The shadow did not announce itself.
It never did.
Deep within a realm untouched by light or time, something ancient shifted. Not a god, not a beast—something older than both. Its presence caused reality to fold inward, like the universe itself was holding its breath.
A kneeling figure trembled before it.
"Are the preparations complete?" the voice asked.
It wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
"Yes," the soldier replied, forehead pressed to the ground. "The heirs have been located. Their movements confirmed. Training has begun."
A faint ripple spread through the darkness.
"Good," the presence murmured. "When prey begins to sharpen itself… it means the hunt is close."
The figure raised its head slightly.
"Begin mobilization. Capture orders only. Kill only if resistance exceeds tolerance."
"Yes, my lord."
The shadow smiled.
The God of Danger had moved his first piece.
The Warning from the God of Spy
In the divine headquarters, the air felt heavier than usual.
The God of Spy appeared in the center of the council chamber, illusions peeling away from his form like mist. His expression was grave—rare for someone who dealt in secrets daily.
"The threat has confirmed movement," he said. "Soldiers are being deployed."
The God of Realms stood abruptly.
"From where?"
The God of Spy shook his head slowly.
"Not from a realm. From between realms."
Silence fell.
Even the God of Light frowned.
"…So he's finally acting," the God of Light said quietly.
"Yes," the God of Spy replied. "And his targets are clear. The heirs. All of them."
Nila's breath caught.
Lucia stiffened.
Tim clenched his fists.
The God of Realms growled, divine pressure shaking the hall.
"He dares."
The God of Light raised a hand, calm but firm.
"Rage won't stop what's coming," he said. "Preparation might."
His gaze shifted.
"To the training grounds."
Practice Field — No More Restraints
The battlefield was silent.
Not peaceful—tense.
Yeshwanth stood at the center of the training field, chest rising and falling steadily. Sweat rolled down his temples, his muscles aching from hours of relentless drills.
Across from him stood the Cheetah Guardian.
This time—
There were no afterimages.
No split transfers.
No restraint.
The Guardian rolled its shoulders once.
"You've adapted faster than expected," it said. "Which means today, I stop holding back."
Yeshwanth exhaled.
"…You already weren't."
The Guardian's lips curled slightly.
"Bring your full power."
The air detonated.
The Guardian vanished.
Yeshwanth barely had time to react before the impact hit—his body sliding backward, boots carving lines into the ground.
He twisted, activated ExcelOne, lightning threading through his limbs.
"Kishkendho—Second Arc!"
His blade flashed, cutting through space, disrupting momentum.
The Guardian reappeared mid-strike, claws grazing Yeshwanth's shoulder.
Blood sprayed.
"You're still predicting," the Guardian said calmly. "Not deciding."
Yeshwanth's jaw tightened.
He surged forward.
ExcelOne synchronized.
Kishkendho layered over it.
Steel rang against claw.
Shockwaves cracked the stone beneath them.
For a moment—
Just a moment—
Yeshwanth caught the Guardian's wrist.
The Guardian's eyes widened.
"…Interesting."
Yeshwanth's breathing deepened.
His pulse spiked.
And then—
He crossed the line.
Psychological Enmity — 10%
The world darkened.
Not visually.
Mentally.
The Guardian felt it instantly.
A pressure slammed into its instincts—not domination, not control, but absolute hostility. The kind that told every nerve: this thing wants you erased.
The Guardian staggered back.
"…You fool," it hissed. "That level—"
Yeshwanth stepped forward.
"I won't stop."
ExcelOne screamed.
Kishkendho vibrated violently.
The three forces aligned.
The Guardian's instincts exploded.
WARNING.
TRIO COMBAT DETECTED.
LETHAL THRESHOLD APPROACHING.
The Guardian reacted instantly.
"Then I end this—now!"
Flame Claw Pressure
The Guardian's body ignited.
Not fire.
Pressure.
Compressed heat and force spiraled into its claws, the air collapsing inward.
"FLAME CLAW — ABSOLUTE PRESSURE!"
The strike landed.
Yeshwanth didn't even scream.
He was launched across the battlefield, body spinning uncontrollably before smashing into a massive pillar at the field's edge.
The impact cracked the structure.
Stone exploded.
Yeshwanth fell limply to the ground.
Silence.
The Guardian stood still, breathing hard.
"…Idiot human," it muttered. "You almost killed yourself."
Medical Court
White light.
Sterile air.
Yeshwanth drifted in and out of consciousness.
His body felt heavy.
Numb.
Voices echoed faintly.
"…cellular exhaustion…"
"…neural overload…"
"…psychological backlash contained…"
He opened his eyes slightly.
The Medical Court ceiling shimmered above him.
Nila stood nearby, hands trembling.
Lucia looked pale.
Tim stared at the floor.
The God of Light entered quietly.
"He crossed the danger threshold," the healer said. "Another minute and paralysis would have been permanent."
The God of Light closed his eyes.
"…He's not ready for that power yet."
At that moment, a divine messenger appeared.
"Lord," it said urgently. "New information from the God of Spy."
The God of Light turned.
"The enemy's soldiers have fully mobilized," the messenger continued. "They are moving toward convergence points."
The God of Light's expression hardened.
"So it begins."
He looked at Yeshwanth's unconscious form.
"…And he nearly broke before the real battle."
Nila clenched her fists.
"No," she whispered. "He survived."
The God of Light nodded slowly.
"Yes."
His gaze sharpened.
"And now, we must decide—do we protect him from the war…"
Or—
"…prepare him to survive it."
E