The rocky terrain of the Desolation Islands darkened as the ground liquefied, transforming into a boundless abyss of thick, viscous shadows that swallowed the light itself. This was the Chimera Sovereign Garden.
From the roiling ink of the domain's floor, thousands of Raiju shrieked into existence. They moved as a cohesive, cacophonous wave at the speed of sound, detonating against Mahoraga's massive frame. The Divine General was reduced to a smear of ichor and splintered bone.
Click.
The wheel turned, and the beast was made whole again. But the Sovereign Garden offered no respite. The barrage of Raiju was constant—a relentless tide of kinetic energy that forced the wheel to spin again and again. Gritting its teeth, Mahoraga began to trudge through the liquid shadows, each step toward Ethan a testament to its terrifying willpower.
Ethan's eyes flickered with a cold, predatory light. With a wave of his hand, he summoned hundreds of Max Elephants into the sky above. They plummeted like biological meteors, crashing one after another atop Mahoraga, pinning the titan down as they simultaneously unleashed torrents of water.
Ethan seized the moment. He flooded the entire domain with his unique electrical Cursed Energy. In his "Switch" state, he was a living conductor, entirely immune to the lethal currents dancing through the floodwaters.
A standard Nue, if summoned to the size of a cathedral, might produce 100 million volts. However, through the Binding Vow Ethan had forged, that output was amplified tenfold to 1 billion volts of raw, jagged power. He didn't let it dissipate; he compressed it, localizing the energy into a single, blinding point of light.
An arrow.
At a billion volts, the air in the path of arrow isn't just heated, it is ionized into plasma.
The core temperature would exceed 30,000°C, roughly five times hotter than the surface of the sun.
Suddenly, the shadows behind Ethan surged as hundreds of Tora clones emerged. In a choreographed display of mystical prowess, the tiger-shikigami began performing the Bolts of Balthakk. This invocation-type spell allowed them to call upon the essence of a being of pure energy, hurling bolts of destructive, arcane lightning to reinforce the arrow. Tora had helped Ethan create the "Switch," yet even he was staggered by the sheer magnitude of the output his master was now manifesting.
Another legion of Tora clones manifested, their hands moving in sync with Ethan's as they utilized advanced hydrokinesis to shape a massive bow. They infused the structure with the fully powered Nue lightning, stabilized and reinforced by the arcane bolts.
Under the weight of the elephants and the endless Raiju barrage, Mahoraga's wheel turned once more. Its regeneration was nearly complete—until the shadow beneath it shifted. A building-sized Orochi partially manifested, its colossal maw snapping shut around the winged behemoth, immobilizing it in a crushing grip of scales and shadow.
The bow was taut. The air hummed with a frequency that threatened to shatter teeth. Ethan took aim, his focus narrowing until nothing but the arrow and the target remained. He released.
The arrow flew true.
The moment of impact was a cataclysm. The sheer output of energy was so immense that the Mirror Dimension—a reality designed to withstand the impossible—shattered like glass. They were thrust back into the physical world, but the real world could barely contain the aftermath.
A heartbeat later, a blinding pillar of white light consumed the island. The sub-antarctic flora and the surrounding seawater vanished, evaporated instantly into mist. The heavy, grey clouds were blown apart, revealing a clear, silent sky. The biting salt wind was gone, replaced by the heavy, ozone-thick scent of a permanent electrical current.
In the center of the scorched crater, the heavy, Eight-Handled Wheel fell to the ground with a dull thud. It wobbled for a second, then dissolved into the darkness of Ethan's shadow.
The silence that followed was absolute. The Divine General Mahoraga had been subjugated.
Ethan collapsed the boundaries of his domain, letting the swirling abyss of shadows and the ozone-heavy air of the Chimera Sovereign Garden bleed back into the desolate reality of the Kerguelen Islands. For a long, silent heartbeat, he stood amidst the scorched earth, savoring the stillness. The adrenaline was beginning to cool, replaced by the satisfying weight of victory. He had reached into the depths of his legacy; he had finally mastered the Ten Shadows.
Closing his eyes to center his breathing, Ethan formed the summoning sign—two clenched fists pressed together in a rigid, vertical lock. He funneled a precise, "default" amount of Cursed Energy into the technique.
The shadows at his feet bubbled and rose like liquid obsidian. From that dark pool, the Divine General manifested. Standing nine feet tall—a towering monolith of corded muscle and divine presence—Mahoraga looked down at its new master. The Eight-Handled Wheel hovered behind its head, currently still and unmoving.
Ethan looked up at the behemoth, his pulse quickening with a new kind of excitement. The tactical possibilities were endless. By the end of the day, he intended to have Mahoraga adapt to every fundamental spell of the Mystic Arts—shielding, teleportation, and energy lashing—creating a guardian that could ignore the laws of any sorcerer.
However, as the initial rush of the subjugation faded, a more somber thought occupied his mind. He looked at the General's right hand, where the Sword of Extermination resided.
