The Throes of Prophecy

[The Bhalian Empire]

A beam of iridescent, drilling force erupted from the vortex of the strike. ..It didn't just travel toward G'hor; it erased the distance between them as if the space in between had never existed, as though the universe itself decided that the Mazoku's existence and Kin's attack should occupy the same moment in time..

The attack carried the compartmentalized weight of G'hor's own power, multiplied by the soul-eating hunger of the Void Pyre and the kinetic snap of the universe itself returning to its natural state. It was betrayal weaponized, art perverted into annihilation...

..and as the spiraling beam of Judgment converged on the Mazoku, Kin opened his eyes. The cyan and fuchsia light reflected in his violet pupils—a cold, ancient gaze witnessing the exact moment a legend met its match. Should the blow land, G'hor would find that even his mighty physical form would be decimated from the chest down...

The spiraling beam of Judgment descended upon G’hor like a celestial spear cast from the hand of a wrathful god, erasing the distance between predator and prey in a single impossible instant. The atmosphere shrieked around the blistering vortex of Kin's abyssal strike, roaring with the concentrated force of G’hor’s own power turned against him.

Yet even then—G’hor stood firm.

Not because he lacked the speed to evade.. Though truthfully, even the mighty Executioner barely had enough time to comprehend the horror racing toward him before it arrived.

No, G'hor remained where he stood because to retreat from an enemy’s attack would have been an admission of weakness.. And Mazoku did not yield ground before lesser beings.

Instinct alone drove his massive arms upward moments before the arcane strike collided against him. And the world buckled beneath the apocalyptic force of impact.

A colossal pillar of cyan, fuchsia, and abyssal black erupted across the battlefield as shockwaves tore over the continent in oscillating rings of annihilation. Mountains were torn apart beneath the pressure while the heavens overhead were peeled open in spiraling layers, exposing glimpses of the dark void lurking beyond the atmosphere itself.

All of Qiyoto vanished beneath the radiance.. And all the while, G’hor suffered at the epicenter of the hellish light show.

The beam drove him downward with enough force to rupture the crust beneath the city before hurling his colossal frame violently across the ruined districts. His body skidded along its back through shattered towers and collapsing streets, carving an enormous blood streaked canyon through the remains of Qiyoto while molten debris erupted skyward in his wake.

Then—Silence.

Nothing but smoke and ash rose from the ruined trench where G’hor finally came to a halt. The Executioner’s armor had been almost entirely obliterated. Ancient plates once forged to withstand cataclysmic impacts now hung melted and ruined from his frame like smoldering slag. One of his massive arms had been pierced clean through, exposing shattered bone and torn sinew beneath ruined flesh.

Entire portions of his torso had been blasted away altogether, revealing mangled organs and steaming musculature beneath layers of charred fur.

Hardly a groan escaped his muzzle.. but still, he didn't move. His injuries were.. significant. Any other creature that chose to challenge Kinslayer's unmitigated wrath would have been reduced to vapor. And yet, as he remained still— his body fluctuating with residual bolts of dark energy from the Void Pyre, Ghor's flesh began to move on its own.

Muscle fibers slowly began reconnecting strand by strand beneath the open wounds. Fractured bone regenerated with violent audible cracks while rivers of naten surged upward directly from the ashened soil beneath his feet and through his veins like molten steel.

Through Shinjutsu, the planet itself nourished and restored his monstrous physiology at a truly terrifying speed.

And then, G’hor stood..

Slowly and calmly, as though the devastation inflicted upon his body had merely been an inconvenience. But even still… the metaphysical scars he endured couldnt be ignored.

Kinslayer’s attack had not merely wounded flesh. It had carved into the Mazoku’s spirit itself.

And for the first time since arriving upon Edo, Rao's lips curled into a smile. It was faint. Subtle smirk, but his amusement was unmistakable.

"Unprecedented…” Rao murmured, his deep voice reverberating through the shattered skyline like distant thunder. To wound a Mazoku Executioner to such a degree—even accounting for their regenerative capabilities—was a feat so absurd entire civilizations would immortalize it in scripture.

But Kinslayer had accomplished something even greater than physical injury. Rao could sense the scars left upon G’hor’s spiritual body. The invisible lacerations still festering beneath the surface of his soul. It was enough to force the mighty titan of war into a defensive, almost vulnerable position.

A feat that earned recognition from both of these foreign juggernauts.. whether their mouths confessed it or not.

Far across the ruined battlefield, G’hor rolled his shoulder once as the last of his wounds sealed shut beneath regenerated flesh. Dark currents of power still curled from his body in thick bolts while remnants of ruined armor fell from his frame in burning fragments.

Then, slowly, his freshly massive hand rose toward the metallic muzzle covering his maw.

Immediately, Rao’s expression shifted.

“Oh…” he muttered beneath his breath as his smile widened into something restrained and wicked. "..so you have decided."

Rao understood the meaning instantly.

Once he removed his restraints, Ghor's muzzle fell away from his face with a heavy metallic clang that echoed across the broken remains of Qiyoto. And revealed beneath it rows upon rows of monstrous fangs lining a maw seemingly built not for speech, but slaughter and destruction. The very air around G’hor’s grizzled jaw distorted faintly, as though reality itself anticipated what was coming next..

The Primordial Roar.

The Mazoku’s greatest weapon.

A force so devastating that its invocation rendered conventional combat meaningless. A single scream possessed enough destructive force to reduce cities to ash, rupture souls from bodies, and transform entire regions into spiritual wastelands..

But among the Mazoku—To invoke it in single combat carried far deeper meaning than devastation alone.

It was.. symbolic. An act of acknowledgement and recognition.

G’hor hailed Kinslayer as a foe worthy of nothing short of his absolute, full strength.

Rao’s golden eyes narrowed with visible intrigue. “…At last,” he said slowly, his voice tinged with something dangerously close to admiration. “A worthy opponent.”

The pressure around Rao thickened as his gaze remained fixed upon Kin across the devastated battlefield.

“You should feel honored, outsider,” Rao declared. “Your strength will be immortalized in B’halian scripture.”

