Revenge: A Path of Destruction
Chapter 114: Imprisonment

Chapter 114: Imprisonment

Earth Clan Estate — Geb Fortress

Within the hollowed halls of the Earth Clan Estate, silence reigned—an unnatural, oppressive stillness that hung thick in the air like the weight of unspoken judgment. Every pillar, every mosaic etched into the walls, every torch lit with mana-fire, trembled under the aura of the creature that now claimed dominion over the space.

She sat like a mountain of white fury and divine wrath.

Nyxara, the white tigress.

And beneath her paws, beneath the shimmer of flickering thunder cages, lay the entirety of the main family of the Earth Clan—wives, children, sons, daughters—all but two.

Thutmose stood apart, but not free.

Though no visible cage restrained him, he may as well have been in chains. He couldn’t take a single step. None of them could. Around him, the elders of the Earth Clan, those stone-hardened warriors who once held dominion over continents, were locked in place. Their legs refused to move. Their hearts thundered against their ribs like drums of rebellion, but their bodies betrayed them, paralyzed by a presence far beyond mortal comprehension.

A few minutes ago, Thutmose had stood with resolution.

He had already dispatched the elites to the southern border. His next move was to send the elders. This time, he told himself, they would be ready. This time, they would hold the line without suffering as before. This time...

But he never got the chance.

Because just as he had spoken his intent, Nyxara’s gaze turned.

She looked toward the southeast, toward the unfolding storm, where Alex and Khepri were locked in a clash that defied reason and shook the laws of nature.

And then, with no warning, no roar, no ceremony—she released it.

Her pulse of mana pressure.

The moment it touched them, they dropped to the ground. Their knees buckled. Their bones groaned under pressure not meant for mortals. Every elder, no matter their rank or pride, went still as stone. Even Thutmose, despite his will and power, felt his will falter, choked into submission.

And then, she spoke.

Her voice was feminine, rich with primordial power, yet eerily calm, as if delivering a sentence rather than a threat.

"You’re not going anywhere."

A pause. Then:

"Not until the battle is concluded."

Her golden eyes scanned the elders, then lingered on Thutmose with quiet intensity.

"Your clan is being judged by him. And being part of the ones responsible for what happened to him....

"You cannot be allowed to live here to join any battle and die before judgment is passed."

The air went colder than the desert night.

The elders dared not meet each other’s eyes. Thutmose clenched his fists, fury blooming in his chest—not at her, but at the truth he couldn’t deny.

There was nothing he could do; for the first time in a while, Thutmose felt weakness and helplessness as he looked at Nyxara with fury in his heart.

And Nyxara... just looked at him before looking back at the direction of the battle.

----

The ground was no longer solid.

What remained of it cracked, floated, and scattered like broken glass drifting in a maelstrom of residual energy. Mana refused to settle. Space itself whimpered from the strain. The laws that governed the Earth Domain here bent under the weight of an attack that should not have existed.

And at the center of it all, surrounded by crimson-lit ruins and shattered boulders, stood Alex.

He wasn’t glowing. He wasn’t burning with thunder or light or some radiant aura that declared divine power.

He was... still. Silent. Standing there with his sword lowered, shoulders slack, like the battle didn’t matter anymore.

But to Khepri, who rose slowly from the dust and smoking fragments of what was once his masterpiece—his towering, semi-living Stone Warrior—that silence was more deafening than any roar of power.

He stared at Alex from between fractured slabs of enchanted earth. Rubble crumbled down his back, and blood trickled from wounds on his body.

But he barely survived the attack.

Because all he could feel was fear.

True, unfiltered fear.

’He destroyed it...’

The words echoed in Khepri’s mind—not spoken aloud, just a desperate, disbelieving thought that refused to fade.

The Stone Warrior—his magnum opus, a construct of earth, layered with and animated through spirit-core resonance—was gone.

Erased.

By a single slash.

He remembered standing atop the warrior’s shoulder, gazing down at Alex from above—believing himself untouchable. But when that slash came, his instincts had screamed. He didn’t understand why at the time. But he jumped.

If he hadn’t...

He wouldn’t still be breathing.

And now, as he stared at the boy—no, the thing—that stood amidst the aftermath, a single question clawed at his sanity:

How?

How had Alex done it?

He had seen the Divine Art of the Thunder Clan before, when Lucian, Alex’s father, used it—when the man transformed completely into thunder incarnate. It was a transformation of purity and wrath, where the user ceased to be flesh and became living lightning. Weapon, armor, body, even thought—all thunder.

Only those who could absorb the thunderbolt entirely—every last volt—could invoke it in full.

Not half.

Not most.

All.

Anything less... and the technique would be incomplete. Shallow. Temporary. A pale imitation.

And he remembered.

He remembered clearly.

"Alex didn’t absorb it."

Khepri’s eyes narrowed. He replayed the moment in his mind again and again: the divine bolt splitting the sky, Alex unleashing his domain, and then redirecting most of it to the nearby healing titan. The energy he absorbed had only been partial. Not enough.

He didn’t transform.

He didn’t become lightning.

He didn’t embody the Divine Art.

So how?

How had he created that slash?

A slash that bisected a being almost in the Legend-rank, not just with force but with authority—like judgment, like execution, like reality itself had agreed the strike must land.

"That strike could have killed any Legend rank," Khepri muttered aloud, voice cracking like brittle stone.

He wasn’t speaking to anyone. The words were meant for himself.

Because in that moment—after all the decades of study, battle, dominance, and arrogance—Khepri finally understood one thing:

This was no longer a battle of technique.

This was no longer a battle of rank.

This wasn’t about thunder, or earth, or even domain control.

This was a revelation.

Talent of the demi-god rank is in a completely different league compared to the others.

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