During his recent, quiet visits to the hospitals of Los Angeles, Ethan had been confronted with the harsh limits of his own power. He had encountered ward after ward of patients suffering from terminal illnesses—cellular decays and genetic failures that were not caused by external curses, but by the body's own failing blueprint. He could soothe their pain with a touch, but he could never truly heal them. Reverse Cursed Technique, for all its wonders, was a tool of restoration, not a rewrite of biological fate.
Ethan understood that he didn't "owe" it to anyone to heal them, but how could he ignore the silent tears of a mother whose ten-year-old daughter was wasting away from cancer? He knew such cases existed in every city across the globe. He might not be able to help all of them, but with Mahoraga's help, he could perhaps heal them one at a time.
He looked at the wheel again. If the General could adapt to any phenomenon, could it adapt to an illness that RCT couldn't touch? Could a chimera between the Round Deer and Mahoraga be the key to a medical miracle he hadn't yet unlocked?
Ethan reached out a hand, hovering it just inches from the General's massive arm. "We have work to do," he whispered. "And it's not just about killing."
Just then, the sleek metallic casing of his Motorola Razr V3 buzzed against his palm. Ethan flipped the phone open to find a text from Wong. The message was characteristically blunt:
> Special Grade signature detected near Labutta Township. The Ancient One is currently occupied in Southern Africa. Your ETA?
>
"I will be there in 5," Ethan replied.
Ethan had personally requested that reconnaissance teams be deployed around that specific township. His request was fueled by his foreknowledge of the impending catastrophe—the devastating Cyclone Nargis, which he knew was destined to strike Myanmar in May. In this world, natural disasters of such magnitude were rarely just weather patterns; they were magnets for the concentrated fear and grief of millions, birthing Cursed Spirits of unimaginable power.
Ever since the truth of Ethan's strength had rippled through the ranks of the Masters of the Mystic Arts, his peers had come to rely on him. When the Sorcerer Supreme was away on high-stakes dimensional commissions, Ethan was the one they called for the "impossible" exorcisms. They trusted his resolve, though he harbored a quiet doubt: would they still trust him if they knew he was planning to leave Kamar-Taj?
The thought had been weighing on him for months. For nine years—ever since he had first woken up in this world—he had lived in a constant state of combat, moving from one bloody exorcism to the next. He was tired. He wanted to enjoy a sliver of normalcy while he was still of high school age, before the world inevitably spiraled into the chaos of the coming decade. He had discussed his potential move to the East Coast with the Ancient One; she had been surprisingly receptive, even encouraging him to seek out a reputable college.
He knew Mahito and Jogo were still out there, lurking in the shadows and sowing discord. But as he looked at the divine General he now commanded, he felt a cold surge of confidence. As long as it was a Cursed Spirit, Mahoraga would not lose.
With a thought, Ethan dismissed the physical form of the General. The giant dissolved, but the Eight-Handled Wheel remained, manifesting as a partial summons that hovered silently just above Ethan's head. Like a halo of dark gold, it turned slowly, linking Ethan directly to the Shikigami's power without the need for elaborate hand signs. This partial manifestation allowed for a level of coordination that few Ten Shadows users in history had ever mastered.
Tora emerged partially from the shadows, his claws sparking against the stone as he manifested a Sling Ring portal. Through the golden, rotating ring of sparks, Ethan could see the main hall of Kamar-Taj. It was a hive of frantic energy. The report of a Special Grade signature had sent shockwaves through the sanctuary. The last time such a reading had been registered was four years ago during the "December 26th Incident"—a day of mourning where hundreds perished across global coastlines and billions in property were swept away by cursed tides.
The moment Ethan stepped through the portal into the hall, the frantic rushing stopped. Every eye turned toward him, or more specifically, toward the jagged, divine wheel hovering above him like an angelic crown.
Wong approached, his usual stoic expression cracking into a small, dry smile. "I see you took that 'angel' comment seriously," he remarked, glancing at the wheel before handing Ethan a mission folder. It contained satellite maps of the Labutta Township and the precise coordinates of the signature. "These readings were taken just ten minutes ago. If we make haste, we may catch it before it settles."
"Who else is on the roster?" Ethan asked. It was standard procedure for Masters of the Mystic Arts to provide support on high-level sweeps.
"Master Mordo, Master Kaecilius, and myself," Wong replied.
At the mention of Kaecilius, Ethan's jaw tightened. He knew the path that man was destined to take; he knew the betrayal that would eventually fracture their order. The Ancient One had strictly forbidden him from interfering with the "natural flow" of these events, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a future zealot.
The masters assembled in the hallway, checking their enchanted relics and sharpening their resolve. As Wong began to weave the circular motions to open the portal to Myanmar, the wheel above Ethan's head gave a sharp, metallic sound.
Click.
The wheel turned once. Mahoraga, even from within the shadow, had begun to adapt to the fundamental laws of space-time manipulation used in Sling Ring teleportation. All three masters turned to look at the rotating artifact, a sense of unease passing through them, but none of them questioned it. After all, they were about to face a Special Grade Cursed Spirit similar to the one that caused the devastation of December 26th.
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