The air in the throne room turned into a pressurized vacuum. Without a single word of warning, the Throne King raised his hand. A blinding, searing beam of light erupted from his eyes—a laser that threatened to erase everything in its path.
Ozwa didn't have time to think. His body moved on pure instinct, a desperate reflex honed by years of survival. In one blurred motion, he scooped EMA into his arms. He felt the heat of the laser singe the hair on his neck as he dived to the side.
BOOM!
The floor where they had been standing a second ago vanished, replaced by a glowing, molten crater.
EMA was trembling. Her eyes were wide, filled with a primal terror that she couldn't hide. This wasn't a fight; it was a massacre in the making. The sheer chaos of the energy in the room was suffocating her.
Seeing her fear, Ozwa's heart tightened. He skidded to a stop at the edge of the room, placing EMA down as far away from the King as possible.
"EMA, stay here," Ozwa commanded, his voice tight with resolve. "I will fight with that king."
"Ozwa... please..." EMA grabbed at his sleeve, her eyes brimming with tears. "Please just don't die!"
She was crying now, the sound of her sobs nearly drowned out by the humming energy of the King. Ozwa didn't answer. He couldn't promise her he would live. He simply turned and began to run—sprinting toward the monster sitting on the throne.
As he closed the distance, Ozwa began to weave his Eco energy. He needed power. He needed heat. He needed to strike first.
"Fire Cannon Blast Ritual!" Ozwa roared.
A massive pillar of fire erupted from his hands, a concentrated blast of heat aimed directly at the King's chest. The attack was direct. It was powerful. It hit the King head-on, engulfing the throne in a sea of orange flames.
But as the smoke cleared, the King hadn't even flinched.
The King countered instantly. Another laser beam shot out. Ozwa threw himself into a roll, the beam passing inches above his head. He didn't stop. He scrambled to his feet and began to spam his Fireball Ritual.
One, two, five, ten—fireballs rained down on the King like a meteor shower. The room was filled with the sound of constant explosions. Smoke and ash filled the air.
Yet, through the haze, Ozwa saw him. The Throne King was standing up. He was smiling.
A cold shiver ran down Ozwa's spine. *Something is wrong, he thought. Something I don't understand.He had poured everything into those attacks, but it was like the King was standing behind an invisible wall of absolute power. Nothing was happening. The King wasn't even hurt.
Then, the King moved.
It was too fast for the human eye to follow. A hand swung out—a simple, casual slap.
CRACK!
The force was like being hit by a speeding train. Ozwa was sent flying across the room. He didn't just fall; he rushed toward the wall with terrifying speed.
SMASH!
He hit the stone wall with such force that the masonry shattered. Ozwa slumped to the ground, coughing up a mouthful of dark, thick blood. His ribs felt like they had been turned into toothpicks.
But he didn't stay down. With a scream of pure agony, he forced himself back onto his feet. He had one more card to play.
"Firework Dance!" Ozwa shouted.
Suddenly, Ozwa's body felt light. He began to float into the air, his mana glowing around him. Multiple flames, shaped like exploding fireworks, began to manifest around him. They weren't just for show—each one was a concentrated bomb of heat.
The fireworks began to pelt the King from every angle. Pop! Bang! Boom!
This time, it worked. The King began to grunt in annoyance. The fireworks were actually causing damage, scorching his skin and forcing him to move. Ozwa zipped through the air, moving swiftly, his fireworks targeting the King continuously.
"Yes! Yes! That's what I need!" Ozwa shouted, feeling a surge of hope.
The King lashed out with his lasers, but Ozwa was too fast, dancing through the air like a flickering flame. The barrage was relentless.
But hope is a fragile thing.
Suddenly, the King timed it. In the middle of Ozwa's swift movement, the King's hand shot out again.
WHAM!
The slap hit Ozwa squarely in the chest and head. He was slammed into the wall once more, but the force this time was immense—beyond anything a human body could endure.
Ozwa's entire left arm was pulverized. The bone didn't just break; it was destroyed, leaving only a mangled mess of flesh. His head hit the wall so hard that his skull fractured. His brain was partially visible through the wound.
Ozwa fell to the ground, vomiting blood. His vision was swimming in red. His body had no will left to live. The pain was so absolute that his mind began to shut down.
The Throne King looked at the broken body and assumed the fight was over. He turned his back on Ozwa and began to walk toward EMA.
No... not her...
Through the haze of death, Ozwa moved. He didn't know how. He didn't have any strength left, but his soul refused to quit. He stumbled toward the King, his remaining hand glowing with a dark, terrifying crimson light.
