into spells, pushing boundaries, and uncovering truths that most wouldn't dare to explore. Through his research and discoveries, one thing became painfully clear: this world harbored dark possibilities, each more devastating than the last.

It was this understanding that led him to impose a strict limit upon himself—a code he would not break. Among the countless spells he mastered, there were a select few he deemed too dangerous, even for him. These were spells of unimaginable power, capable of annihilating not just him, but everything and everyone around him. They held the potential to unravel the fabric of the world itself.

Poll called them the Forbidden Spells. They were creations born of brilliance and despair, locked away in the recesses of his mind. To use them was to invite ruin—an act of desperation, or worse, madness. And though he vowed never to wield such power, the knowledge of their existence was a burden he carried, a constant reminder of the line he could never cross.

The Forbidden Spells were not merely tools; they were calamities waiting to happen, a testament to Poll's genius—and the danger of a mind that could conceive the end of all things.]

Poll closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. His thoughts flowed with precision, his genius mind analyzing every aspect of the situation.

Forbidden Spell #16: Initiate de-materialization… stabilizing cellular activity… reduce body mass to a quantum-state field. Make the body lighter than photons. Ignore natural laws—this isn't science; this is magic.

A ripple of energy surged through his body. The tendrils of his aura condensed into sharp, spiraling waves, each one carrying an electric hum that resonated with the fabric of reality itself. The air around him shimmered, bending as though space and time were being rewritten.

Eric's battle-hardened eyes widened in disbelief. "What in the gods' names is that?! That's not speed… He didn't move. He just… disappeared!"

Tiara froze, her crimson eyes narrowing as she sensed something far beyond her comprehension. Even her bravado faltered. "What… what is this boy?"

Nyra's face paled, her voice trembling. "No… this isn't possible."

Poll reappeared before Nyra, his presence like a silent storm. His movements were seamless, not hurried but deliberate. To the others, he was a blur of light and shadow. To himself, time was his playground, every moment stretched thin enough to be dissected and controlled.

He raised his hand, his fingers hovering just above Nyra's chest. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it carried the weight of inevitability.

"Initiating transdimensional fusion," Poll murmured. "Combining matter and antimatter, aligning quantum states to create absolute nullification. Forbidden Spell #105: Transdimensional Quantum Nexus—Materia-Etherea Convergence."

A faint glow emanated from his fingertips. The spell's complexity defied comprehension. Poll's mind raced as he visualized the intricate interplay of magical threads and physical particles. He calibrated the energy flow with surgical precision, ensuring no backlash would occur.

Nyra's scream echoed as the spell activated. Her body disintegrated, particles scattering into the void, leaving behind only fragments: a hand, a face, suspended in the air as silent remnants of her existence.

"Now," Poll whispered, his voice devoid of emotion. "Disappear."

The battlefield fell silent, a collective gasp rippling through the onlookers. Even Tiara took a step back, her confidence shaken. Luna's calculating gaze wavered, a rare flicker of fear crossing her face.

Eryndor's heart ached as he watched. This wasn't just power—it was something deeper, something that transcended their understanding of magic. Poll hadn't merely awakened; he had ascended, his spirit unfettered by the constraints of the physical world.

"Poll…" Eryndor whispered, his voice heavy with both pride and dread.

Poll turned to his father, his glowing eyes meeting Eryndor's. For a moment, the chaos faded, and Eryndor saw the boy he had raised—brilliant, compassionate, and now burdened with the weight of a power he hadn't asked for.

"I'm fine, Father," Poll said, his voice calm, his gaze unyielding. "But they won't be."

As Poll stepped forward, the battlefield trembled. The storm had only begun.