Timeless Assassin

Leo hovered silently, his gaze locked onto the ancient parchment spread before them, desperately trying to commit its contents to memory.

At first glance, it appeared to be nothing more than a chaotic web of overlapping geometric patterns—complex, yet seemingly meaningless. But as the man who looked eerily like him began to speak, the puzzle pieces started falling into place.

"This formation isn’t just a battle tactic—it’s a dimensional noose," the father explained, his deep voice filled with both certainty and reverence.

His sons, wide-eyed with awe, hung onto every word.

"This design is crafted specifically to entrap beings beyond our mortal plane," he continued, tracing the intricate spiral of lines. "And I have tested it on myself to ensure that it works."

Leo’s breath hitched.

Tested it on himself?

It was only then that Leo realized the chilling truth—the man before him wasn’t just another warrior or master tactician.

He was a god.

A shiver ran down Leo’s spine despite his incorporeal state. Seeing a deity was one thing, but looking at one that shared such an uncanny resemblance to him felt deeply unsettling.

"But how can we, mere mortals, hold beings who manipulate dimensions we cannot even perceive?" the elder son asked, skepticism creeping into his voice.

A proud smile formed on the father’s lips. "By overwhelming their dimensional senses," he said simply.

He tapped the very center of the spiral.

"At its core, two Demi-Gods will serve as the primary anchors—their immense power forcibly pulling a god down into our three-dimensional reality, severing their ability to ascend into higher dimensions."

Leo’s eyes followed his hand as it moved outward to the next intricate layer.

"Encircling them," the father continued, "five Monarch-level warriors will form an impenetrable dimensional lattice—a spherical barrier sealing every possible exit. No escape. No retreat."

Only now did the true depth of the diagram begin to take shape in Leo’s mind.

"Supporting this lattice," the father went on, "will be twelve Transcendent-level warriors. Their role is crucial—they reinforce the stability of the formation and prevent any dimensional disruptions.

Their coordination must be perfect.

One slip—and the formation collapses."

The father’s finger traced further outward to the last and most elaborate ring.

"And finally, the Grandmasters and Masters weave the sensory labyrinth—" he continued. "Twenty-four Grandmasters and forty-eight Masters, each distorting space, twisting perception, creating layers of illusions and misdirection."

He paused, glancing between his sons.

"A god trapped within this labyrinth will be disoriented, unable to distinguish reality from deception, and—most importantly—unable to mount an effective retaliation."

Leo’s mind raced.

The sheer complexity of the formation was staggering. It required unwavering discipline, perfect synchronization, and a coalition of warriors from multiple ranks working in harmony.

It was a plan that, if executed flawlessly, could subjugate even the most powerful of divine beings.

But then, a critical question arose.

"Father, what if the god trapped in the formation does manage to break free?" the elder son asked, concern lacing his voice.

The father’s smile faded. His expression hardened.

"They cannot," he said, his tone absolute.

His piercing gaze settled on his sons, his presence exuding an unwavering confidence.

"I am the strongest god. And if I cannot mount an acceptable defense against this formation, then no one else stands a chance."

Leo’s eyes drifted toward the top of the parchment, where a name had been etched in bold, deliberate strokes.

"ChakraVyuh."

A title written in an ancient language, yet somehow, Leo instinctively understood its meaning.

’The Inescapable Formation.’

The father exhaled slowly, pride gleaming in his eyes.

"This is my gift to the mortals of this universe," he declared, "so that the balance of power between gods and mortals may tilt back into equilibrium."

With that, he carefully rolled the parchment and placed it in the hands of his eldest son.

"Kaelith, my son," he said, resting a firm yet affectionate hand on the boy’s shoulder. "I entrust this formation to you."

His voice carried both authority and a deep, unspoken responsibility.

"Pass it on to clans and houses you trust. Form an alliance of righteousness, with this formation at its heart.

No single house can produce all the warriors necessary to complete it—so they must learn to cooperate.

Only together can mortals achieve the impossible."

The eldest son, Kaelith, straightened his posture, his expression resolute.

"It will be done as you command, Father," he vowed.

And the moment those words were spoken, the world around Leo began to distort.

The courtyard blurred.

The study wavered.

And just like that—Leo felt himself being dragged forward once more, the vision shifting, pulling him deeper into whatever past memory he was witnessing.

As the next scene unfolded.