Rao’s eyes narrowed with visible intrigue, and a faint grin spread across his face. “As will your death.”

However, just as Rao's fixation upon the unfolding confrontation began to peak, something else began clawing at his senses— a violent spike of naten that erupted across the horizon.

Rao’s gaze begrudgingly shifted at last toward the distant ruins where he had discarded Hiroshi Yaarou moments earlier. And a flicker of confusion spread across his expression.

Impossible.

He had killed the human.. The wet streaks of crimson stained along his knuckles gave proof to the fact. Yet the energy rising from the city below continued multiplying at an exponential rate.. mocking him further and further.

Then, as Rao focused more carefully upon the source of this violent gesyer of power— a faint crimson glyph silently manifested across the center of his forehead. It settled into his flesh without resistance and entirely beyond his knowledge, but it was at that moment that his gaze finally caught him.

Hiroshi Yaarou was alive and well, and the Mazoku's expression darkened immediately. "Incessant creature."

He exhaled slowly through his nose before flexing one of his massive hands into a fist. A benign gesture that seemed to affect the atmosphere around him, as if it were threatening to collapse inward from the sheer pressure of his intent alone

“You will learn your place,” Rao said quietly before he launched forward at miraculous speeds— slicing through the heavens themselves as he tore toward Hiroshi’s position like a living comet of murderous intent.

And this time, his strike would not be casual. His fist not curbed by boredom or mercy.. This time, Rao intended to rip the sorcerer’s head from his shoulders, and crush whatever remained within his fist.

[Kinslayer]

When the beam of "Judgement" made landfall, the city of Qiyoto ceased to be a geographical location and became a memory etched in fire. Then came the sound—not of one body breaking, but of an entire city block vaporizing. The impact crater spread outward from G'hor's position like a flower of annihilation, consuming the structures of Qiyoto in a sphere of pure destruction. Stone dissolved. Steel evaporated. The very earth itself was reduced to atomic debris, carried away on winds that had become blades. Kin, suspended in the roiling thermals of the aftermath, watched the conflagration with a detached, divine coldness. Where Kin half expected G'hor to find some method of fleeing, some way of avoiding the piercing beam of devastation, instead, he watched the Executioner meet the full force of his technique head on.

No shield.

No sidestep.

No desperate last-minute deflection.

The Mazoku stood as the cataclysm struck his massive frame, and for one breathless moment, the world became nothing but light.

As the dust began to settle, revealing a landscape of molten glass and weeping shadows, Kin saw him. G’hor’s ancient, ornate armor—forged in the crucibles of a forgotten age—was sloughing off his frame in glowing, liquid sheets. Massive portions of his physical form had been vaporized; ribs of obsidian-like bone were exposed, and his left arm was nothing more than a charred stump trailing wisps of ethereal smoke.

"He actually... tanked Judgement?" Kin whispered.

The word 'tanked' felt inadequate. What Kin witnessed defied his understanding of durability. The Executioner's ancient armor—the same armor that had survived eons of conflict, that had crushed civilizations beneath its weight—had been stripped away like moth-eaten cloth. Where the dense metallic plating had once covered G'hor's form, now there was only scarred and smoldering flesh, exposed to the acrid air. The right arm hung at an impossible angle, the bone clearly shattered in a dozen places. Half of the horned helm had been sheared clean away, revealing beneath it flesh that was already bubbling and reforming, knitting itself back together with sickening rapidity.

It was mind-boggling to say the least. Kin knew of the power of regeneration; he himself possessed an uncanny divine means of restoring his form after fatal injury. But he had also quite literally devoured a god to obtain that perk—a bargain that cost him nearly everything, a sacrifice that had forever altered the architecture of his soul. Something that he had fought for, bled for, damned himself for came so naturally to the Mazoku. As if they had been chosen by the planet itself, as if the world itself bent to preserve their existence.

Their power he could respect.

Their resolve he could admire.

Had they chosen any other land to sully than Edo, the one he called home, he might have actually applauded their strength. But something...something nagged at Kin the moment he laid eyes on the two executioners. After the mires of dirt and rubble were cleared from G'hor's rambunctious landing. The way they refused to speak with Hiroshi, barely acknowledging his existence, and yet spoke to Kin with something akin to recognition—something that could be mistaken for respect.

Something...something infuriating about that interaction disturbed him in ways that reached his bones, a feeling he could not shake.

It was the same look of dismissal, of devaluing another based on prejudice, on bigotry. The same expression Zeroken and his son Iwa had worn in their final moments. The way the Owaki once looked at the Shi clan...the very same way the Yaarou continued to look upon him, even as they cowered away in fear of his power. Still, that look of 'less than' could not be warded off from their eyes. As if by coming here, he proved them all right, that the Shi were dangerous and should've all been slain without fail.

Once he recognized that glint of xenophobic ideology, he was forced to glance at his own hand, outstretched before him. B'halia's entire war campaign had been based on their hate of humanity, the view that humans were a stain ruining the planet—specks of filth deserving nothing but total eradication. That they would ignore Hiroshi and address him would mean only one thing.

The confirmation of something Kin had thought he had made internal peace with.

The Mazoku did not see Kinslayer as human.

That was the point, wasn't it? Of everything he had done up until this point...wasn't it? Merging with Kuroi Ryu, embedding the AIONS into his very bones...Yin's death...

Kinslayer, even as a child, when the Nether Serpent was sealed behind the myriad mental and spiritual seals in place to keep it bound—still, Kin had always been regarded as a monster, as something other than human. The very notion of what it meant to be a Shinobi was to shed the things that connected one to their humanity, to become the weapon or tool needed to accomplish the mission.

This he had always known, this he had had engraved into him since birth.

And yet.

The gaze of dismissal that the Mazoku so casually wore, that glare of entitlement and old pride, perturbed something in him that he could not ignore. Power had blinded him...his sudden rise to divinity had eroded the lens from which he had always looked at the world. It was a look he nearly adopted himself when he first descended upon the Yaarou when this fray first began.

Like they were insignificant.

