Revenge: A Path of Destruction
Chapter 61: The Final Clash (1)

Chapter 61: The Final Clash (1)

Mankhaura did not let up.

He lunged forward like a unchained beast, his movements fueled by adrenaline, rage, and desperation. Each step cracked the earth, sending tremors radiating outward. Dust exploded beneath his heels.

His spear gripped so tightly his knuckles had turned white, slashed through the air with primal intent—less a weapon now and more a force of nature, a howling tempest gave form.

The nine massive boulders and earth spear orbiting him roared in concert, their presence like celestial hammers circling a war god. Each one pulsed with earthen energy, glowing with a deep, throbbing brown light.

They moved independently but with eerie synchronicity—crashing into the arena, tearing stone asunder, then rising again, reformed as if the land answered to Mankhaura’s wrath.

His strikes grew faster.

More erratic.

More violent.

The battlefield had become a storm, and Mankhaura was its eye.

Thutmose, ever composed, remained at the center of this chaos, absorbing the onslaught with a precision born of mastery. Yet even he—a pillar of Earth Clan power—had begun to bend under the relentless blows.

With each deflection, his shield arm quivered.

With each parry, the vibrations rolled through his body, testing his endurance.

The very arena crumbled around him. Massive chunks of the once-pristine platform now floated in midair or shattered beneath his feet. The ground he once commanded like a sovereign now cracked in rebellion beneath the sheer force of Mankhaura’s fury.

And still, he endured.

Still, he did not fall.

But neither did he retaliate—not entirely. Not yet.

The elders watched in stunned silence in the upper stands, shielded by barrier arrays woven from ancient runes, .

For decades, they had seen Thutmose as untouchable. The prodigy of Khepri’s bloodline. The Earth’s chosen heir. His mastery over their elemental heritage was once thought absolute.

And now...

"...Is this happening?" one of the elders murmured, disbelief etched into every syllable.

"Thutmose is being... overpowered?" whispered another, voice low with awe and unease.

A third elder said nothing, only squinting down at the battlefield, eyes narrowing as he analyzed the deeper truths others missed.

They could see it—so could everyone else.

Mankhaura wasn’t just matching Thutmose. He was pressing him and pushing him. Forcing him to retreat and forcing him to reveal more than he ever had before.

The murmurs among the spectators grew louder.

Some were shaken.

Some were thrilled.

Some... were calculating.

Yet on the battlefield, none of this mattered.

Mankhaura’s chest heaved with every breath. Sweat soaked through his garments, matting them to his body. Blood trickled from a fresh gash, evidence that even he was paying a price for this assault. His pupils were wide, dilated with strain. His mouth curved into a wild grin, and his teeth bared in defiance.

He believed he had the advantage.

He felt it.

And that belief fueled his frenzy.

Thutmose exhaled softly, his breath slow and even despite the chaos. He allowed himself a moment—a brief second to ground himself amidst the upheaval.

His khopesh, once held in reserve, now gleamed faintly with mana. His shield—battered but unbroken—rested before him like a stone wall refusing to yield.

Then, finally, he moved.

He rolled his shoulder once, loosening the tension in the muscle. The vibration from Mankhaura’s last strike had left a lingering ache, but it was manageable.

His eyes, once half-lidded and passive, narrowed with focus.

’He’s burning out,’ Thutmose thought.

The signs were clear now.

Though Mankhaura’s strikes still hit like meteor impacts, their precision showed a subtle decline. The sharpness of his initial movements—refined, efficient, deadly—had given way to something more unhinged. More emotional.

His breathing was irregular. Mana output is unstable. His control over the orbiting boulders and spears had lost a measure of tightness. They smashed and reformed still, but slower—less synchronized.

Thutmose recognized it.

’Exactly as they predicted.’

And yet... he felt no relief.

No satisfaction.

Only wariness.

’Which is why... I can’t trust them.’

Thutmose didn’t trust anyone easily.

And so, he made a decision.

’It’s time to end this.’

He raised his khopesh slightly, a silent gesture—subtle, final.

And then, in a voice no louder than a breath yet felt by every soul watching, the words passed his lips:

"Domain: Second Stage—"

The arena stilled.

The boulders froze mid-flight.

Even Mankhaura, eyes wide, halted in place as something ancient and absolute rolled across the battlefield.

It wasn’t fear that stopped him.

It was instinct.

A deep, primal awareness that something irreversible had been invoked.

The weight of the earth itself seemed to press down upon them all. A silence fell—dense, suffocating, not due to the absence of sound, but the overwhelming presence of something greater than mana. Greater than will.

