Heaven's Eyes

Mind's Void

Back in his world, Emmet blinked. A warm breeze drifted through the window.

No one had noticed he’d vanished. Time hadn’t moved.

But he had changed.

His vision was sharper. His reactions, faster. His senses were almost too vivid. And that strange bond with Jack… and the third presence, it still felt like it pulsed within him.

After eating, he felt ready.

He made his way to the martial field.

Something told him his transformation had only begun.

Peh... peh...

That heartbeat again. Not his own. Faint, pulsing behind his 3rd eye.

The being inside him, ancient, watching, still working.

His bloodline was changing.

At the training field, Emmet went through the motions of his core fist technique.

And then

“Hah! You actually showed up, turtle-boy!”

That mocking voice.

Emmet grimaced. He recognized it immediately.

Marcus Reid.

Big. Loud. Arrogant. And always looking for a spotlight.

A group of trainees turned to watch, sensing drama.

Emmet clenched his fists.

He remembered the last time. A one-move duel.

Guess we’re doing this again.

“Emmet Rowan!” Marcus called. “One move. That’s all I’ll need.”

His body shifted posture, tightening, coiling low. Like a serpent.

Suddenly, Emmet felt it was nefarious

Sending a chill down his skin.

“Wait a second…” someone whispered. “That’s… Serpent Coil Style; Thirteen Forms!”

Gasps rippled across the field.

“That’s a top-tier technique!”

“But second-stage disciples only get mid-tier access. How the hell does he know that?”

“His grandfather’s a sect elder,” someone muttered.

It made sense.

Elite technique. Unfair advantage.

Emmet exhaled slowly.

He hadn’t even reached the second stage. He shouldn’t be able to counter this.

But he wasn’t the same Emmet anymore.

Peh… peh…

His 3rd eye pulsed.

A low thrill buzzed through him as the heartbeat behind his 3rd eye intensified. He locked in a gaze, narrowing like a lens.

No one noticed, but his irises gleamed faintly violet.

Shoosh.

The world transformed.

Marcus’s body enlarged in his vision, every tendon, breath, and twitch magnified. Emmet could see the way his energy built, the flaw in his left shoulder, the hesitation in his hip.

Time didn’t slow.

He sped up.

Marcus flinched. His body reacted instinctively to that gaze, as if it had been dissected.

“Third Form Serpent Lunge!”

Marcus struck. Fast. Lethal. A blur of venomous precision.

His fingers, sharp like fangs, blurred forward.

Too fast for most eyes.

But not Emmet’s.

Pah!

Emmet’s fist crashed into Marcus’s arm at the exact moment of impact.

Marcus’s body seized. The strike collapsed. His eyes widened in shock.

Whoosh

A follow-up punch slammed into his gut.

Marcus flew, flipping backward and landing hard with a grunt.

Silence.

Shouts broke out.

“What the…!?”

“No way…”

“One move,” he said, calm and cool. “You’ve lost.”

Emmet stood still, stunned. The shock and excitement on his face were impossible to hide.

I won? In one move?

Before the duel, he’d been confident that the enhancements from his new 3rd eye, his improved reflexes, and vision would help him block at least one of Marcus Reid’s strikes. If he played it smart, maybe he could survive ten exchanges.

But this? Winning in a single move?

That had never crossed his mind.

Marcus’s attack had been incredibly fast to most of the spectators. But to Emmet’s 3rd eye, every motion was crystal clear.

And when he pushed the eye’s ability to its limit, Marcus’s supposedly lethal technique seemed… slow. Sloppy, even.

Worse, he saw flaws in the technique.

Flaws.

In a high-ranking martial art.

Emmet didn’t understand it himself. How could he pick up on those flaws so easily? Maybe Marcus hadn’t fully mastered the skill. Maybe there were gaps in the execution.

Whatever the reason, Emmet’s body reacted instinctively, like it had with the fly.

One clean counter.

One decisive blow.

And victory.

Hua!

Gasps spread across the martial arts field like wildfire.

“Did I see that right? Marcus Reid was the one who lost!”

“No doubt about it! He lost!”

The Riverstone Sect disciples stared, eyes wide, expressions twisted in disbelief.

“How… how is this possible?” Marcus muttered, stunned. “How did I lose to him?”

He had no idea what had just happened.

Neither did Emmet.

The disbelief on their faces matched.

“It must’ve been a fluke!”

Seeing Marcus frozen, the disciples around him quickly pieced together a comfortable explanation.

“Yeah, pure luck. The guy probably just reacted at the perfect moment by accident.”

“No way someone at his level could really beat Marcus with one move.”