He was becoming the very kind of being he hated.

A pondering for another time, for as he lamented the state of his being, Kuro sent a warning of a mass of congregated naten swelling in G'hor's throat as his faceplate hit the ground with a thunderous thud. The hair on Kin's neck stood up; whatever this was, it was far different than the massive wave of chi G'hor had shot at him earlier. This was something else—for the first time since he arrived here, Kinslayer felt that his life was truly at risk.

He had heard whispers. The growing tension and unrest in Edo's underworld carried with their anxiety the angst of the Mazoku's abilities, but the technique always eluded him; folks were too scared to even speak of it. Perhaps...this was the moment they had dreaded.

The very arbiter that solidified B'halia's dominion. Something that the world still did not know how to address. Even as he stood here, a wellspring of power and ability that could move the very stars above him should he truly willed it, in the face of something as plainly powerful and ancient as the Executioner, Kin caught himself being...concerned.

"A pondering for another time," Kin muttered, his voice echoing in the vacuum of the ruined city.

The warning from Kuro, his internal system, spiked into a red-line frenzy. G'hor's throat was swelling, a mass of congregated Naten—primordial energy—pulsing with a sickly, rhythmic light. The air around the Executioner began to liquefy. This wasn't the Chi-wave from before.

"No...there is no room for doubt," Kin thought, a manic edge creeping into his psyche. "I've...never been human to begin with.."

"Tell me, Mazoku, you all are the philosophical sort?" Kin called out, his voice cutting through the ambient silence, "What matters more to you? The form of a thing? Or is it nature?"

G’hor didn't answer. He didn't need to. The answer was in the way the space around his open maw began to collapse into a singularity.

Kin didn't hesitate. He wove a blur of hand signs, his fingers moving so fast they seemed to exist in multiple positions at once. Darkness pooled at his feet, bubbling like a mire. This was not normal dark naten; however, it was a pool of unformed AIONS. By design, the AIONS were self-replicating machines, able to form endlessly. Kin had to admit, he knew very little about the Mazoku. Hyperia neglected to tell Eridn just whom these weapons were supposed to be used against in length. But Kin had come to understand, just by the gaze of the Executioner alone.

That they understood just as little about him as he did about them.

That was his angle

That mutual ignorance just might be his biggest advantage...

"Ephemeral Art: Black March."

This was the synthesis of his godhood and both Eridan's and Hyperia's engineering. From the shadow-mire rose the AIONS—self-replicating, liquid-metal machines that were now tuned to Kin’s specific spiritual frequency. Because of his unique nature, these weren't mere drones; they were extensions of his own ego. His black dragon armor dissolved, the particles raining into the pool to provide the raw materials for the manifestation.

One became ten. Ten became a hundred. In a heartbeat, a thousand Kinslayers stood in the crater of Qiyoto.

Each one bore his face. Each one exuded the suffocating aura of the Void. Each one held the stance of a master shinobi, ready to die and be reborn in the same breath.

"Umbral Sindicate..."

A legion of one. A man-made god and his army of ghosts.

Only the original Kin held the blade Hades, its edge humming with the hunger of a thousand hells. He stood at the head of his phantom army, looking into the gaping maw of the Executioner.

The pressure around Rao thickened as his gaze remained fixed upon Kin across the devastated battlefield.

“You should feel honored, outsider,” Rao declared. “Your strength will be immortalized in B’halian scripture.”

Rao’s eyes narrowed with visible intrigue, and a faint grin spread across his face. “As will your death.”

However, Rao’s amusement was suddenly severed.

A pulse of energy, faint but unmistakable, rippled from the direction of the collapsed palace. It was a human signature, stubborn and jagged like broken glass. Rao’s smile vanished, replaced by a mask of pure, vitriolic hatred.

He had beaten the human sorcerer into the dirt. He had crushed his bones and left him to rot in the wake of G'hor's arrival. That the 'stain' still dared to draw breath, to even attempt a surge of energy in the presence of his betters, was an insult Rao could not tolerate.

Rao growled. His body blurred, the ground beneath him shattering as he launched himself like a railgun slug toward Hiroshi’s location. He didn't care about the clash between G'hor and Kin anymore; he wanted to feel the sorcerer's skull give way beneath his grip. He wanted to ensure that the extinction of the human race started with the loudest voice of their resistance.

The Umbral syndicate crowded around Kin, each emitting a progressively growing aura. An Ephemeral Art of this magnitude would prove to be more draining than Kin liked to admit. But it was a needed precaution and testament to the danger the G'hor possessed. The key to his survival of whatever G'hor unleashed next would be found not in the iris of the Dankestu.

But in the bloodline of the Ninneko Clan...

[The Yaarou Clan]

“You will learn your place,” Rao said quietly before he launched forward at miraculous speeds— slicing through the heavens themselves as he tore toward Hiroshi’s position like a living comet of murderous intent.

Rao crossed the ruined skyline like a murderous bolt of fire.

The atmosphere detonated behind him in spiraling shockwaves as his massive frame surged toward Hiroshi so quickly that the city below ruptured beneath the pressure alone. Towers folded inward. Streets cratered. Entire structures collapsed before the Mazoku had even reached them.

And still, Hiroshi did not move.

He remained suspended above the burning remains of Qiyoto with an unnatural calm while the glyph of the Crimson Orchid pulsed beneath his feet like an infernal engine.

His eyes were closed and his expression was still.. quiet. Almost peaceful.

Even as the giant grew closer.. and drew back his mighty fist.

Naten condensed around Rao's arm in violent torrents until the air itself screamed beneath the power gathering around his knuckles. And unlike before, Hiroshi could tell that this strike carried none of the casual dismissal of a superior warrior taunting lesser prey.

No, this blow carried enough force to vaporize mountains, rupture tectonic plates, or erase every cell in a human body.. and any notion of a soul that remained.

The Executioner made no sound in his approach, but Hiroshi could feel his rage and disgust taint the air like a putrid smog as he crossed the distance between them in fleeting moments. But just before impact, the Defiler licked his smiling lips.

