The Epic of the Disc Chapter 70: Family Reunion 8

Chapter 70: Family Reunion 8

The arrows dropped, crashing into him and his father. Dust coated the field like the world had decided to bury them both early. And again, Shiro pulled it all toward him—every grain, every shard, every piece of broken ground—and fired an arrow much bigger than the last.

It ripped through his father.

Clean through. Chest. Spine. Out the other side.

But it was not use.

His father’s body just knit itself back together. Pulling, stitching, rebuilding like he was made of sothing that had forgotten how to stay broken.

’I guess he really can’t die.’

’Cool. Love that for .’

Then his father looked at Shiro. And laughed.

But the tone was wrong. Shiro didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t the proud laugh from earlier. This was sothing else entirely. Sothing lighter. Sothing free. And that scared him more than anything else tonight had.

"Look at this," he said, admiring his own body like a man trying on a suit he’d been waiting years to wear. "I finally regained my godhood. Regained what the gods took from ." He smiled. Not the beastly grin. Not the predator’s smirk. An actual, genuine, peaceful smile. "He was the last thing that tethered

to my humanity."

He spread his arms wide, palms open to the sky like he was greeting an old friend.

"I’m finally able to let go of my earthly bound"

The words hit Shiro one at a ti. Slowly. Like stones dropping into still water.

He. Kuro. His own son. Was a tether. A chain. Sothing to be let go of.

And his father had just watched him die and called it freedom.

"You knew this whole ti it was Kuro," Shiro said. His voice ca out flat. Quiet. The kind of quiet that was one wrong word away from becoming sothing very, very loud.

"I know everything that happens on this island." His father’s voice was calm. Unbothered. Like they were talking about the tide and not the son whose blood was still warm on Shiro’s hands. "The island and I are linked. The mont you stepped on this ground, I knew it."

A pause.

"I just didn’t care."

Shiro couldn’t look at the man anymore. His head dropped, gaze falling to the floor. To the dirt. To the dried blood that wasn’t his.

"You did all this for what?" He forced his gaze back up to his father. "Revenge?"

"Yeah!" He said it with excitent. Like a kid who’d just been told they were going to an amusent park and not a man standing over the corpse of his own son—celebrating the fact that he’d used his death as a stepping stone.

"Now I can rebuild this clan. Create an army of demigods."

’Rei, you were right. Revenge does make one ugly. So ugly.’

He looked at his father. At the smile. At the excitent. At the joy radiating off a man who had just lost everything human about himself and was thrilled about it.

’Is this what I would have beco? If I kept going down that road? Is this what revenge looks like at the end of it?’

"So I’m guessing you can’t really die now, since I’m the only one left." A slight pause. "Is that true?"

"Yes!" He shouted it with the kind of excitent that made Shiro’s skin crawl. Arms spread. Eyes bright. Grinning like the whole world had just been handed to him on a platter. "Now not even the gods can stop

this ti!"

"Good," Shiro muttered, sounding almost relieved.

"Huh?" His father’s face shifted. The smile, the excitent, gone. Replaced with confusion. "What—"

Shiro moved.

He closed the distance in a blink—before the word could even finish leaving his father’s mouth. His palm pressed flat against the man’s face, fingers digging in, gripping tight.

"That’s good," he said quietly. "Now I can test out so of my theory."

He slamd him into the ground.

The earth trembled. Cracks spiderwebbed outward from the impact like the island itself had flinched.

He hopped on top of him and drove his fist into his father’s face. Again. And again. And again. No rhythm. No technique. Just good old fist to face.

His father tried to use his hands to push Shiro away, but he just slapped them aside—like they were an inconvenience and not the hands of an immortal demigod.

At the sa ti, the ground around them shifted, dirt and stone crawling up and locking around his father’s arms, sealing them in place.

Shiro kept going. Fist after fist. Every hit landing with a sound that made the air wince.

Lightning exploded out of his father’s body, arcing through Shiro’s arms, his chest, his jaw. But that didn’t stop him.

Instead, he stood up and brought his leg down. One devastating stomp straight into his father’s face.

Lightning clawed at his father’s arms. The stone shackles cracked. He ripped one arm free with a roar that shook the mountain and reached for Shiro.

