Chapter 4 — The Wax God Descends
For the past fifteen months, Majin's life had been one of relentless training, silent observation, and ruthless refinement.
The discovery that he was a Specialist Nen user had been unexpected — the kind of talent that could shift the balance of power in Meteor City overnight. His ability was strange, even by Specialist standards: he could eat food and convert it directly into a unique Nen energy, thick and dense, unlike any normal aura.
This "food energy" could be channeled into two things — enhancing his own body to monstrous levels, or pouring directly into a weapon, multiplying its destructive force beyond natural limits. The more energy he used at once, the more absurd the boost became.
And then there was the regeneration.
As long as his food reserves were high, wounds closed in seconds. Deep cuts faded like scratches. Limbs could regrow in minutes. To kill him outright would require reducing him to nothing in a single instant — something even the most notorious killers of Meteor City would struggle to accomplish.
Over these months, he'd tested combinations of his Wax-Wax Fruit powers with this Nen enhancement. The results were terrifying. Wax walls as hard as reinforced steel. Wax weapons that struck with the power of siege artillery. Armor so dense it could shrug off explosives.
And perhaps most disturbing — the Wax Titan form.
By pouring both Devil Fruit mastery and Nen energy into his creations, Majin could summon a towering, thirty-meter colossus of pure wax — six arms, each the size of a bus, muscles sculpted like an ancient war god, plated in glistening layers that shone under the sun like marble. With Nen enhancement added, its strength could shake the ground with every step, and its armor was ten times the hardness of steel.
His Devil Fruit had grown at an astonishing pace — now at fifty percent mastery, he could shape and manipulate wax almost instinctively, conjuring structures and weapons on reflex.
It was no wonder the gangs of Meteor City had fallen before him.
One by one, they'd been crushed, absorbed, or erased entirely. Leaders who once ruled entire sectors now rotted in shallow graves, their bodies sealed forever inside wax tombs. He had taken the underworld's throne without even meaning to — and in the process, he had strangled the city's black markets, cutting off the lifeblood of the Thirteen Elders.
They noticed.
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The Council of Thirteen
Far from the filthy streets, deep in the shadowed chambers of an abandoned factory-turned-palace, the Elders gathered.
The air was thick with the stench of burning oil and rot.
"He's killed off four gangs in less than a year," one Elder growled, his voice raspy from decades of smoke. "Do you understand how much revenue that is?"
"Six point two billion lost in weapons shipments," another spat. "And our trafficking routes are dead. Completely dead."
"He doesn't even show his face," a third added, slamming his palm on the table. "All anyone sees is that… thing. That wax giant. People call him The Wax God. They speak of him like he's some kind of protector."
That word — protector — burned their ears like acid.
"He's not protecting," the oldest Elder said, eyes narrow and cold. "He's conquering."
They knew there was only one solution: eliminate him before he cemented his rule.
And for that, they needed a monster to kill a monster.
---
Gabriel
The name alone could silence a room.
A master Enhancer. Unregistered Hunter. Professional killer. His services were not cheap, and his contracts were simple — pay him, point him at a target, and the target disappears.
There were whispered stories about him. One about a fortified drug compound — fifty guards with rifles, mines, and high walls. He walked through the front gate without cover. Three minutes later, the compound was rubble, and not a single guard was breathing.
Another about a military bunker. Modern weapons couldn't scratch him. A tank shell had detonated on his chest, and he'd simply walked forward, grinning.
When the Elders offered him the job, they had to scrape together a staggering sum — Gabriel didn't just kill for money, he killed for enough money to make him interested.
And this time, he was interested.
---
The Encounter
It was a deserted industrial road on the edge of Meteor City — cracked pavement, rusting warehouses, and silence. The perfect place for a meeting no one would live to report.
Majin was walking alone, his hood pulled up, wax armor hidden under loose clothing.
Gabriel stepped into the open like a predator revealing itself, his muscular frame filling the road. He was older — mid-forties, perhaps — but every line of his body screamed strength. His fists were like sledgehammers, his chest broad as a wall.
"You're the one they call the Wax God," Gabriel said, smirking. "Not much of a god without your giant, are you?"
Majin didn't answer. He didn't need to. A ripple moved through the air around him — wax bubbling up from the cracked asphalt, pooling at his feet.
Gabriel's grin widened. "Good. Show me if the stories are true."
---
Phase One — The Test
Gabriel was fast for his size — frighteningly fast. He crossed the gap in a blink, his fist wrapped in thick layers of Enhancer Nen. When it landed, the shockwave cracked the pavement in a ten-meter radius.
Majin slid back, absorbing the impact through his wax armor. The blow was heavy — heavier than anything he'd taken in months — but it wasn't enough.
"You're strong," Gabriel admitted. "I like that."
Wax surged around Majin, coating his arms in thick, gleaming gauntlets. They met blow for blow, each strike sending shockwaves down the street. Cars rocked on their frames. Windows shattered.
But Gabriel noticed something — every time his fists struck, the wax absorbed some of the force. It wasn't just armor. It was alive.
---
Phase Two — The Wax Titan
Majin decided the warm-up was over.
The ground beneath him erupted as wax poured out like molten lava, swirling upward in a colossal spiral. Thirty meters tall, six arms, plated in layered armor that glistened under the weak light.
The Titan's shadow swallowed the street.
Gabriel's smirk faltered. "So the stories were true."
Majin's voice came from within the Titan — deep, distorted, echoing like the judgment of a god. "Leave. Or be buried."
Gabriel roared in defiance, leaping high, his fists glowing with concentrated Nen. He drove a punch into the Titan's chest. The impact rang out like a bell — but the armor didn't break.
The Titan's upper left arm swung down. Gabriel barely rolled aside before it cratered the ground, sending an earthquake through the district.
Each punch from the Titan was a building-killer. One missed blow shattered the road into a fifty-meter fissure.
---
Phase Three — The Wax Swamp
Gabriel realized brute force wasn't enough — but it was too late.
"Wax Swamp," Majin intoned.
The street around Gabriel softened, then hardened in jagged spikes. Wax ropes shot up, coiling around his legs. He tore one free, but another wrapped his arm, yanking him down into the thick mire.
In seconds, he was immobilized from the waist down.
Gabriel's breath came hard. He had the strength to break free — maybe — but he also had the clarity to know the next hit could kill him before he did.
The Titan loomed over him, six massive fists ready to strike.
"I'll pay," Gabriel shouted suddenly. "Six hundred million yuan. For my life."
The Titan's head tilted. The godlike voice rumbled through the wax. "You will pay. And you will carry my message."
Gabriel swallowed hard. "Anything."
"Tell your masters," Majin said, "no more killers. No more hunters. Next time, there will be no mercy."
The wax retreated slowly, releasing him.
Gabriel staggered back, sweat soaking his shirt, his arrogance crushed under the weight of survival. He had fought many men. This was the first time he had faced something that truly felt inhuman.
When he was gone, the Titan melted into the street, leaving no trace but deep craters and shattered asphalt.
The Wax God had spoken.
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