“Crimson Orchid…”

He whispered softly as he opened his eyes, both blistering with a blinding crimson light.

“Full Bloom.”

Upon his command, the sigil emblazoned upon Rao’s forehead ignited instantly, mirroring the ominous scarlet glow radiating from the Yaarou warlock before sinking deeper—far deeper—than flesh alone.

Then it took him. Utterly and Completely...

The Mazoku’s thunderous haymaker stopped mere centimeters from Hiroshi’s smug face, halting so abruptly that the compressed force trailing the punch still erupted outward past him in a devastating cone of pressure that annihilated everything for miles behind the sorcerer.

What remained of the skyline vanished in a storm of pulverized stone and spiraling debris.

Yet Hiroshi himself remained untouched. Sneering and untouched..

His gaze widened with devilish glee as confusion flickered along Rao's face for the briefest moment, just before the Mazoku's golden gaze— along with every trace of his personality— was smothered beneath an endless vermillion light.

All at once, the fury twisting his features disappeared. The pride.. The arrogance.. The ancient conviction of a Mazoku Executioner.

Gone. All of it gone..

His face became empty and still.. Like a corpse suspended upright by invisible strings.

Hiroshi slowly lowered his hand, watching the transformation settle over Rao’s massive frame with quiet satisfaction.

“There,” he murmured softly. “Good boy..”

Rao did not respond. Not even as Hiroshi's fingers traced the faded scars along his face. He remained silent and docile.

The Crimson Orchid had not merely seized control of his body— But his mind, his will, his soul.. Everything that made Rao Rao had been submerged beneath Hiroshi’s command like a man drowned beneath black water.. And only obedience survived the purge.

"..."

The sigils across Hiroshi’s face pulsed once more, causing Rao to turn mechanically toward him. Though not with anger, but with the vacant stillness of a puppet awaiting instruction.

"..yes.." Hiroshi exhaled slowly, almost reverently. “..now then,” He hissed before raising two fingers toward Kinslayer and G'hor. “Cleanse my city..”

Rao vanished.

The Executioner’s body erupted forward at impossible speed, propelled by monstrous strength no longer restrained by thought, instinct, or hesitation. The air detonated behind him as he crossed the battlefield like a crimson meteor.

No battle cry.. No hesitation. No emotion whatsoever.

Only the silent, vicarious fury of his new master.

His crimson eyes glowed blankly as he descended upon his fellow Executioner with ruthless mechanical precision, each movement carrying the terrifying perfection of a body no longer burdened by fear, pride, pain, or self-preservation. Only a soul burdening duty.

And all the while, Hiroshi watched from afar with calm amusement as he tightened his grip along Shõsen Kobari. “..and upon your bones.. I will build my church.”

Then, Hiroshi vanished in a blistering bolt of red light.

[The Bhalian Empire]

G'hor sensed it long before he understood it.

Moments ago, his entire focus had been devoted to the outsider. This strange being.. Even now, remnants of Kinslayer's celestial attack lingered across his flesh in flashing black bolts. The wounds had healed, but the memory remained.

For perhaps the first time in centuries, G'hor had found himself anticipating a duel— perhaps the most meaningful one in his entire life.

Then something else entered his awareness.

A distortion.. A violent displacement thrashing across the ruined corpse of Qiyoto.

Though blind, G'hor perceived the world through means far beyond conventional sight. Shinjutsu transformed sound, scent, vibration, pressure, and naten into a living map that existed within his mind. Every movement upon the battlefield painted itself across his awareness with perfect clarity.

And while he couldn't see him physically, Ghor could literally feel Rao scything through the clouds at hypersonic speeds.

His approach uprooted the streets in a wake of compressed air and pulverized debris.

G'hor barely had time to turn before Rao's fist struck him like a falling star, and the collision alone shook all Edo.

The force hurled G'hor backward through what remained of Qiyoto. Collapsed towers disintegrated around him. Entire districts vanished beneath his body as he carved a canyon through the city hundreds of meters wide.

G'hor drove his feet downward, desperately fighting for his composure. Bedrock exploded around his ankles as he attempted to arrest his momentum.

But Rao was already there.. chasing behind him in hot pursuit, already delivering another deadly blow.

Confusion numbed his mind, but instinct fired Ghor's massive hand outward and caught Rao's wrist before his second blow could land. Even then, the muffled impact generated a seismic shockwave powerful enough to flatten the last standing structures within the ruins of Qiyoto.

It was then, as the two titans stood locked together amidst a storm of dust and chaos, that G'hor was able to make sense of it.. His senses reached outward through Shinjutsu, and he could “see” that the very shape of Rao's soul had been altered— no, violated by a truly wicked invasive force. It was.. disturbing.. Unlike anything this Mazoku executioner had ever encountered in his storied tenure.

But as he tried to analyze this corruption further, Rao's free fist erupted forward.

G'hor tilted his head aside just as the punch slipped past his jaw, allowing the pressure behind it to roar destruction past him and into the distance. He then immediately countered, shifting his feet and driving his elbow into Rao's sternum.

Speed, power, and execution morphed his arm into a javelin of force, and the strike landed squarely. G'hor heard it as Rao's body twisted around the sudden blow—the sound of several ribs cracking beneath his massive chest, followed by the wet “pop” of bursting organs.

It was devastating blow that would have brought any living creature to their knees in agony, but Rao answered with lifeless apathy.

..and a savage headbutt that shattered the air between them.

The impact detonated along G'hor's skull and shook the sky like rolling thunder. He staggered backward, blood spilling down his face as he fell to a knee. And for a moment, barely a sound was made outside of G'hor's labored breathing and Rao's bones snapping back in place.

Then G'hor understood.. And the realization filled him with fury more than Kinslayer's celestial attack ever had.

Among the Mazoku, combat between their kind was forbidden.

Not simply outlawed. Forbidden.

Even ceremonial duels were rare occurrences reserved for the most sacred occasions.

Their numbers were too few.. and their Emperor decreed their lives too precious to be risked in anything outside of defending the will of Bhalia. That was a eons ago, and for countless generations, Mazoku blood had never been spilled by Mazoku hands.