And then, the final words:

"I rule the Earth."

What came next defied all previous understanding.

The arena—cracked, broken, and mangled—reassembled itself piece by piece. The stone that had been shattered reformed in silence, not through force, but through sheer authority. The trembling ground calmed, hardened, and bowed beneath Thutmose’s feet. The sky above seemed to dim as if even the heavens dared not intrude upon this moment.

His domain expanded—not with violence or spectacle, but with inevitability.

A vast expanse of calm, immutable land stretched in all directions. Every grain of soil, every chunk of stone, every dust particle now bore his signature. There was no room for rebellion. No room for opposition.

This was not domination.

This was law.

Within this domain, Thutmose was not just a controller of the earth.

He was its ruler.

It’s sovereign.

Its king.

And within this realm, Mankhaura’s domain began to crack.

His orbiting boulders shuddered.

His control frayed.

His breathing quickened—not from exhaustion now, but from realization.

This wasn’t just another battle.

It was the end of the illusion.

Thutmose wasn’t retreating.

He had been waiting.

Waiting for the moment when he no longer needed to defend—but to judge.

And that moment had come.

....

In a world governed by elemental mastery and the laws of mana, domains stand as the pinnacle of a Grandmaster’s authority. When a domain is formed, it manifests one’s innate will, elemental affinity, and most importantly, their fundamental rule—the singular law governing the domain’s existence.

Whether it is domination, control, corrosion, or growth, this core rule becomes the unchangeable heart of the domain. Once manifested, it is set in stone. No further changes. No late additions. No modifications.

That is what all Grandmasters are taught.

And for most, it remains the truth.

But a few—a very rare few—transcend that truth.

This anomaly is known as:

Domain: Second Stage.

Unlike evolving a domain slowly over time—through intense battles, comprehension, or fusion with external forces—the Second Stage phenomenon occurs in the moment, triggered by a sudden clarity of will or a profound realization of one’s authority over one element.

Instead of building upon the first laws or reshaping it (which is impossible), the wielder does something entirely different:

They carve out a new space within their existing domain.

A separate law—one that does not overwrite the first, but exists parallel to it.

Think of the domain as a realm of laws. Typically, it’s governed by the first rules.

In the Second Stage, a second law is invoked, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the first, sharing the same elemental foundation but offering a different expression of power.

However, there is one critical caveat—

The new rule must still harmonize with the domain’s original element.

A domain centered on fire cannot add a water rule.

A domain built for lightning speed cannot add a rule for unshakable defense unless that rule is derived from or linked to the core principle.

For instance:

A domain with the rule of earth domination may evolve into a Second Stage by adding a rule like gravitational suppression, defensive amplification, or tectonic movement, all of which stem from the same elemental source.

But trying to add an element from outside the affinity—like wind control into an earth domain—would cause the domain to fracture and fail.

This is why the Second Stage is so rare.

It requires more than raw power.

It demands a deep, instinctual understanding of one’s element, an unyielding will, and an unshakable sense of self and the world’s acknownledgement.

It is a phenomenon so rare that only 2% of Grandmasters ever experience it—

And even fewer ever master it.

Those who do are known by many names:

Dual-Law Grandmasters

Domain-Tier Savants

Or simply... Monsters among monsters.

Even in ancient records, the reason why this phenomenon occurs remains shrouded in mystery.

Some believe it is a divine blessing, others call it a mutation of mana affinity, while a few scholars theorize it is the result of synchronizing with the very origin of the element itself.

Whatever the cause, the outcome is the same:

An explosive leap in power, authority, and battlefield control.

And once it is unleashed—

The balance always tilts.

....

As Mankhaura stood before Thutmose’s domain, a storm of emotions twisted across his face—disbelief, rage, envy, and something deeper... a raw, bitter frustration. His chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths as the realization sank in.

Thutmose wasn’t just powerful.

He was one of the rare few—one of the monsters blessed with a Second Stage Domain.

And Mankhaura had never known.

Not once in all the years of training, watching, and competing had Thutmose ever revealed this trump card. He had kept it hidden, buried deep, close to the heart, as if guarding a sacred truth from the world. Even now, Mankhaura could see it—this wasn’t a power recently acquired. Thutmose had always had it.

And he never said a word.

Even the elders, who prided themselves on knowing every secret within the clan, were stunned. Their silence was telling—eyes wide, lips tight, brows furrowed in disbelief. Whispers rippled among them like wind through brittle leaves, but no one had answers.

No one had expected this.

Mankhaura’s fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms as a bitter thought tore through him—

"Why him?"

Why was it always Thutmose?