The Sinful Young Master-Chapter 136: Two violent forces

Johamma rushed to Jolthar’s side, her movements swift. She was concerned about Jolthar.

He lay sprawled on the ground, his body battered and broken from the brutal clash with Dakrasuer.

Blood stained his clothes and pooled beneath him, seeping from wounds that crisscrossed his arms, chest, and face. His breathing was ragged, each exhale accompanied by a faint wheeze.

The divine aura was brutal towards Jolthar, and if he was still alive thanks to his immortal physique, if not, he would burst into a million pieces under Dakrasuer’s intense aura.

Despite his condition, Jolthar’s eyes remained sharp, his defiance undiminished. The chaos aura and voidwrath energy were two distinct forces, and Jolthar used them together. The effect of the attacks had been huge, and they hurt him as well.

The clash of energies within his body had taken a toll, and the strain was evident in the way his muscles trembled and his hands clenched tightly.

"Jolthar," Johamma said, her voice steady but tinged with a motherly warmth that was rare for her. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension in his battered frame.

She could feel the pain on his face and tried to sense the aura inside his body.

With a quick glance, she could detect the energies running rampant in his body.

Jolthar gritted his teeth, the effort of keeping his voidwrath contained evident in the veins bulging along his neck. "I… I can’t let it… lose control," he managed to rasp, his voice hoarse from the strain. His body shuddered as another wave of pain wracked him, and he let out a choked groan.

Johamma’s sharp eyes scanned his injuries, her hands already glowing with a soft, golden light as she channelled her own divine remnants to aid him.

She pressed her palms against his chest, sending a wave of warmth through his body. She helped him in controlling his energies; chaos aura receding, and voidwrath was slowly becoming stable.

"You’re a stubborn fool," Johamma muttered, though her tone held an undercurrent of pride. "Even in this state, you’re fighting against yourself. Do you think this makes you stronger?"

Jolthar’s lips curled into a faint, pained smirk. "Since when do you care about me?"

Johamma huffed, her hand briefly pausing on his shoulder. She remained silent; she knew it was true.

She resumed her healing efforts, her brow furrowing as she concentrated. Jolthar’s body slowly relaxed under her touch, the tension in his muscles easing. Yet, she could feel the residual chaos and void energies still clashing deep within him, like a storm barely held at bay.

"You’ve done enough," Johamma said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. "Let me handle the rest."

Jolthar’s eyes flickered open, meeting hers with a mix of exhaustion and stubborn resolve. "No," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t need your help."

Johamma’s expression stiffened. "Do you want to die?"

Jolthar let out a shaky breath, his body finally beginning to succumb to the sheer exhaustion and pain. The voidwrath within him pulsed one last time before retreating deeper into his core, leaving him drained but stable.

Johamma glanced around, her sharp eyes taking in the battlefield.

The red mages had retreated momentarily, regrouping after the chaos caused by Dakrasuer’s sudden appearance.

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Gods—beings of incomprehensible power, their existence shrouded in ancient myths and whispered tales.

In the Midland realms, they were nothing more than legends, stories etched into the walls of forgotten temples and sung in the hymns of fading faiths. Their presence in this plane was unheard of, a mere impossibility that mortal minds dared not entertain.

Yet now, against all reason and belief, a god stood among them. His presence was palpable, suffocating, and impossible to ignore.

Dakrasuer’s presence—they all felt it, and it was an unbelievable thing for everyone.

It was known to everyone that gods stopped visiting the midlands since ancient times, and they never came directly, in their own form. Gods standing at the peak, above the deities, are the pinnacle of existence.

And there was an unbreakable rule about deities or gods not involving themselves in the affairs of the mortals. They were to never kill or harm humans in any way. It was a rule that had been practised for generations and years long. But today they all had been broken.

Dakrasuer was dragged towards the heavens for that reason alone. He was a lesser god but an influential one at that. Read exclusive content at novelbuddy

Segarus stood still, his usual composure shaken by the turn of events.

His gaze was drawn toward Jolthar, who lay injured but defiant, the flickering remnants of voidwrath still pulsing faintly around him.

Everyone’s attention followed Segarus’ line of sight, converging on Jolthar.

Even Caelum, battered but now recovered, stood beside his nephew, his eyes narrowed with curiosity. He didn’t know that Jolthar wielded such power, to stand against a god, it was no easy feat, not even all his children could do it.

The tension was broken by a sudden and powerful disturbance in the air.

A deep, guttural roar reverberated through the skies, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. Heads snapped upward and gasps rippled through the crowd as a massive shadow descended from the clouds.

It was the drake, Maelruth, Jolthar’s companion. With scales that shimmered like molten metal and wings that spanned the sky, the drake was a force of nature incarnate.

Its eyes burned with a fierce intelligence, and its every movement exuded raw, untamed power. The winds howled as it descended in a spiral, the sheer force of its approach sending debris scattering across the battlefield.

The drake landed with a thunderous impact, the ground trembling beneath its claws. Dust and smoke billowed around it, partially obscuring its form. When the haze cleared, the drake stood towering over Caelum and Johamma, his presence as awe-inspiring as it was terrifying.

The creature’s gaze locked onto Jolthar, and a guttural, resonant growl escaped its throat. It was a sound of both fury and sorrow, a primal expression of loyalty to its master. The drake lowered its head, nudging Jolthar gently as though urging him to rise.