But now—One of their greatest warriors was being used as a weapon against another.

And though Shinjutsu aided his deduction, Ghor could literally smell Hiroshi's human stench wafting from his comrade. It clung to him like shit and rot, so much so G'hor was adverse to getting too close in case this plague was contagious. He.. could not simply kill Rao. The thought alone went against everything he was taught to believe in. Even now, as his defenses began to wane, it felt like sacrilege to truly engage his kin.. but Rao shared no such discipline. Not anymore..

The possessed Executioner lunged again, and his fists fell like meteors. Again. And again. And again, with each strike generating violent seismic activity beneath them.

G'hor defended himself desperately as the assault intensified—his massive arms moved in defensive arcs, redirecting blows that would have shattered mountain ranges.

Fault lines opened across Edo.. Forests vanished beneath expanding shockwaves. And the ocean surrounding the continent began to churn violently from waves of force raking across the planet's surface..

The two titans had long since moved beyond the borders of Qiyoto, and before long they vanished from sight entirely.. Only the consequences of their terrain altering strikes remained visible ; Shockwaves, earthquakes, the planet itself seemed to shudder in their wake.

And still, G'hor outright refused to answer with anything reminiscent of lethal force. He pulled his punches, and would do so for as long as he could. But even he knew that in a battle of attrition, a Mazoku Executioner was undefeatable.

Before long, Rao's relentless assault had already worn G'hor's body to fatigué. That, magnified by the lingering pangs of Kinslayer's soul rendering assault, allowed Rao an opening for a truly devastating blow.

His fist crashed into G'hor's jaw with enough force to tear a fissure across Vescrutia that stretched miles into the horizon. Black blood sprayed through the air and staggered the mighty warrior long enough for Rao to drive a second fist into his ribs. And that blow pierced clean through his abdomen..

Life and consciousness faded behind the lethal strike..but even still, Rao was not done.

He retracted his bloodied fist and grabbed Ghor by his face to slam him into the ground. Over and over.. and over. The continued brutality eventually buried them both in a yawning crater of collapsing stone that threatened to split the very continent down the middle—or at very least excavate a tunnel directly to the planet's core itself.

And still Rao showed no emotion.. No hesitation. No pain.. No mercy. Nothing.. Only relentless obedience, and silent madness.

[Kinslayer]

The sky above Qiyoto darkened; it bruised, turning a sickly shade of violet as the foundations of reality groaned under the weight of celestial violence. It was a hue of necrotic purple, the color of a world being pressed too hard by the thumbs of angry deities.

The Umbral Syndicate stood like a phalanx of obsidian statues, their arms interlocked, a living wall of shadow and ophidian shielding their creator. Kinslayer stood behind them, his breath hitching in the ionized air. He had prepared himself for the guttural arbiter of G’hor’s wrath. He had expected the Mazoku’s technique—a world-shattering surge of B’halian power that would require every ounce of his ten millennia of experience to parry. Instead, he witnessed a twist of Fate so jagged it threatened to sever the thread of his own understanding.

Rao, the second Mazoku—who had spent the duration of the conflict observing with the joy of a schinet who discovered a new obscurity—suddenly cleaved through the atmosphere.

He did not aim for Kin.

He did not aim for the shield of the Syndicate.

With a roar that sounded like the grinding of tectonic plates, a sound that vibrated not in the ears but in the marrow of the bone, Rao slammed into his brother-in-arms, G’hor.

The impact was a radial catastrophe.

The earth beneath them didn't just crack; it shattered into a mosaic of jagged loam and prehistoric rock, birthmarks of new fault lines manifesting in a single instant. The shockwave leveled the surrounding ancient trees like dry grass in a gale. In a single, savage motion of divine momentum, Rao dragged G’hor leagues beyond the borders of Qiyoto, a comet of gold and crimson streaking across the horizon, leaving a trench in the world that would never heal.

Kin’s eyes widened—a rare admission of shock from a being who had lived through ten thousand years of slaughter. He scrambled for understanding. These Mazoku were peers, executioners from a realm of epitomized, absolute power. For one to turn upon the other was more than a betrayal; it was an ontological impossibility. It was as if the sun had decided to swallow the moon.

“When faced with the impossible, when everything possible has been discounted... the impossible becomes possible.”

Rhea’s voice, soft and haunting, echoed in the silent chambers of his memory. Kin looked toward the silhouette of Hiroshi Yaarou, the sorcerer who had orchestrated this madness. In the wake of Rao’s flight, Kin could see it—the faint, oily trails of crimson naten clinging to Rao’s spiritual essence like parasitic leeches. The Mazoku’s aura, once a tapestry of refined, ancient gold, was now being devoured by a spreading palette of blood-red corruption. It was as if a vial of ink had been shattered inside a bowl of pure light, the darkness blooming with a life of its own.

It was another of Hiroshi’s forbidden techniques. The sorcerer had not tried to overpower the god; he had found a crack in the Mazoku’s inherent arrogance and driven a wedge of madness into it.

“To underestimate the ambitious is the flaw of all who think themselves gods,” Kin whispered to the wind, a grim realization dawning. “There is always someone who wants it more... who will do anything to obtain it.”

Hiroshi, delusional or not, was a man of singular, terrifying devotion. In another life, Kin mused, Hiroshi might have been the sage Edo needed to enter a new golden age. Perhaps the Yaarou and the Shi could have been brothers instead of bitter nemeses, pillars of a unified world. But that hope had died the moment Hiroshi soaked the bedrock of the Nhad Swamps with the blood of Kin’s kin, turning the soil into a graveyard of unfulfilled potential. That ship sailed eons ago when Ains sought to bind all of Edo under his thumb.

With a flourish, the sorcerer’s form flickered and dissolved, no doubt keeping a safe eye on his mind-shattered puppet to do the heavy lifting.

Kin’s form dissolved into a blur of blackened mist, soaring into the heavens to gain a vantage point. From the heights, the full breadth of the horror was visible. Below, in a clearing scarred by fire and the scent of ozone, Rao was a whirlwind of mindless violence. G’hor, however, was doing something far more tragic: he was holding back.

