Chapter 32 — The Will of Fourteen
The void convulsed. The silver road was shattered, drowned beneath the chaos of fourteen elements raging within Krish. His wings were torn apart and reforged again and again, his essence collapsing into fragments of flame, stone, lightning, water, shadow, and light.
No being could withstand it.
No body could carry it.
No soul could endure it.
Yet Krish did not yield.
His scream broke into silence, his eyes snapping open. Within them burned not despair, but defiance—an iron will that had endured trials unending.
The elements surged to devour him.
⚡ Thunder roared, splitting his veins into lightning.
🌪 Wind tore his flesh into ribbons.
⛰ Earth crushed his bones into dust.
🔥 Fire burned his blood into ash.
💧 Water drowned his lungs in torrents.
🌿 Plants chained his spirit in roots.
☀️ Light tried to dissolve his body into radiance.
🌑 Darkness bound him in eternal night.
🌌 Space tore him into fragments across infinity.
⏳ Time fractured him into endless selves.
🌿 Life bloomed uncontrollably from his chest.
☠️ Death consumed each bloom with silence.
✨ Creation wove worlds from his soul.
⚡ Destruction shattered them without pause.
Each element tore at him, demanding dominance, seeking to erase his will.
Krish's wings pulsed faintly, broken but not gone. His voice echoed through the chaos, soft but unyielding:
"I will not be divided."
He clenched his fists, his essence burning with willpower. He seized Thunder first, pulling the lightning into his heart, bending its roar into rhythm with his pulse. It resisted, but he forced it to flow, turning its chaos into clarity.
Next came Wind, howling endlessly. He spread his wings, letting the gale move through him instead of against him. The storm settled, its fury becoming strength.
Earth tried to crush him, but he anchored himself to it, letting its weight become his foundation.
Fire burned his blood, but he fed it to his will, turning pain into flame under his command.
Water drowned his breath, but he drew it inward, letting its flow temper his heat.
Plants chained him, but he redirected them into roots of stability.
Still, the greater storm raged. Light and Darkness clashed, each demanding supremacy. He forced them into balance, two halves of a single whole. Space tore him apart, but he bent it into his wings, stretching across infinity. Time fractured him, but he focused on the present, stitching the countless selves into one.
And then came the final four.
Life surged, demanding growth without end. He answered with Death, letting silence restrain it.
Creation wove, endless and radiant. He answered with Destruction, letting it clear the excess, making space for what must come.
One by one, the elements bowed—not as slaves, not as rivals, but as truths harmonized by his will.
The storm fell silent.
Krish stood at the center of the void, his body cracked, wings fractured, yet within him fourteen elements pulsed together—not in chaos, but in rhythm. His eyes glowed with their combined essence, a depth no being had ever carried.
"I am not one element," he said, his voice echoing through the Earth-Level Universe.
"I am all of them. And they are me."
The void trembled. The silver road reformed beneath his feet, brighter than ever, stretching into horizons unseen.
The Bearer of Fourteen had risen.
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