Redemption Part 2

Chapter 29: Redemption Part 2

Shiro felt a strange energy stirring within him, a warmth that spread from his chest and in his fingertips began to tingle. This must be the Kegou the voice spoke of. Instinctively, he tried to focus it, to shape it, but it felt wild, untamed. Threads of golden light erupted from his skin, swirling around him protectively.

His karmic abilities flared defensively, the light around him erupting in intricate, swirling patterns that traced over his skin like molten gold. The voice guided him, each word a steady anchor in the storm of his fear. “Karma, Shiro, is the fundamental law of this reality, the echo of every action reverberating through the Weave. Awakening it innately is a feat of immense difficulty, a truth that has shielded you from its sight until now. Your very being is unique in its capacity for this power.”

As the demon's claws tore through the air, the voice deepened, resonating with the weight of cosmic truth. “This demon, in its attempts to torment and consume, will serve as a catalyst. Its illusions, born of psychic manipulation, will force your nascent karma sense to awaken, to distinguish truth from falsehood, consequence from intent. Its burning touch… it will test the limits of your karmic resilience. You are a Threadbearer, Shiro, new to the Weave. Your control is crude, your understanding limited. But within you lies potential.”

The voice then offered a glimpse of the wider world. "Know this, Shiro: NirVana is but one of the developed nations shaped by divine will. To the west lie the verdant domains of the Goddess of Creation, to the east the ordered realms of the God of Order. These are lands less… volatile than my own. But here, in the crucible of consequence, your true potential will be forged."

The demon intensified its assault, and the illusions became agonizingly real. His mother's gentle smile, the boisterous laughter of his friends, the soft, familiar warmth of her hand in his – they were all there, tangible and vibrant. Their voices whispered his name, laced with a longing that mirrored his own desperate yearning. But beneath the perfect veneer, Shiro felt a subtle wrongness, a chilling artificiality that made his blood run cold. It was as if a flawless painting concealed a rotting core.