Earth's Greatest Magus

Chapter 2632: Deva

Klea stood motionless, heart pounding, eyes locked on the glowing figure that now stood behind Damo. The moment she saw it, Klea knew—this was the technique Ashaka had spoken of.

During their days at the Magus Academy, she had often studied alongside Ashaka. The wise abbot rarely spoke of his own cultivation, but there was one sacred technique he once revealed to her—a technique he’d spent centuries refining.

A technique born of silence and peace.

He called it Deva Awakening, a divine counterbalance to the Asura Awakening. While Asura invoked wrath and death, Deva was meant to manifest serenity and transcendence. Yet Ashaka had never succeeded in mastering it.

Because to summon the Deva… one had to reach absolute inner peace.

Ashaka bore the burdens of his past and could only ever summon Asura—the wrathful god of death. But now… Klea saw that his disciple had achieved what even he could not.

Damo, the youngest among them, had succeeded.

Behind him hovered a glowing, seated figure draped in golden light, calm and benevolent, emanating warmth that stilled even the chaotic wind. It sat upon a lotus throne, hands folded in eternal prayer, and in its presence… the battlefield changed.

The violent melody of Hera’s technique faded. The shrieking harmonics of her feathers fell silent. Even the puppets—five martial masters—froze mid-charge, their monstrous Asura forms faltering beneath the Deva’s light.

A warm glow spread through the arena like morning mist breaking through a storm.

The audience gasped. The air trembled.

Hera’s lips parted. Her skin paled.

Damo lowered his hand.

And then—a pulse of holy light.

The five puppets were thrown backward, not by force. By something older and deeper than power. What followed next stunned even the gods.

Damo didn’t attack.

He chanted.

A sacred [Sutra], his voice clear and solemn, echoed through the silent coliseum. Each word reverberated like the toll of a celestial bell. One by one, the notes of Hera’s cursed melody were overtaken. The feathers no longer sang in madness; they were drowned out by prayer.

A spirit attack—not born of rage, but of clarity.

Hera clutched her head. “No… NO! GET OUT OF MY MIND!!”

Then came the shock.

The puppets… turned.

One by one, the five Asura-formed monks turned their gaze toward Hera. And charged.

“Impossible!!” she screamed.

A storm of fists and strikes flew her way as she desperately conjured barriers and spirit shields.

“Get away from me!” Hera shrieked.

Desperation surged through her as she lashed out with full force, unleashing her Full Moon Realm. Her divine energy exploded outward in radiant waves as she struck down the first puppet with a spear of condensed spirit energy. But before she could catch her breath, another puppet lunged—then another.

She was under siege by her own army.

The crowd was confused, murmurs rising like waves.

“What’s happening?”

“Why are the puppets attacking her?!”

Even the Kronos magus looked bewildered.

Klea narrowed her eyes. She understood what had happened.

The medium of Hera’s magic was not raw spirit—it was melody. Her Feathers of Omniscience operated through sound, using harmonic resonance to invade minds, extract memories, and replicate forms. That was the secret. And Ashaka must have uncovered it. His final sacrifice had not been in vain.

In his final moments, the abbot had passed that knowledge to Damo.

Now, Damo’s Sutra Chant, empowered by the radiant Deva Awakening, had disrupted the very frequency on which Hera’s technique functioned. Her feathers, no longer channels of dominance, had become instruments of backlash.

It overrode the control… and turned it against her.

Hera fought back with everything she had. Her spirit energy flared violently as she destroyed puppet after puppet—yet they kept coming. Their forms began to shift.

And worse… their forms began to change again.

This time… they weren’t martial masters.

“No…” Hera’s voice trembled. Her pupils shrank in horror. “Not you… You’re dead… You can’t be real!”

The arena hushed as the forms took shape. Familiar, terrifying.

These were not illusions of Damo’s making. They were shadows from Hera’s past—her own enemies, long vanquished but never forgotten. Old rivals, betrayed allies. Victims.

Ghosts of her past rose— Some brought memories of bloodshed, others humiliation.

She fought them all.

Screaming. Flailing.

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!!!”

Gasps filled the arena. The crowd looked on in disbelief.

All eyes locked onto Hera, once proud, untouchable Queen of Kronos, being dismantled by her demons; she flailed in madness. She struck down one, only to be met with another. Her techniques grew sloppy. Her form, erratic. She was spiraling—mentally and physically.

“No… no more…” Hera shrieked, stumbling back. Her hands trembled. “I am sorry… I was wrong… I was wrong!“

This was Damo’s retaliation, a spiritual technique that reached into the soul like her own Feathers of Omniscience once did… but instead of pride, it revealed regret.

And now, Hera was drowning in it.

Zeus, seated high in the divine box, could watch no longer. Not of the pain his wife was having, but the humiliation.

“Withdraw! You’ve done enough!”

But she couldn’t hear him. Her mind was elsewhere, trapped in a cacophony of regret and fear. Zeus turned toward Hermes and Iris, his voice thunderous. “End it!” he barked. “Stop the match!”

Hermes hesitated. So did Iris. It went against the rules of the duel. But he still follows Zeus’ command, preparing to signal the end—

“It seems our queen can no longer—”

But before he could finish, a voice rang out at once.

All three Magisters of the Alliance stood in unison.

Their voices, like cold stone, overrode Zeus himself.

“The rules shall be followed.”

Zeus turned toward the VIP platform. There sat Grand Overseer Olberyn, sipping from his cup with a smile playing on his lips. The twinkle in his eye was unmistakable—it was he who made the three magisters move.

“Damn it…” Zeus growled under his breath.

There was nothing he or his father could do.

The queen of Kronos continued fighting, her golden robes torn, blood streaking her lips, her hair disheveled. One by one, she shattered the puppets—only for more to appear. She was physically exhausted, mentally shattered.

Until finally…

The chanting stopped.

Damo lowered his hands. The Deva’s glow faded gently into mist.

Hera collapsed to her knees.

Tears welled in her eyes. “No more… no more… I… surrender.”

A hush fell over the coliseum. The healing team rushed forward to carry Hera away, her once majestic form now trembling like a broken vessel.

Iris raised her hand.

“Victory… Earth faction!”