Chapter 47 — Leviathan's Eclipse
The sea trembled.
Above, a shadow blotted out the heavens—not from clouds, but from sheer will.
Levi hovered, a broken cloak whipping in the wind, eyes hollow and calm, his power stretching into the very fabric of existence. His form was a manifestation of entropy itself—still, yet unyielding, like the pause before a storm breaks.
Below, fleets clashed—born of human ambition and desperation. Waves of assassins, clad in black suits, faces obscured by white masks, their feet skimming the surface of the ocean like devouring locusts. Around them, martial artists moved like living storms—spinning blades, flashing fists, and pulsing energy from ages-old weapons to sleek, cybernetic designs.
Levi didn’t flinch.
His hand rose.
The sea responded.
The first tremor was subtle. A quiet ripple underfoot.
But that was before it turned into a wave of living shadow, curling up from the depths like a beast rising from slumber. Hundreds of meters high, it loomed, a wall of void and power that swallowed sound, collapsing it into a sickening silence.
The first line of the fleet met it—speedsters, their bodies hurled by their own momentum—only to be crushed mid-air by unseen pressure. Spines snapped. Hearts ruptured. The rest pushed forward, relentless.
And Levi? He descended into them like a falling star.
Apathy became his cruelty.
With a flick of his fingers, men exploded from within, their bodies folding under the invisible weight of his will. A tilt of his wrist and swords shattered mid-flight. His shadow surged, tendrils snaking out, rending flesh and bone with cold, detached precision.
Fighters moved faster now—dancing with their own desperation, their strikes aiming to slice through the air, aimed with primal instinct.
Levi? He barely bothered to move.
A serpent of water rose from the ocean's depths, coiling, crushing. The spear-wielder disappeared with nothing but a pop—a wet, gurgling sound. Twin axes that burned with plasma flared against a void—one twist, and the wielder’s arms were pulled free, ripped from their sockets, as they were sucked into the gravity well Levi had created.
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The martial artists pressed in, closing the distance—one monk among them, his skin shimmering like molten gold, hands glowing with the force of mountains.
He struck.
Levi caught the blow between two fingers, and the monk folded like paper, collapsing under the sheer lack of resistance.
They adapted. Or they tried to.
Speedsters, their regenerative abilities keeping them from death's grasp, moved in unison like a hive. They flanked from impossible angles, but they were too slow. Levi’s shadow moved faster.
It wasn’t just the man fighting—it was the sea. It was Levi's will, stretching out, claiming the battlefield as his own. Tendrils snatched men out of the air, their bodies torn and sent spiraling into the blackened horizon.
A swordsman in white silk stepped forward. His blade, a blur of motion, cut through the air at speeds that should have split atoms.
Levi’s shadow stopped it cold.
The swordsman recoiled, finding himself lifted by a second tendril wrapped around his ankle. In the next moment, he was flying—soaring into the sky, vanishing as a streak of white against the darkened storm.
The fleets fired. Bombers unleashed death in the form of missiles that streaked through the sky like streaks of fire.
Levi didn't blink.
His hands rose, and the missiles—each one a beacon of destruction—curved. They turned. They returned.
A thousand warheads arced back, falling like judgment itself upon those who dared to send them.
The sea boiled beneath the heat, the explosion of flame and vapor rising into the sky like pillars of annihilation.
Levi stood untouched.
The survivors? There were always survivors.
A thousand warriors, regrouping, consolidating their efforts—desperation uniting them. They moved as one, their motions clean, calculated.
Levi descended.
A punch crumpled the ocean beneath them, cratering it like a broken dish.
A kick severed five assassins in a single arc.
A backhand reversed a man's blood flow, and in the same breath, a stomp summoned a tidal eruption, swallowing hundreds.
A sweep that cleaved through the air and decapitated a dozen.
A twist of his wrist snapped swords mid-flight.
A glance paralyzed the bravest of them all.
And then—his leap shattered the clouds, rain pouring down like silver knives.
Levi moved like a god in battle, every step turning the tide, every motion ending lives. His cloak, shredded and reborn from the shadows, whipped like a funeral banner, a king’s burial shroud.
And then—beneath the water—a leviathan stirred.
A creature, not meant for mortal eyes, rose. Eyes within eyes. Teeth that could rend reality itself. A mouth wide enough to swallow cities whole.
And just like that, the fleets shattered.
The sea betrayed them.
Waves rose into hands. Waters turned to blades. The clouds above screamed with faces twisted in agony.
Levi watched.
He did not hate them.
He simply erased them.
And when it was over—when the last scream had been drowned beneath the weight of Levi’s shadow—the battlefield was silent.
Levi floated alone in the wreckage, a dark star in a broken sky.
And high above—detached, amused—
Satan smiled.
End of Chapter.