************

(A Desolate Battlefield, 2000 Years Ago)

Leo’s vision twisted again. The warmth of the study, the quiet reverence of discovery—it all vanished in an instant.

Now, he hovered above a battlefield drenched in chaos.

Lightning split the sky in jagged arcs, illuminating a desolate wasteland littered with shattered weapons, broken banners, and the smoldering corpses of countless warriors. The stench of blood and charred flesh hung thick in the air, suffocating, overwhelming.

And at the very center of it all—was a man in chains.

Leo’s heart clenched as his gaze sharpened, taking in the terrifyingly precise geometric formation encircling the captive.

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He recognized it instantly.

It was the ChakraVyuh!!!

’No…’ he thought, as his breath hitched.

It was perfectly executed, a flawless manifestation of the unbreakable formation. Yet something was horribly wrong.

The one ensnared within was its very creator.

The same father who had once explained its power with pride and purpose—now shackled in its merciless grip.

"Why, Kaelith? Why?"

The man’s voice rang out across the battlefield, not in rage—but in anguish.

His wrists were bound in luminous chains, burning white-hot with divine suppression sigils.

His once-proud posture was hunched, his breathing ragged. Blood dripped from deep gashes across his face, matting his once-pristine beard with streaks of red.

And yet, his eyes—even as they swam with pain—held no fear.

Only betrayal.

"Why did you of all people betray me, my son?"

Leo felt it.

A wave of emotion slammed into him—an agony so visceral it almost brought him to his knees despite his incorporeal form. It was like being ripped apart from the inside, as if he himself were the one being betrayed, shackled, forsaken.

And then, the first attack landed.

BOOM!

The father’s body convulsed as an explosion of celestial fire engulfed him, searing his skin as divine flames licked at his flesh.

The force was enough to shatter mountains—yet the formation held him in place.

Leo flinched. He could feel the pain. Every crackle, every ember burrowing into flesh—it was real.

But the assault had only just begun.

From the edges of the ChakraVyuh, six divine figures stood in position.

Gods.

Not mortals.

This formation—once designed to grant mortals the ability to bring down divine beings—had been twisted into something else entirely.

Six gods now wielded it against its own creator.

The father spat blood as a second blast tore into his side, the impact snapping bones with sickening cracks.

Another god stepped forward—hurling a jagged spear wreathed in lightning.

It pierced straight through his shoulder.

He let out a choked gasp, his body jerking violently against the restraints, but the chains did not let him fall. They held him upright, ensuring he would take every single attack without escape.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Blow after merciless blow rained down on him.

Fists. Blades. Beams of divine energy.

Each attack was meticulously timed so that the pain never ceased—so that every wound remained fresh, unable to heal before the next strike landed.

It wasn’t a battle.

It was an execution.

Yet he still didn’t break.

Bruised, bloodied, and battered, the father lifted his gaze—his dark gray eyes locking onto the one who had orchestrated this all.

Kaelith.

His eldest son.

The same boy who had once looked upon him with admiration… was now standing among the executioners.

However, unlike the other gods, Kaelith had not attacked.

He stood just outside the formation’s edge, his expression unreadable, his robes untouched by battle, his golden eyes burning with something far colder than hatred.

"You are my flesh and blood…" the father murmured hoarsely, his voice faltering under the weight of agony. "Everything I built… every lesson I taught you… was for the protection of the common people."

He coughed, more blood spilling down his chin.

"Where did I go wrong?" He asked, as for the first time, Kaelith moved.

He stepped forward, past the gods, until he stood right before his father.

He did not gloat. He did not sneer.

He merely stared down at the man who had given him life.

And then—Kaelith spoke.

"You taught me that gods and mortals must be equal."

"You were wrong." He declared, as without another word, he raised his hand.

A blade of pure divine energy manifested in his palm, as with a swift, merciless strike—

Kaelith plunged it through his father’s chest.

For the briefest moment—there was no sound.

Just the soft gasp of a dying god.

The once-great warrior, the strongest among his kind, looked down at the blade buried deep in his heart.

His lips trembled—not in pain, but in disbelief.

As if even now… he could not accept that his own son had struck the final blow.

His body convulsed once—

Then the light in his eyes flickered.

And finally, it went out.

The greatest god of his era—was no more.

Leo’s world shattered.

Everything blurred as he felt himself being ripped away from the vision, his mind unable to process the sheer weight of what he had just witnessed.

And then—

His vision darkened once again.