Chapter 50:
The Endless Hunt, The Scattered Seeds
They came like shadows carved from silence, slipping between dimensions with blades soaked in erased destinies. The Terminator Host.
But Errin was no longer one being.
As numerous as are sands in the sea so is his dejavu incarnations.....
In the moment of his transformation—when soul, body, and ancestral will merged—a ripple had traveled across the fabric of time and space. Unbeknownst even to him, fragments of his essence, echoes of his soul-thread, had dispersed into countless world dimensions. Not duplicates. Not illusions.But his
Versions.
Each carried a sliver of his divine blood. Each lived a different path. Some were warriors, some children, some ascetics lost in forgotten temples. Some hadn't even awakened to their inheritance some were demons, some were plants.But all shared the same origin—thinned, fractured strands of the forbidden bloodline his soul in different forms now beginning to stir within them.
The Terminators, in their mindless efficiency, began the purge.Eradication....
One by one, worlds in different dimmensions were visited.
In one, they found a young monk meditating in a lotus pond. His eyes were filled with peace, but his blood carried the song of the ancestors. They burned his temple to ashes—but the moment he died, the pond glowed gold, and reeds began to bloom with celestial light. Something had been awakened.
In another, a starving orphan girl with faint golden eyes stood her ground against an incoming blade. She screamed, and the air cracked open. The blood within her rebelled. She died, yes—but in her wake, a hundred more orphans across that star cluster began dreaming of ancestors calling their name.
Each death only spread the fire further and further into the forests of existences.
The Terminators didn't understand.
Their mission was perfect, their movements calculated. But they were chasing a legacy not rooted in flesh—but in fate. And fate does not die with the body.You can postpone destiny but not destroy it....
Back in the Seventh Heaven, the elders watched the slaughter unfold through astral mirrors.
"Why does the bloodline keep flaring? We've killed nine… no, ten incarnations."
A younger sage trembled. "They were seeds… not the tree."
Silence.
Then the Grand Patriarch finally understood. "The more we kill… the more we complete the cycle. The seal we laid was meant to hold the bloodline's fragments dormant. Not destroyed. It's too strong....cannot be killed.Now…"
He didn't finish.
Because somewhere in the center of the cosmic web, the real Errin—the true vessel—stood in stillness.
Eyes closed.
Listening.
Feeling every death.
Weeping not in grief, but in understanding.
He wasn't meant to be one.
He was many.He was the awakening vessel.
And their deaths were forging his path to resurrection.
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