At first glance, it would seem like it was family ties that kept him from striking back, but Kin sensed something deeper than this. G'hor held back as if it went against something fundamental to him. A boundary that was never supposed to be crossed. Even as Rao’s fists fell like hammers of a vengeful creator, shattering G’hor’s ribs and cratering the earth with every blow, G’hor remained in a defensive, non-lethal stance. He took the battering, his blood painting the soil in divine ichor, refusing to strike back with the force required to end his brother’s life. It was a massacre of principles, a god being beaten to death by his own morality.

Kin watched the reckless squabbling of the outsiders. Every missed blow from Rao leveled a forest; every shockwave decimated an Edoan landmark that had stood for centuries. His fury began to simmer, a cold, icy thing that settled in his marrow and froze his compassion.

He despised Hiroshi. He hated the Yaarou line. But they were of Edo. These B’halian interlopers, gods or not, were desecrating his home with their foreign war. There was a mutual accord, unspoken and ancient: Edoan affairs were for Edoans to settle. To allow these outsiders to tear the land asunder in their mindless brawl was a debt Kin could not permit to go unpaid.

“To me…” Kin commanded, his voice a low vibration that commanded the shadows.

The Umbral Syndicate responded instantly, their forms becoming like specters that coalesced around him in the sky. A thousand sentinels, silent and resolute, awaited the Word.

“Kuro, prepare Naga Artillery.”

The transformation was visceral and grotesque. Half of the Syndicate’s forms began to shift, the sound of warping metal and rending shadow filling the air. Their lower halves elongated, the obsidian liquefying into serpentine tails that writhed in the air. Cyan and fuchsia flames—the Void Pyre—carved glowing, agonizing runes across the chests of five hundred sentinels. They no longer looked like men; they looked like the semi-divine Naga of legend, the wrathful servants of forgotten serpent gods.

Kin raised his hand, his eyes locked onto the spot where Rao was currently grinding G’hor’s face into the bedrock.

“Time for you to leave... invaders.”

The air shuddered. Reality itself seemed to pull taut, the seams of the world fraying under the atmospheric pressure of the coming invocation. The air grew thin, the oxygen replaced by the metallic tang of pure power. The five hundred Naga-Sentinels began to swirl in a massive, rotating cyclone around Kin, a vortex of shadow and neon fire that eclipsed the moon.

“Abyssal Meteor Shower...”

At his signal, the sentinels ignited. They did not merely fall; they launched, rockets of Void Pyre, bursting from their serpentine tails as they spiraled through the sky. They were soul-seeking missiles, five hundred streaks of cyan death converging on the two Mazoku.

The contact was a symphony of annihilation.

The Abyssal Meteor Shower was not a mere attack; it was a localized extinction event. As each sentinel struck, they did not merely impact; each one individually detonated with several tons of force. A constant barrage of pulverizing, soul-rending flame stacked one after the next, relentlessly convulsing, pistoning. Egulfing the Mazoku interlopers with a conflagration that meant to consume them holistically.

The earth could not just absorb the barrage; it was utterly obliterated, scrubbed of its history and its composition. The forest, the rocks, the very soil vanished, replaced by a churning cauldron of cyan and fuchsia destruction. A massive, multi-colored mushroom plume erupted into the stratosphere, a pillar of otherworldly blaze so intense it could be seen from the shores of distant continents—a beacon of Edo’s refusal to be conquered.

The resulting fallout blanketed the region in a billowing, impenetrable smoke that tasted of ash and void. The landscape was no longer a forest; it was a desolate wasteland of glass and cinders, a scar on the world that would scream Kin’s name for a thousand years. Despite how it pained him to desolate his home, this threat had to be neutralized at all costs.

Kin watched as the flames roared, his chest heaving. He didn't just want the Mazoku dead; he wanted the stain of their existence scrubbed from the soil. If Hiroshi was caught in the periphery, caught in the backwash of this divine erasure, all the better.

As the smoke began to billow, Kin felt the agonizing weight of his own power. Though great, Kin's power was still fresh; he was like a battery that had been hypercharged. Potent, powerful, but ultimately inept at wielding power this vast. He commanded his remaining five hundred sentinels to merge, their forms flowing into an amorphous, gurgling mesh of metal and darkness that hovered protectively around him like a shroud.

His brow furrowed, sweat stinging his eyes and mixing with the soot on his face. The toll was mounting. One high-level technique after another was draining his reservoir, and he knew the fray was far from over. He stared into the heart of the fuchsia fire, waiting to see what—or who—would crawl out of the ashes.

He had a blood debt to settle with Hiroshi, and he would be damned if a pair of brainwashed gods remained standing in his way.

[The Yaarou Clan]

Hiroshi Yaarou had positioned himself carefully.

Not too close.. Not too far.. It was a delicate equilibrium maintained between necessity and survival.

The Crimson Orchid ritual, as powerful as it was, demanded proximity between host and target. And while its roots were now buried within Rao's soul, absolute dominion over a being of such overwhelming magnitude was not something that could simply be cast and forgotten. The spell required constant cultivation. Constant pressure. Constant reinforcement.

—And thus, Hiroshi remained suspended high above the clashing titans, close enough to maintain his tether. Far enough to avoid becoming collateral damage in the cataclysm below.. where Rao and G'hor crashed against one another with enough force to alter Edo's geography.

The realm literally moaned in response to their violent exchange. Yet even amidst such impossible destruction, Hiroshi found himself fixated on one thing and one rhing only—maintaining his control over the Mazoku Executioner. And while the sorcerer had no intention of relinquishing his grip, sustaining the powerful binding ritual was far from effortless. Especially considering the immense strength of a Mazoku Soul.

Even now he could feel his resistance.. his fury. The sheer weight of Rao's will pressed against the Crimson Orchid like a caged beast behind iron bars..

