Emma lunged forward, her figure dissolving into the wind as if she had never existed.

Matana’s golden eyes narrowed, scanning the chamber, but she was nowhere to be found. His enormous, feline form towered over the ruins, his claws glinting with malice as his lips curled into a sinister smile.

"Let’s see you survive this," he sneered, his voice a deep, guttural growl that reverberated through the chamber.

Then he screeched.

The sound was not merely noise, it was an attack, an otherworldly weapon crafted to rupture the very fabric of a soul. Its vibrations tore through the chamber, shattering stone and leaving the air thick with the scent of ozone. For most, it would mean instant death, their bodies exploding into fragments of spirit and flesh.

But Emma did not fall.

The silence that followed was unnerving. Matana's brow furrowed, his sneer faltering.

"How?" he muttered under his breath. "How can a human withstand it?"

The faintest rustle of movement came from behind him, and Matana stiffened. He turned sharply, his golden eyes scanning the darkness, but there was nothing... nothing except the oppressive, suffocating bloodlust radiating from behind him.

Matana dodged instinctively, his massive body shifting with inhuman agility. But no attack came.

Instead, he felt it..... a thread snap.

Matana glanced down and saw a faint, ethereal string shimmering in the dim light of the chamber. It had been severed, the loose ends fading into the void. His String of Fate.

He chuckled, a low, guttural sound that echoed in the chamber like distant thunder. "Do you think you can cut my fate, human?" His voice dripped with mockery as he raised a clawed hand. Dark energy began to swirl around him, a storm of power crackling with malice.

The severed string reknitted itself, reforming as though nothing had happened. Matana grinned, his jagged teeth glinting. "I am above Fate."

Emma’s figure materialized at the edge of the chamber. She moved slowly, descending the ruined steps with deliberate precision, her eyes shut tight. In her hand, she carried the Sword of Fate, its blade shimmering faintly with an energy that felt alive.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Matana tilted his head, his grin widening. "What you’re doing now," he mused, his voice almost casual, "is a forceful awakening. Damage your Ki Core, and you’ll die anyway. Are you truly willing to go that far, little human?"

Emma didn’t respond. Her grip tightened on the hilt of the sword, the veins on her hand pulsing as raw energy swirled around her. Her eyes remained shut, yet she moved with a calm certainty, as though she could see far beyond the physical world.

And she could.

The realm of Fate unfolded before her.

Invisible threads stretched across the space around Matana, each one a vibrant line of destiny. She saw them all... twenty-eight strings anchoring him to the fabric of existence, and more still forming, branching like roots from his soul.

I see it, she thought, her breathing steady. I see everything.

Matana snarled and lunged. His claws swiped through the air, his tentacle-like tail thrashing in unison, each attack aiming to eviscerate her from every angle.

Emma’s form blurred, evading his strikes by the narrowest of margins. The claws nicked her arms, her legs, her face, drawing thin lines of blood, but she persisted. Her rage burned hotter than the pain.

She surged forward, her blade flashing. The Sword of Fate cleaved through Matana’s tails with a single strike. The severed appendages thudded to the ground, writhing like dying serpents.

Matana roared, his claws slashing horizontally. They struck true.... or so it seemed. Emma’s body split in two, but the image dissolved into shadow.

An afterimage.

The real Emma was above him, the Sword of Fate poised to strike.

She brought it down with a deafening BOOM. The chamber quaked, the force of the strike throwing up a thick cloud of smoke and debris. The air was heavy with the smell of charred stone and blood.

When the smoke cleared, Emma stood atop Matana’s massive back, the Sword of Fate embedded deep in his flesh. But something was wrong.

She had aimed for his head.

Matana chuckled, his voice a rasping rumble. "Did you think I’d let you have my head so easily?" His form rippled as though made of water. "I simply shifted the distance. What you thought was my head was never there."

Emma coughed violently, blood spilling from her lips. The sharp pain in her abdomen told her the truth: Matana’s tentacles had already pierced her body, their tips protruding through her chest and sides.

He grinned up at her, his golden eyes gleaming with triumph. "It’s a pity," he said, his voice almost mocking. "You had such potential. But now, it’s all useless."

Emma didn’t respond.

She tightened her grip on the sword, refusing to let go even as her vision blurred and her strength waned.

Her lips curled into a faint smile.

Her eyes snapped open.

Matana’s grin faltered, his breath catching in his throat.

Her pupils had transformed into spinning wheels, intricate patterns etched into the iris. The faint glow of those eyes was undeniable, a power that transcended the natural laws of this world.

"No," he whispered, his voice filled with disbelief. "Impossible."

Emma’s voice was soft, yet it resonated with unshakable certainty.

"This is it," she said, her words cutting through the silence like a blade.

"The Eyes of the Looping Fate."

She whispered a single word, her voice echoing through the chamber.

"LOOP."