The First Men Chronicles

Chapter 48 : Threads of Fate

Draven's blade hung in the air, suspended just behind Boris as if an invisible force had stopped it mid-flight. His eyes narrowed in confusion—he had lost control of the weapon.

Boris smirked, his fingers moving subtly like a puppeteer manipulating strings. "Enough with the games," he said in a thick Russian accent. "You have potential, boy. Try to survive—I might just let you live."

Before Draven could react, his own blade suddenly shifted direction, shooting toward him with alarming speed. His eyes flickered, quickly reading its trajectory, and just as it closed in, he leaned back, barely dodging as the steel whizzed past his face.

But Boris was already a step ahead. With another flick of his fingers, the blade abruptly changed course mid-air, aiming straight for Draven's eyes.

At the last second, a serpentine figure shot forward—Jörmungandr. The ethereal snake wrapped around Draven's torso and launched toward the incoming blade, swallowing it whole. Draven landed in a smooth backflip, gripping his coat as he adjusted himself.

"He's manipulating the sword" he commented

His voice was colder than the frozen tundra.

"It seems you're finally serious. Good—now I'll end this."

The air around him rippled as his Sitra Achra Warrior began to manifest. The colossal celestial entity, formed of intertwining darkness and divine energy, stood towering behind him. Its glowing bow, the Bow of Judgment, materialized in its hands.

For the first time, Boris' expression hardened.

"Tch. trouble , Let's see how you handle this."

He muttered a technique under his breath.

"Thread Manipulation: Ocean of Strings."

Draven's eyes darted around, but… nothing happened.

His frustration flared. "You're mocking me ?!" he roared.

With an ear-piercing shriek, the Sitra Achra Warrior pulled back its bowstring and fired a single, world-shaking arrow toward Boris. The very ground beneath them shattered, and a deafening explosion followed as the arrow annihilated everything in its path.

But Boris was no fool.

At the very last moment, he ascended—walking on air. Thin, nearly invisible threads laced across the battlefield, allowing him to step effortlessly above the destruction.

Draven's chest rose and fell, breath heavy. He had missed.

From his aerial position, Boris glanced down at the obliterated battlefield. "Tch. That thing's dangerous," he muttered. "Even using my threads to alter its course, the sheer force of that arrow still blew apart half of Nagurskoye."

Then, his gaze turned sharp. "You're too much of a threat, kid. I can't let you run around freely anymore."

He lifted his palm, where hundreds of razor-thin threads began swirling into a concentrated sphere.

"Thread Manipulation: Phantom Needles."

Instantly, a barrage of needle-thin threads shot forward, faster than sound, descending upon Draven like an inescapable rain of death.

But then… they disappeared.

The air became eerily silent.

Draven's All-Creation Eyes burned as he strained his vision, scanning for the threads—then his pupils contracted.

He found them.

The moment he did, a sharp, searing pain erupted across his body. Blood dripped from multiple tiny wounds across his arms and face. The threads had already closed in—not just on him, but on Kenzy and Gansu as well.

His jaw clenched.

There was only one way.

The Sitra Achra Warrior let out an unearthly roar. Its dark form engulfed Draven, serving as an impenetrable armor, while at the same moment, a second Sitra Achra Warrior materialized—this one shielding Kenzy and Gansu.

BOOOOOOOM!!!!!

A massive explosion erupted upon impact as Boris' threads collided with the Sitra Achra constructs. The shockwave shook the very core of Nagurskoye.

From above, Boris stood on his aerial threads, staring at the sheer chaos below. "Hah… unbelievable," he muttered. "Even after using such an ability, he's still standing?"

Below, the two celestial warriors dissolved, leaving behind a panting, exhausted Draven.

His entire body trembled.

Using two Sitra Achra Warriors at the same time…

It was too much.

Draven grabbed his forehead as a sharp, searing headache struck him. His vision blurred. His breath was ragged.

Kenzy and Gansu stirred beneath the dissipating remnants of the Sitra Achra that had shielded them. Kenzy's eyes snapped to Draven, immediately noticing his condition.

"Draven!" he called out.

Draven slowly lifted his head, his blurred vision making out Boris' silhouette approaching him.

The Russian spoke, his tone grim. "Power like yours always comes with a cost," he said, stepping closer. "You push too far, and you'll break."

With a sudden flick, Boris extended his fingers, sending three needle-thin threads shooting forward in a spiral.

Draven's Sitra Achra Warrior flickered, barely holding on.

One thread smashed through the weakened barrier protecting Kenzy and Gansu—but the last remnants of the warrior kept them alive.

The final threads struck Draven's barrier—

—but a massive golden gate manifested before him, blocking it entirely.

Boris' eyes widened. "What…?!"

The Sealed Gate of Messiah.

Draven panted heavily, his body barely keeping up. "I can't… keep this up for long." His mind was racing. His abilities were too Shen-consuming. He needed to finish this—now.

Boris hummed, intrigued. "Impressive, kid. But you're too defensive."

Then, suddenly,Draven's golden gate shrank,So small… that Boris couldn't see it.

Before he could react—

BOOOOOOM!

The gate exploded against his chest, blasting him backward at incredible speed. His body smashed through three massive buildings in succession before the gate's force finally dissipated.

Draven stood gasping for air, watching as Boris slowly peeled himself out of the wreckage,His plan had worked.

But at what cost?

His legs trembled,His All-Creation Eyes burned,His head throbbed,For the first time… Draven truly felt the weight of his own power.