Silence was the first thing Yeshwanth noticed.
Not the peaceful kind.
The hollow kind — like sound itself had been drained from the world.
He lay still.
Breathing was slow. Controlled. Forced.
His body felt heavy, as if gravity had doubled while he slept. Every muscle ached. Every nerve felt dull, like it had been scraped raw and left to heal without care.
He opened his eyes.
White light greeted him.
The ceiling above shimmered faintly with medical runes, gently pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. A soft hum filled the air — healing magic stabilizing what remained intact.
The Medical Court.
He remembered.
The pillar.
The impact.
The moment his mind went dark.
And then—
That feeling.
Yeshwanth closed his eyes again.
The memory of it made his chest tighten.
Psychological Enmity.
The Thing Inside Him
It hadn't felt like power.
It hadn't felt like control.
It felt like permission.
Permission to erase.
Permission to destroy.
Permission to stop caring about consequences.
That scared him more than the pain ever could.
His fingers twitched.
The healer noticed immediately.
"He's awake."
Footsteps approached.
Soft. Careful.
Yeshwanth forced himself to sit up slightly, teeth clenching as pain flared through his spine.
"Don't move," a calm voice said.
He recognized it instantly.
The God of Light stood near the foot of the bed, hands behind his back, expression unreadable.
"How long?" Yeshwanth asked quietly.
"You were unconscious for six hours," the god replied. "Another minute in that state and your nervous system would've collapsed."
Yeshwanth exhaled slowly.
"…So I almost ruined everything."
The God of Light didn't deny it.
The Price of Enmity
"You crossed a line," the god said. "Not in strength — in intent."
Yeshwanth turned his head slightly.
"I didn't want to lose," he replied. "I thought if I pushed harder—"
"You didn't push," the god interrupted. "You let go."
Silence followed.
Yeshwanth swallowed.
"When I activated it," he admitted, voice low, "I stopped thinking about survival. I stopped thinking about Nila. Or Lucia. Or Tim."
His hands clenched into the sheets.
"I only wanted the enemy to disappear."
The God of Light's eyes narrowed.
"That is exactly why Psychological Enmity exists," he said. "And exactly why most beings who awaken it die shortly after."
Yeshwanth looked up.
"…Then why haven't I?"
The god paused.
Then answered honestly.
"Because you pulled back."
Yeshwanth frowned.
"I don't remember doing that."
"You didn't consciously," the god said. "Your body shut itself down to protect what your mind refused to."
That answer didn't comfort him.
It frightened him more.
Watching from Afar
Across the medical chamber, behind a transparent barrier, three figures stood.
Lucia paced back and forth, arms folded tightly.
Tim leaned against the wall, eyes closed, jaw clenched.
Nila stood still.
Too still.
Her hands trembled slightly at her sides.
She had felt it.
The moment Yeshwanth crossed ten percent.
The bond between them had screamed.
A single thought echoed in her mind:
If he goes any further… he won't come back.
Lucia broke the silence first.
"He nearly killed himself," she said sharply. "And you gods allowed it."
Tim didn't look at her.
"You think he would've stopped otherwise?" he replied. "That guardian wasn't testing him anymore. He was measuring him."
Lucia turned away.
Nila said nothing.
Because she knew something neither of them did.
Yeshwanth hadn't just been training.
He had been fighting himself.
The Guardian's Judgment
The doors opened.
The Cheetah Guardian entered.
His posture was different now.
Less aggressive.
More… cautious.
He stopped beside the bed and looked down at Yeshwanth.
"You almost died," he said bluntly.
Yeshwanth met his gaze.
"I know."
The Guardian tilted his head.
"You also almost broke me."
Yeshwanth stiffened.
"…What?"
"At ten percent," the Guardian continued, "your intent became unstable. It didn't aim to win. It aimed to end."
He crossed his arms.
"That's not training. That's execution."
Yeshwanth looked away.
"Then maybe I shouldn't use it at all."
The Guardian's eyes sharpened.
"That's the wrong conclusion."
Yeshwanth turned back.
"What?"
"You shouldn't use it freely," the Guardian corrected. "You should fear it."
Fear creates restraint.
Restraint creates control.
"You will not exceed two percent again," the Guardian said firmly. "Until you can activate it without losing yourself."
Yeshwanth nodded.
"…Understood."
Gods Don't Sleep Easily
Later that night, the God of Light stood alone at the edge of the divine balcony, watching stars drift through endless space.
The God of Realms approached silently.
"You're gambling," the God of Realms said. "On a human who nearly destroyed himself."
The God of Light didn't turn.
"I'm investing," he replied. "In someone who still chooses restraint after tasting annihilation."
The God of Realms scoffed.
"He will break."
"Maybe," the God of Light said calmly. "But if he doesn't—"
He finally turned.
"—he becomes something even the God of Danger won't predict."
That name hung heavy between them.
Neither said it again.
Yeshwanth's Choice
Back in the Medical Court, Yeshwanth sat alone, staring at his hands.
They didn't look dangerous.
They didn't look powerful.
But he knew better now.
He clenched them slowly.
Then relaxed.
"I can't rely on anger," he whispered. "Not anymore."
He stood up carefully.
Pain flared.
He ignored it.
"I'll master the lower edge," he said quietly. "ExcelOne. Kishkendho. Precision."
He looked toward the barrier where Nila stood.
And softened.
"For her," he added.
Nila felt it.
The fear eased — just a little.
Elsewhere — Something Listens
In a place without walls or time, something shifted.
It had felt the spike.
The instability.
The near-collapse.
A low, amused sound echoed.
"So… the weapon fears itself."
The shadow leaned forward.
"Good."
Fear made heroes hesitate.
And hesitation made capture easier.
The hunt would continue.
But now—
It would be patient.