He called upon the ultimate taboo—a ritual that demanded the ultimate price.
"Crimson Flames!"
*BOOOOOOOM!*
The explosion was deafening. A massive wave of blood-red fire erupted, swallowing the Throne King's entire body. The heat was so intense it turned the air into glass. It was a powerful, forbidden ritual that hit the King with everything Ozwa had.
Ozwa collapsed back to the floor, gasping for air.
"This battle... was very hard," Ozwa whispered to himself.
He knew what he had done. The Crimson Flames ritual didn't just use Eco energy; they drained the user's lifespan. Every second those flames burned, months and years were being ripped away from Ozwa's life. He was dying. He would eventually die very soon because of this.
But he was happy. He thought he had saved her.
Then, the flames died down.
The Throne King walked out of the smoke. His clothes were charred, but his body was intact.
Ozwa's heart sank. He was shocked. "What the heck... I used Crimson Flames... why doesn't this king die?"
"These flames were not enough to kill me!" the Throne King boomed.
The King reached out and grabbed Ozwa by the throat. He lifted him up like a ragdoll, looking into Ozwa's fading eyes.
Am I going to die here? Ozwa thought. Is EMA going to die too? Did I make a mistake? What did I do wrong? I have no fault...
As the King's grip tightened, the world began to fade. And in that moment of near-death, Ozwa saw his life.
The Backstory
Ozwa grew up in the slums. It was a place where the sun felt cold and the air smelled like rot. Every morning, he woke up in a room that was barely 19.46 square feet. Three people lived in that tiny space—Ozwa, his mother, and his father.
He was so poor that he only had five sets of clothes in his entire life. They were rags, really, but they were all he had.
One morning, Ozwa woke up and looked at his thin, dirty blanket. It was crawling with bugs. He reached out to brush them off, but these weren't normal bugs. They were poisonous. One bit his small hand, the sting burning like fire.
"Don't worry," his mother said, her face tired and thin. "We will use some plant-based medicine, and it will be fine."
His mother was a woman of constant struggle. To save money and water, she had to cook their meager portions of rice in the small bathroom, using the water from the old pipes there.
His father was a man obsessed with escape.
"You must study, Ozwa," his father said. "Study and do nothing else. It is the only way we get out of this."
Ozwa tried. He really tried. But he wasn't a student. He didn't care about books. He wanted to be an adventurer. He wanted to see the world. But his father refused to listen, forcing him to stay hunched over books he didn't understand.
At eight years old, everything changed.
While walking home from school one day, Ozwa stopped in front of a statue. It was a tall, elegant elf holding a sword and wearing mage's robes.
"Do you know him?" a voice asked.
Ozwa turned to see a boy his age. "No. I don't know who this is."
"This is the statue of Hermit Zero. One of the greatest mages and swordsmen in the history of Tenzu." That boy said
"Oh... who is that?" Ozwa asked
"Hermit Zero is the strongest of the 4th era of Tenzu. He was a master of both rituals and swordsmanship at the same time," the boy explained.
"So he is a South Sword Style user," Ozwa whispered, wide-eyed.
"Exactly! My name is Alan." That boy said
From that day on, Alan and Ozwa were best friends. Alan had a group of friends called the Elemental Trial. There were seven of them: Alan, Ozwa, Kerion, Aon, Ema, Mono, and Kari.
Ozwa knew nothing about rituals back then. He was a "zero." But Alan's group didn't care. They treated him like family. They taught him. They showed him how to tap into his Eco energy. For the first time in his life, Ozwa felt true happiness.
But that happiness was a secret. He started skipping school to train with his friends. Because of that, his grades began to fail.
His father noticed. One day, he followed Ozwa and saw the truth.
That night, the house felt like a pressure cooker.
His father screamed at him. He reminded Ozwa of their poverty. He reminded him of the bugs in the blankets and the forest leaves they had to eat because they couldn't afford vegetables. He reminded him that he was a farmer who could barely pay the rent for their one-room shack.
"Don't you know how bad our life is?" his father yelled. "We can't even afford to live! If you study, we can escape!"
"This poverty is because of you!" Ozwa finally snapped.
"What?" Ozwa's father asked
"Who told you and Mom to give birth to me?" Ozwa's voice was a roar of years of suppressed pain. "You never asked if I wanted to be here! Do I have to solve your problems instead of having my own dreams?"
"Did ever asked me what I wanted to be?"
