Power of Runes

Dark Ash looked down at his hands which were trembling slightly as his voice cracked.

"Was it my fault? Was it really my fault that I died? Was it my fault I was trapped in that cursed place? What did I even do wrong to deserve all that pain...?"

His voice rose as he trembled.

"WHAT DID I DO WRONG?!"

He screamed the words, his voice echoing across the Soul Space, directed at the masked man.

And to that, the man replied in a soft, calm tone, "Wrong? No. You never did anything wrong. In fact, I too believed it was unfair for you to be imprisoned there."

Dark Ash opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but the man continued speaking without pause.

"But life... life is fair to no one. It only seems unfair. And that unfairness, in its own twisted way, makes it even more fair. You see, all of you are just pieces... moving on the whi-- - m-- -wh—whether you live or die doesn't—no—no—no - - - - "

His voice began to distort, fading and breaking like a transmission struggling to reach through static.

Dark Ash suddenly burst into laughter once more, louder and more deranged than before, as if something about those broken, incomplete words had struck a chord deep within his twisted soul.

"Hehehe... hhahaha... he... he... ekekke... ekee... keke... ke... ke... eke... e..."

It was the laugh of someone who had already lost their sanity long ago and had only just realized it now, as if the weight of everything finally made sense in the most broken way possible.

"I get it… I truly get it now," he muttered, a strange calmness bleeding into his tone.

"But do you know?" His voice wavered, as if caught between a whisper and a cry.

"Even though those emotions, that rage, that hatred—they were not truly mine… the silence I endured, the loneliness I carried for so long… that was definitely real. That silence… that emptiness that no one ever saw… it was mine and mine alone."

Hearing those words, the masked man remained quiet, unmoving. He didn't speak a single word, as if his silence had already become a form of answer, a silent agreement.

"Do you know why I named my martial art Divine Arts of Eternal Silence?" he asked again, his voice low, almost tender, like he was speaking more to himself than anyone else.

Once more, the man didn't respond, simply watching him in silence, as if allowing the weight of those words to hang in the air without judgment.

Meanwhile, as the silver light gradually receded, Ash turned his gaze toward the Black Tree that stood before him. The appearance of the tree had changed completely from before.

The Black Tree now bore delicate silver linings that spread all across its thick bark like veins of light, glowing faintly in the dim surroundings.

Small, shimmering silver leaves had begun to sprout across its massive frame. While these leaves weren't too many in number, their presence was unmistakable.

They stood out like stars on a dark canvas, soft yet radiant.

He also noticed that the already enormous tree had grown even larger, now towering to the height of a three-story building, casting a vast shadow that covered the space around it.

The other runes that had been floating around it still remained, orbiting slowly, as if acknowledging the tree's transformation in silence.

Ash's attention was also drawn to the darkness that had once clouded his Soul Space.

It, too, was fading.

The shadow that had once smothered everything was now receding, already halfway gone.

But just as he began to process it all, a voice echoed again.

"Do you know why I named my martial art Divine Arts of Eternal Silence?"

Ash turned toward the source of the voice, already knowing who it belonged to.

"Because there weren't just seven forms of my art… there was one more. An eighth form. But I believed it was so powerful, so absolute, that if I ever used it, even my own soul would be silenced for eternity. That meant I would die. Truly die, with nothing left behind."

His voice grew heavier, the weight of years pressing behind every word.

"I never intended to use it. At least, not until I had taken full control of my body… because I believed that once I had my body back to me, I wouldn't have to worry about dying anymore."

He paused for a breath, his expression unreadable.

"But now… now that you're here… now that you are standing like a unbreakable wall in front of me… you've forced my hand. Whether I like it or not, I no longer have a choice."

And then, with the solemnity of one accepting the inevitable, he spoke the name of the forbidden technique.

DIVINE ART OF ETERNAL SILENCE

Dark Ash's last attack wasn't just an ordinary move. It was something shaped from the silence he had lived with for six hundred years. That silence was cold, heavy, and endless.

It wasn't peaceful. It was the kind of silence that slowly eats away at your heart, until you no longer remember what feeling truly is.

He used that silence as the foundation for his technique.

He tried to channel it into power, but the energy required was too much.

The emotions he had once relied on, emotions like rage, sorrow, and hatred, were no longer capable of powering this form.

Even though this ultimate form was nothing more than a single strike, it carried with it a concept so absolute that it could silence anything it touched.

One hit.

One moment.

One death.

An end beyond return.

But the energy needed to carry out such a strike—it was far beyond what he had. He didn't have the energy. So the only thing left to burn… was his soul.

The very soul that had endured six centuries of torment and still held itself together.

It was that long-suffering soul that answered the call.

As he began to summon the technique, the entire Soul Space started to tremble, as if the very fabric of its existence was straining under the pressure.