Shiro moved. Fast.

His father’s massive arms swung past him and crashed together, palms eting in a clap that sent a shockwave rippling through the night. The sound was deafening, echoing across the island.

"You sohow got stronger again," his father muttered as he pushed himself up, cracking his neck like this was a mild inconvenience. "So tell , boy. What na did you go by in your past life?" The question ca out less like a question and more like a command.

Shiro almost laughed.

Almost.

"Not only is a house pet of a god stepping on the sa ground as ," he said—voice cold, venomous, dripping with the kind of arrogance that would’ve made kings uncomfortable—"but he has the nerve to ask my na."

"Feel blessed that I even let you breathe the sa air as ."

Lightning danced across his father’s body. "The only reason you’re still alive is because I need to know where Ishtar is sealed." His jaw clenched so hard the words barely made it out. "Talk."

Shiro laughed. Which, as survival strategies go, was probably the worst one available. But he couldn’t help it. Because here was a man who was all-knowing, saw through everything, yet failed to see when he was being played like a cheap fiddle.

"You idiot." He wiped his mouth. "She doesn’t want you. She only wants you to free her so she can chase . So she can be with ." He grinned. "She’s only using you to get to . Why do you think she picked you as her champion? Because she wanted you to have godly kids. Stronger vessels for

to be born into."

"Who are you?" His father’s voice ca out low, growling, wondering what kind of creature he’d raised that he could lose to it.

"She wants

because I can’t be controlled. Can’t be tad." Shiro tilted his head. "Unlike a certain god I know."

"Who are you?!" He roared it this ti. The wind bent around the words like even the air was afraid of the answer.

Shiro looked at him. Calm. Cold. Every trace of the sarcastic kid gone, replaced by sothing older. Sothing ancient. Sothing that had sat on thrones before this man’s first life had even begun.

"So call

king. So call

god." A pause. "But you may call

master, you vermin."

"Shut up," his father’s voice rumbled. "Before I do it for you."

Shiro kept going. Because keeping his mouth shut had never been his strong suit, and he wasn’t about to start now.

"Even if you kill , it won’t matter. Because you’ll live with the truth that you were her second choice. You will always be her little errand boy."

And that was enough.

Because the next thing Shiro saw was nothing. His father moved with the kind of speed that lightning would’ve been jealous of—closing the gap so fast that Shiro’s eyes couldn’t even pretend to follow.

His fist went through Shiro’s stomach.

Through the other side.

’Oh. That worked a bit too well.’

"I guess I’ll just gift her your lifeless body then," his father hissed, lifting Shiro into the air on his arm like a trophy he hadn’t decided what to do with yet. He pulled him closer, until their faces were inches apart. "Run that big mouth again, grandson."

A smile tugged at the corner of Shiro’s lips. Wider. Wider. Almost ear to ear. The kind of smile that had absolutely no business being on a man with a fist-sized hole through his torso.

"And she’ll still love my lifeless body more than you."

Because if he couldn’t cut the beast with a dagger, there was a different way to kill an unkillable creature. Poison. And if he couldn’t deliver it through his blade, he was going to deliver it the old-fashioned way.

Before his father could respond—before he could fling him aside like every other ti—Shiro spat. A mouthful of blood, thick and dark and laced with sothing far worse than iron, hit his father directly in the eyes.

His father flung him sideways. Shiro hit the ground hard, his hands pressed against his stomach, holding everything in place that was trying very hard to not be in place anymore.

But he watched. Eyes half-shut, body broken, grin still plastered on his face.

His father stumbled. Grabbed at his eyes. Then scread.

Not a roar. Not a battle cry. A scream. The kind of sound you never expect to hear from a so-called god. The sound of invincibility cracking.

"Hydra’s venom," he shrieked, rolling on the ground, clawing at his own face. "How?!"

[Passive Skill: Limitless — Activated]

[You have sustained damage.]

[Your body grew stronger.]

’Thanks. Real helpful as always.’

Shiro’s grin softened. Quiet now. Satisfied. The grin of a man who’d played his last card and it was the right one.

"I did it," he said softly.

Then his face hit the ground.????????????????????????????????