"You only want to take those burdens that I don't created"
"Why did you give birth to me?"
"Who told you to do things on the bed and create me?"
"Why have to take your burden that has been created by you?"
His father's face was red with rage.
"I tried to suicide so many times because of the burden YOU put on me!" Ozwa screamed. "Why do I have to carry this? It wasn't my fault! Don't I have my own will?"
That night, the air was silent. Ozwa lay on the floor, listening to his parents in the dark. He knew what they were doing. They having sex.
They are just trying to give birth to another person to suffer like me, he thought bitterly. Another child to carry the burden of their failures. For a week, Ozwa didn't speak to them. He spent all his time with Alan and the others, finally learning the Fire Ritual.
But the peace didn't last.
One night, when he returned home, his father was waiting with a beer bottle in his hand.
"You stupid kid," his father hissed. "Today, I will kill you. In a few months, my wife will give birth to a new child. A child who will actually be our future."
His father attacked. The bottle shattered against Ozwa's head and eyes. The pain was unbearable. His father lunged again, ready to end it.
Ozwa's hand moved. He didn't think. He just used the ritual he had learned.
A blast of fire hit his father point-blank.
The man was dead instantly.
Ozwa's mother screamed and ran for the door to call for help.
"Don't call anyone or I will kill you here!" Ozwa shouted, his voice cracking.
His mother stopped, her heart breaking. Ozwa saw the look in her eyes—it was the look you give a monster.
He immediately felt the weight of his words. He ran to her, crying. "Mother! I was lying! I would never kill you! Please... don't see me as a murderer. It wasn't on purpose!"
She hugged him and said she loved him, but Ozwa knew. The love was gone. From that day on, she was like a zombie. She feared him. She looked at him with eyes that only saw death.
Ozwa stayed until he was eighteen, trying to make things right, but she never changed. She lived in constant fear of her own son.
Ozwa realised he killed his father and now he can achieve his dream
But at what cost?
At cost of his mother smile
The smile that makes ozwa happy and carefree
He solve one problem and lose one most valuable thing from his life
His mother's smile and love
Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore. He shouted at her and left the house forever, believing his presence was the reason she was suffering.
A year later, Ozwa was preparing for an adventure with Alan when he heard the news.
His mother was dying. She had been bitten by those same poisonous bugs. Her legs were transforming into wood, her hair was falling out, and she was going blind.
He went back to the village one last time. He saw her in a wheelchair, a shell of the woman she once was. He turned to leave, unable to face the guilt.
"My son..." she called out, her blind eyes searching for him.
He didn't stop. He ran. He left for his adventure with Alan and never looked back.
The flashback ended. Ozwa was back in the throne room, the King's hand still crushing his throat.
Why did that night happen? he wondered. Why did my mother lose her smile? Why did she hate me? I didn't want to hurt her. Am I really that bad? Suddenly, in his mind's eye, he saw his mother. But she wasn't in a wheelchair. She had wings. She was in a place that looked like heaven.
"Sorry for what I did to you," she said softly. "I always loved you, even when I was afraid. A mother's love for her children always stays in her heart. Come to me, Ozwa. Find your peace."
Ozwa looked at her, then he looked at the world around him.
He saw EMA. He saw Leo.
EMA, you are my childhood friend. Leo, we didn't know each other long, but with you , I found the happiness I lost years ago.
Leo is a type of person where ozwa feels enjoyment
He remembers despite Leo was unknown to him Leo sees him as his own friend.
He realized what he had to do.
Using the last spark of his Eco energy, two light rays shot out from his body. They hit EMA and Leo, forming a shimmering, unbreakable shield around them.
Ozwa looked at them one last time.
"Thank you for everything," he said.
Then, he triggered his final ritual.
BOOOOOM!
Ozwa's heart exploded. It wasn't just a blast; it was a massive, self-destruction ritual. The power was so immense it looked like a nuclear bomb had gone off inside the palace.
The white light filled every corner of the room. The stone pillars turned to dust. The Throne King was caught in the center of the blast, a massive hit that shook the very foundations of the world.
The only things left untouched were EMA and Leo, protected by Ozwa's final gift.
As the explosion roared, Ozwa's consciousness drifted away.
He saw his mother again, standing in the light of heaven. She was reaching out for him.
"Come here, my son," she said.
Ozwa walked toward her. He fell into her arms and she hugged him tightly. All the pain, all the poverty, all the blood—it all washed away.
Ozwa buried his face in her shoulder and started to cry, finally finding the peace he had been searching for his entire life