The calm waters that had never moved began to churn and rise, rippling into waves as if something ancient had been disturbed.

Around Dark Ash's hands, the energy began to condense—neither fully white nor truly gray.

It was translucent, fragile in appearance yet so dense it distorted the space around it.

It wasn't light, and it wasn't darkness.

It was silence made manifest. A silence so complete that it devoured everything—sound, movement, even presence.

Ash's gaze shifted to the mysterious man across the space. But the man did nothing.

He simply stood there, watching Dark Ash channel the last of his essence.

Why isn't he moving…? Why isn't he stopping it?

Ash didn't know, but he couldn't stop the nervousness building inside him.

After all, this was still his soul space. If it shattered or broke apart because of this attack, he had no clue what the consequences would be. What would it affect? Would it harm his mind? His body? His existence?

Then it happened.

ZEROTH FORM: Art of Eternal Silence

Dark Ash didn't rush forward or let out a battle cry.

He simply made a calm punching motion from where he stood.

The energy that had caused the Soul Space to shudder—the same energy that stirred the waters into waves—disappeared from his hands the very moment he moved.

But only for a heartbeat.

The very next instant, it reappeared in front of the mysterious man's chest. A perfect, translucent fist, formed from silence itself. It lingered for only a second.

Then it touched him.

And in that moment… everything stopped.

The energy didn't explode. It didn't ripple outward or tear through the soul space.

It just… vanished. Like a whisper lost in the wind.

Or maybe, it had been absorbed.

Even Ash stood frozen in disbelief, unable to process what he had just seen. Because even he could feel it in the very core of his being—

If that strike had hit me, whether inside this Soul Space or outside in the real world… I would've died. Not just physically, but completely. That attack would've destroyed my soul. It would have been a true death, the kind that leaves nothing behind.

But now, an ultimate move forged from six hundred years of silence, had vanished, just like that.

Even Dark Ash, whose soul was now beginning to disintegrate, stood wide-eyed.

His mouth slightly open, completely speechless.

He hadn't expected this either.

Just then, the man muttered under his breath, his voice carrying a faint note of disappointment, "If you were around the same rank as me, or even remotely close… that attack might have worked. But unfortunately, the gap between us is simply too vast."

Hearing that, Dark Ash smiled bitterly, his expression mixed with resignation and faint amusement. Then, just as he turned his gaze toward Ash, the man continued to speak—

"Don't try anything now… just surrender to death, and fade awa—"

"— - - -- - -- --Tsk - -- - - - -- -- -- -"

"- - - -- - -- - -- - - - -- luck - - - - -"

The man's voice abruptly turned to complete static, his words breaking apart as if the very fabric of his existence was being ripped to pieces.

His body began to glitch violently, more severely than before—his form trembling like a corrupted file being forcefully deleted.

He was clearly being rejected by the world, not even allowed a moment longer.

Sensing the urgency, the man moved as if trying to strike Dark Ash—perhaps to prevent something—yet before he could complete the motion, he was gone.

He vanished, as if swallowed by a collapsing black hole.

Dark Ash let out a dry chuckle, his voice calm and cold. He turned to look at Ash with half-lidded eyes. "What a pity… if I had waited a little longer, perhaps I would still be alive."

Ash stared at him and replied with a sharp edge in his voice, "You were never truly alive to begin with. You were nothing but a shadow of death, clinging to what had already rotted."

But Dark Ash only smirked, a twisted, unsettling grin curling on his face. "Do you really think I'd just disappear and let you live peacefully? If that's what you believe, then you're more naive than I thought."

His gaze darkened.

"Let me leave you with a parting gift…"

DIVINE ART OF ETERNAL SILENCE

Even as his soul continued to disintegrate, cracking like a fragile mirror, he began to channel his Divine Arts, pouring the last of his existence into the technique.

The act accelerated the disintegration process, as if he were burning himself away completely to fuel the final strike.

Fuck, just die peacefully idiot...

Ash thought with panic as he saw Dark ash activating his divine arts.

The air itself began to tremble, and without hesitation, he took a defensive stance, holding Eclipse tightly in his hands.

THIRD FORM: Art of Crippling Regret

"Absorb…" Dark Ash whispered, his voice hollow but filled with intent.

Although the third form was primarily designed as a defensive technique, Dark Ash had hidden a contingency within it.

He had planned long ago that even if he were to die, he would not let Ash escape unscathed.

He wanted Ash to experience what he had endured—to carry the weight of his suffering, to drown in the pain he could never release.

Using the essence of his Divine Art, he absorbed all the emotions—every false feeling, every fabricated sorrow—that had once plagued him.

Though they were not truly his own, they had become real through experience… and now, they would become Ash's truth.

He also absorbed every single memory in him. Each moment of loneliness, of failure, of despair, of anger.

Then, with a voice that echoed like the last breath of a dying star—

"Transmit."

***