“Fluke. Definitely a fluke.”

Most nodded in agreement. The idea that Emmet could win legitimately didn’t sit well with them.

“Luck?” Emmet gave a small smile and turned to walk away.

“Hey! Don’t move!”

Marcus clutched his stomach and forced himself to stand. His expression turned dark.

“You got lucky, Emmet. That’s the only reason you won. Fight me again!”

“Fight again?” Emmet raised an eyebrow.

“First of all, you’re injured. Second, I have better things to do.”

He turned without waiting for a reply, heading to the far side of the martial arts field, leaving behind a group of dumbfounded students.

“Damn it! Once I’ve recovered, I’ll perfect my Serpent Coil Forms. Then we’ll see who wins.”

Marcus turned and stalked off, rage simmering behind his eyes.

As he thought back over the match, Marcus came up with his own list of reasons for the loss:

First, he underestimated his opponent.

Second, he’d only learned the first three forms of Serpent Coil Style: Thirteen Forms. His technique was incomplete and rough.

Third... Emmet just got too damn lucky.

On the other side of the martial arts field, Emmet resumed his training.

The reason I won that last fight was mostly because Marcus underestimated me, and his technique was still incomplete. That gave me the opening to spot the flaws...

Emmet understood exactly why he had managed to win.

Next time, Marcus wouldn’t make the same mistake. And if he perfected the first three forms of Serpent Coil Style, Emmet wasn’t sure he’d survive another match.

The gap between the first and second ranks of the Martial Path was simply too wide.

The Martial Path had nine ranks in total. The first three were known as the “Power Ranks,” focused on building raw strength and solid foundations.

The difference in force between the first and second rank alone was nearly 220 pounds.

So for someone like Emmet, still at first rank, to defeat a second-rank opponent in a single strike… it had been nothing short of shocking.

If I want to keep up… I need to get stronger fast.

He exhaled sharply and began practicing Molten Steel Gauntlet once more.

First move.

Second move.

Third...

Each motion flowed more smoothly than ever before, as if his body finally understood what it was doing.

Hah!

Finishing the final technique, Emmet felt his blood pumping like wildfire. He’d completed all 32 moves in a single breath. His execution was faster and more powerful than it had ever been.

He could feel the heat rising in his veins.

Peh. Peh...

And at the same time, his 3rd eye beat rhythmically again, like a second heart.

Closing them, Emmet let his consciousness sink back into the black void behind his eyes.

There it was.

At the center of that dimension, the faint purple light. Before, it had only been a dim glow about two feet across. But now… it had grown brighter, longer. He also noticed a button similar to the one he saw in Jack’s consciousness.

Could the power of my 3rd eye be tied directly to my physical strength?

The thought felt true. The power had already shifted the course of his life: it had let him defeat Marcus, and now it was helping him master his techniques faster than ever before.

Again.

Emmet’s gaze sharpened as he dove back into the Molten Steel Gauntlet routine.

Hu. Hu. Hu...

Faster and faster, his fists blurred in the air. His strikes linked perfectly, each move flowing into the next like water.

By the third cycle, his speed had doubled, and the force behind each strike had surged.

He could feel it in his blood—the circulation was smoother, his body tougher, his stamina rising.

At this rate, I might reach the second rank in just a few days…

The improvement was undeniable.

He trained until nightfall, then wiped the sweat from his face and headed home.

Even then, his mind remained on the transformation in his 3rd eye.

To continue my bloodlines, you 3 will rule all, command every race. You lucky one—do not disappoint me...

The memory of that ancient voice echoed in his mind.

That eye… it might’ve come from some ancient, god-like being. And somehow, it fused with mine.

Even in the dark, when he opened his eyes, he could still see everything outside. Night offered no disadvantage anymore. Birds several miles away were visible, clear as day.

That night, lying on his bed, his 3rd eye released a subtle heat that merged into his blood.

He drifted to sleep under that strange sensation.

The next morning

Emmet woke with a stretch and walked out into the courtyard to begin his morning training.

This place is too small, too rundown. When I get stronger, I’ll build my parents a real home…

He took a deep breath and launched into the 32-move Molten Steel Gauntlet once again.

Hu. Hu. Hu…

Each punch whistled through the air with heavy force.

But as he threw a few more strikes, he paused.

Something felt… different.

His blood surged. His body felt electric.

Every punch now carried 552 pounds of force.

What…?

His fists were glowing faintly red from the exertion. Then

Ka! Ka! Ka!

One punch slammed into a thick tree branch it exploded into fragments.

No way… this isn't the strength of a first-rank cultivator. Could it be…?