Timeless Assassin

Chapter 951: Permanant Damage

(Meanwhile, inside the the heart of the Chakravyuh, Soron’s POV)

Across his vast lifespan, Soron vividly remembered participating in some of the most bloody and brutal battles history had ever witnessed.

However, everything he had experienced so far paled in comparison to the difficulty he faced today, as of all the battles he had fought, as a mortal and as a God, this one today was undoubtedly the hardest.

*Pant*

*Pant*

*Block*

Blocking yet another swing from Helmuth, Soron shifted his weight backwards, as old injuries and limping ankles caught up to him, his body threatening to lose all sense of balance, while his will forced it to stay functioning.

’Not yet..... not now....’

He thought, as he kept an eye out for Leo’s progress just beyond the inner ring of the Chakravyuh, and realized that the boy was less than an hour away from making it to the core.

’Must endure till he’s here....’

Soron resolved, as he kept the rising pressure from three distinct fronts at bay.

From a purely technical standpoint, it was a miracle that he had even endured this far into the fight without picking up any new major injuries, for his opponents were some of the strongest Gods in the universe, and yet, the reason behind why he managed to do it was less because of his own merit and more because the enemy Gods were terrible at working together.

Helmuth fought like a storm given form, his axe swings wide and devastating, each strike carrying enough raw power to shatter divine constructs, yet his movements were blunt and predictable, driven by rage rather than coordination, as he repeatedly overextended and left openings that Soron exploited to slip away.

Mauriss, on the other hand, fought with a cruel sort of opportunism, his slab of origin metal coming down whenever he sensed weakness, yet his timing was erratic, as he prioritized disruption over precision, often forcing Helmuth or Kaelith to adjust mid-attack, just to avoid being struck by their own ally.

While Kaelith, while being the most sensible fighter, showed a likeliness to overwhelm Soron’s personal space, as while he did not interrupt others, his body positioning often left no room for Helmuth or Mauriss to attack Soron’s vitals, as he became an involuntary meat shield for Soron.

The three pillars of the Universal Government, while all overwhelmingly dangerous as individual fighters, failed to translate that strength into true coordination, as it was precisely their lack of cohesion that allowed Soron to endure for far longer than he should have.

*Block*

*Step*

That flaw manifested clearly on the battlefield itself, where their assaults interfered with one another at critical moments, as Helmuth’s axe repeatedly forced Mauriss to abort killing swings, while Mauriss’s slab disrupted Kaelith’s lines of attack, and as Kaelith’s positioning in turn compelled Helmuth to restrain his own strikes to avoid cutting down an ally.

*CLANG*

Soron turned Helmuth’s axe aside at the last moment, letting the edge scrape his shoulder deliberately, as pain flared and blood spilled, yet the wound immediately began sealing itself, his regeneration kicking in with extreme efficiency.

As that was a price he was willing to pay.

Helmuth’s axe hurt, but it did not linger.

While Kaelith’s daggers did.

*SWOOSH*

*Step*

Soron pivoted away from a descending slab, feeling the displaced air of Mauriss’s strike brush past his ribs, as the weapon smashed into the ground behind him and forced Mauriss to wrench it free with a grunt of irritation.

"Stay still, damn you," Mauriss snapped, his voice sharp with mounting frustration.

Soron did not reply, because talking required breath, and breath was a resource he could not afford to waste, not while three Gods tried to tear him apart at the same time.

"ARGHHHHH—"

Helmuth roared and charged again, boots cracking stone as he closed the distance, and Soron angled his body just enough that the axe passed close, forcing Kaelith to pause his own attack for a fraction of a second to avoid being clipped.

"Control yourself," Kaelith said coldly, irritation seeping into his tone despite his composure.

"Don’t tell me how to fight," Helmuth shot back, shoving past him, the two colliding shoulder to shoulder as their momentum clashed.

*Thud*

That single moment was enough.

Soron slipped between them, blades low and tight, as he repositioned with minimal movement, preserving strength while forcing the three to reorient once again, their lack of cohesion buying him another precious second of survival.

*Pant*

His breathing grew heavier, chest burning as fatigue crept deeper into his limbs, as centuries-old wounds protested the strain of constant motion, yet Soron kept moving, because stopping meant death, and death meant the end of everything his Cult believers were fighting for outside the ring.

Kaelith adjusted first.

His daggers flashed, cutting through the narrow gap Soron had just vacated, forcing Soron to twist hard to the side, muscles screaming as his footing slipped on shattered stone.

Helmuth followed immediately, axe coming down in a brutal vertical arc, as Soron raised both blades to meet it, the impact sending a violent shock through his arms and rattling his bones.

*CRACK*

Soron staggered, pain blooming across his forearms, as his grip threatened to fail for the first time since the battle began.

’Careful....’

He warned himself, as Mauriss moved in at the same time, slab swinging low with the clear intent to break his legs and end his mobility for good.

*Jump*

Soron leapt backward, the edge of the slab grazing his calf as pain flared, teeth grinding together as he absorbed it, knowing that even partial injuries were beginning to stack faster than his body could comfortably handle.

"Still standing?" Mauriss laughed, though there was no humor in his eyes.

"Your head is mine!" Helmuth growled.

Kaelith said nothing, but his gaze sharpened, as Soron could feel the shift in pressure that came when Kaelith decided to escalate.

The next exchange happened faster.

Kaelith’s first dagger slipped past Soron’s guard, slicing deep across his forearm, origin metal biting into flesh in a way that immediately resisted healing, pain detonating up his arm as Soron hissed through clenched teeth.

Before he could fully react, the second dagger followed, carving across his stomach in a brutal diagonal slash, tearing muscle and skin apart as blood poured freely, the wound refusing to close no matter how hard Soron focused.

*GASP*

His body recoiled on instinct, balance faltering as the realization of permanent damage hit him like a hammer.

Kaelith stepped in, poised to finish it.

And in that instant, Soron understood that retreat meant death, that hesitation meant collapse, and that the only path forward was through pain.

So he stepped into it.

Ignoring the agony screaming from his wounds, Soron twisted his torso and drove his blade upward in a vicious arc, not toward Kaelith’s throat, but toward his face, because that was the one body part their father forbid them to hit during friendly sparring and hence was the one part that they naturally never learnt how to defend.

*SHRRRK*

The blade tore across Kaelith’s face from forehead to chin, slashing past his eyes and lips, blood spraying as Kaelith staggered backward, his composure shattering for the first time as a sound escaped him that was half snarl, half gasp.

"Garghhh?"

The wound did not fade.

It did not heal.

It remained.

Kaelith retreated, his feet moving sideways in escape, while his fingertips hovered near his face without touching it, eyes wide with disbelief as pain and permanence settled in.

"M–my eyes...."

Kaelith thought, as a searing, liquid agony bloomed across his face and burrowed inward, the origin blade’s mark burning with a permanence he immediately recognized.

The cut had grazed his eye, not enough to blind him, yet enough that every blink sent waves of torment through his skull, vision shimmering at the edges as he realized with dawning horror that this pain would never fade, never dull, and never heal.

"Do I have to bear this pain for an eternity now?"

He wondered, as the realization struck him harder than the pain itself, as he understood that the mark carved across his face would never fade, no matter how much time passed or power he wielded.

This war, which he had entered with absolute certainty and control, had finally left him with something permanent, as the consequences of crossing blades with Soron settled into him at last, not as fear, but as the knowledge that this damage would follow him for the rest of his existence.