Yet despite the burden, a faint smile lingered across Hiroshi's face as he watched Rao continue his relentless assault. And it was as he expected, G'hor's refusal to betray Mazoku tradition crippled the Executioner into little more than a docile target. Their customs were so deeply ingrained, Hiroshi suspected their very psychology would be altered accordingly.

But he had to see it to be sure..

And now, as he watched Rao's thunderous blows drive G'hor deeper and deeper into Vescrutia's crust, he was certain of it.

G'hor was a warrior—born and bred for little else than battle and conquest. It would have taken effort, but he should have been able to overpower Rao considering their difference in size alone.. If nothing else, he could have screamed, vanquishing them all in a torrent of nuclear devastation. But he did nothing of the sort..

“..crushed to death beneath the weight of your own loyalty.”

Hiroshi mused as the roar of Rao's strikes echoed into the skies and banished the clouds above..

And still G'hor refused.

“..a cruel fate.”

The words were almost sympathetic.. but the twisted gleam in his eyes did not match the warmth in his voice.. Nor did the wicked smirk lifting his cheeks in delight and conceit.

There was no compassion within him, only vindicition.. Only triumph.

After decades upon decades of planning, and preparing Hiroshi felt it.. he truly did.

Victory was closer now than ever before—so close it was almost a tangible thing that he knew he could reach if he simply persisted. He wanted to revel in this feeling.. To bask in the moments preceding glory, but he wouldn't allow this battle to persist much longer. With his hypothesis confirmed, Hiroshi would have Rao kill Ghor as quickly as possible before he was forced to use his roar.

From there, Hiroshi and his puppet would claim the Nether Serpent’s life in tandem before he finally dispatched his Mazoku zombie.

He could already see the path unfolding before him, and the thought brought a warmth to his chest unlike anything he ever experienced.

But then something happened..

There was a dark and malicious shift in the atmosphere that struck Hiroshi long before his eyes ever found its source. He slowly lifted his head toward the heavens, and what he saw caused the smile upon his face to vanish seconds later.

Far above the battlefield, Kinslayer hovered amidst a gathering storm of impossible proportions.

And even from this distance, Hiroshi could feel it. The soul scathing heat of the Void Pyre darkened the horizon through the sheer concentration of power gathering overhead.

"...no.." The word escaped him quietly as his expression fluttered with panic. But his plea was shuttered beneath the whing gales.

The sky erupted seconds later— blotting out the heavens with a celestial volley of cyan flames.

Hiroshi counted hundreds of blistering meteors, and he could tell that each one carried enough force to annihilate entire acres of land.. or shatter a soul into a million pieces

Shōsen Kōbari screamed within his grasp, reacting to its wielders' festering fear by generating a colossal barrier around Hiroshi in the blink of an eye. It was a hasty, perhaps ill formed shield.. but he had little time before the world disappeared in a blister of fuchsia, cyan, and smouldering heat.

The inferno from Kinslayer’s meteor shower consumed everything.

Hiroshi's barrier groaned as the soul rendering flames licked against its surface. The force alone nearly shattered Hiroshi's concentration, but the metaphysical scathe of the Void Pyre was nearly too much to bear.

Even through Shōsen Kōbari, maintaining his defenses demanded an absurd amount of Naten.. Far more than Hiroshi wished to spend.

“Damnit.. you.. wretched CHILD..”

Then, for a brief moment—his concentration slipped..

Hiroshi lost all visual of his mighty puppet, and he was expending far too much Naten to reinforce his tether at this distance.

And still, Kinslayer's inferno persisted.

The heavens roared as the realm vanished beneath expanding waves of annihilation. And all the while, a cocktail of fury and panic flooded Hiroshi's veins.

[The Bhalian Empire]

Kinslayer's Abyssal Meteor Shower descended upon Edo with hellish fury. Hundreds of celestial projectiles rained from the heavens in an unending torrent of cyan flame and fuchsia ruin, each impact birthing a new catastrophe upon the already-broken landscape.

Forests vanished.

Mountains cracked.

Entire valleys were erased beneath expanding blossoms of Void Pyre.. And at the center of that apocalypse, the two titans continued their clash.

Rao remained atop G'hor amidst the inferno, his colossal frame barely visible through the curtains of soul-rending flame. The Executioner's body had become little more than a vessel for Hiroshi Yaarou's hatred. Every trace of identity had been stripped away beneath the Crimson Orchid's dominion.

Every trace but his wrath..

His fists rose and fell with mechanical precision. And each impact generated shockwaves powerful enough to flatten what little remained of the surrounding wilderness. Every blow buried G'hor deeper into the shattered earth while Void Pyre meteors continued detonating around them in relentless succession.

The forest had already become a wasteland. But now even that wasteland was disappearing..

Ghor's body was ruined. Lacerations tore hrough his flesh. One eye had swollen shut beneath layers of blood and swollen bruises. And worst of all, the Void Pyre's soul-devouring flames had crippled his regeneration to a painful crawl as it gnawed at both his spirit and body alike.

Still— G'hor refused to answer sacrilege with blasphemy. He could not bring himself to kill Rao. But high above the battlefield, Hiroshi had decided to tighten his leash over the maddened Executioner.

And Rao responded instantly.. It was time for the killing blow.

The executioner unclenched one hand, and flattened his fingers so that the massive appendage resembled a crude spear. And in a single seamless stroke, Rao's arm drove downward and impaled through G'hor's chest in a geyser of black blood.

The heavens trembled from the might of the strike, and almost immediately did G'hor's massive body fall still.

And all the while, the endless rain of Void Pyre continued— Cyan fire washed over them in a biblical storm.. The bombardment was so intense that even Mazoku regeneration struggled to keep pace. And the it seemed to magnify by the second.

Their flesh restored itself only to be torn apart again. Bone reformed only to fracture moments later. Soon, their bodies became macabre tableaus of Kinslayer's might. And not even Rao could continue his assault..

The possessed Executioner curled his arms in defense against the descending hellfire, suppressed above his dying comrade while Void Pyre consumed the world around them.

It was then, as life seeped from G'hor's dying body, did a final realization emerge.

With what little strength lingered within him, G'hor raised a trembling hand and used Shinjutsu to channel every joule of energy he possessed into his trembling palm. This was an ancient technique, developed by the Mazoku Sages for spiritually dire situations.

Although, it was not meant to kill, or even wound for that matter. But purge the body from any blockage or corruption stifling the natural flow of energy.

As quickly as he was able, Ghor's palm crashed into Rao's chest and released a pulse tore through Rao's spiritual body to expunge the invasive entity festering within his soul. However, by then, the Void Pyre had already sundered the realm and its inhabitants..

Ash drifted across a landscape that no longer resembled any definitive region at all.. Nothing remained except glass, cinders, and colossal craters stretching beyond a darkened horizon.

And at the center of the devastation lay G'hor. Motionless and broken from the onslaught he endured. His chest cavity was torn open. His flesh blackened by fire, bruises and viscera. But beside him, Rao slowly rose to his feet.

And his condition was scarcely better.

He was covered in wounds where entire portions of his flesh had been scorched off. And his innate regeneration struggled in futility to repair damage too severe to fully mend.

Yet he remained standing.. though only barely.

Despite being freed from Hiroshi's soul violating spell, the crippled Executioner could hardly take any relief in retaining his autonomy. The sheer amount of pain he returned to was beyond any gash or injury he ever survived in his life. But it was beyond just the physical suffering.. Rao felt as if his very soul had been dragged through a pit of boiling acid, and scorched until only his defiance remained.

The Crimson Orchid had done irreversible damage, and the blister of the Void Pyre had cemented those scars into his very being. If not for the final slivers of G'hor's lifeforce surging through him, he would have succumbed to the existential trauma. Regardless, Rao knew this spark wouldn't last for long.

He would make sure that his sacrifice was not in vain.

“..enough.”

It was then that Rao closed his scorched eyes and allowed his consciousness to retreat inward in order to allow his spirit and body to properly mend. It was a restorative meditative trance where primal instinct seized control.

His golden gaze flared open and burned through the billowing sheet of smoke and debris until they found his elusive prey. And the moment he did, the Executioner erupted from his position.

The ground detonated beneath his feet before he vanished altogether. And without even the slightest glimpse or visual of his approach, he was already upon the notorious warlock..

He smashed through Hiroshi's defensive construct as though it were made from brittle glass, shattering the protective wards into fleeting shards.

Then Rao's hand closed around Hiroshi's throat— and he could smell the fear spilling from his lips.

True, unadulterated fear.

He tried to thrash within the Mazoku's grip, but Rao's other hand seized his arm. And with a violent jerk, he tore the limb completely off in a visceral display.

Shōsen Kōbari—the source of his power, flew from Hiroshi's grasp as blood sprayed across the air.

Then, slowly— The Executioner opened his mouth, and for a single impossible moment The world held its breath.

Rao roared as loud as he could; as loud as he was able considering his injuries. His lungs were punctured, his throat was gashed, but his fury persisted.

A sphere of catastrophic force erupted outward from Rao's position, consuming sky, soil, ocean, and horizon alike.

Then came the flash.

A wave of incandescent energy that swept across the horizon in every direction, amd bathed the ruined continent in a scorching, flash of light. Shadows were burned into stone. Liquid glass formed instantly wherever the pressure and heat sundered the ground..

And only after all of that, did that horrible sound arrive.

Rao’s voice struck the world like cosmic artillery, generating a shockwave that expanded across Edo faster than any storm, and carried enough power to scour entire ecosystems clean of life.

Thousands of miles away, coastlines recoiled as walls of water surged backward from the approaching tidal wave of pressure.

The surrounding sea churned while convulsed amidst Bhalia's most powerful weapon. And at the epicenter, a massive mushroom cloud of ash, pulverized stone and vaporized debris climbed into the heavens. And its stem stretched for miles.

From orbit, the detonation appeared as a fresh wound upon the surface of the world.. radiating outward from a single point.

And at its center stood Rao. Bleeding.. and dying.

His throat was torn nearly apart by the effort, flaps of flesh falling to the wayside as he struggled to regain his breath. But Hiroshi was no longer in his hand. Just a smear of blood that was burnt into the creases of his palm.

Still, fury possessed him. His head swiveled on his neck like a rabid beast as he searched for what remained of the Defiler and Kinslayer..

[Kinslayer]

The sky over Qioyot wept fire. Not the gentle, cleansing fire of a hearth, but the hellish, concussive inferno of Kinslayer’s wrath. One obliterating missile followed another, each a thunderclap tearing at the fabric of existence, saturating the lands beyond the ancient city in thought-defying destruction on a mythic scale. This was no mere battle; it was a cosmic tantrum, an epoch-ending declaration. Tales of this arbiter, Kinslayer, would ring throughout Edo for generations to come, as the very earth would echo the consequence of harming the Shi name.

This vengeance, this blossoming chaos, had always been his root, the founding seed for his terror. The destruction he wrought was not for glory, but so that from the ashes of whatever pillar Jao needed to burn down, his family would thrive. He could still hear the ringing of Eridan's lamentation filling his heart with purpose, a dirge of grief and outrage that became Kinslayer's fuel. Eridan, whose anger towards Kinslayer’s sins was utterly drowned out by the death of hundreds of Shi clan members, their blood staining the land.

Yet, even as the burning pyres of his flames filled his retinas, a part of him, a tiny, almost forgotten ember, could not help but simmer with the thought of what his father's face would be like should he witness the wanton destruction Kin had unleashed. No doubt, his face would be wracked with grief, with profound disappointment. For Kin had, perhaps inevitably, so become the very thing that Yang had given his life to preventing.

A Tyrant.

Just like the Mad Serpent Lord himself.

And yet, despite this minuscule concern with Yang's approval, Kin revelled in the fact and took solace in knowing that he had done something that no other Shi, not even the great Ains himself, proved able to do: strike genuine, maddening fear into the Yaarou. He had made their fear manifest in real time, stretching his gaze across the very skies their noses had once poked against in pompous arrogance, chin to the clouds in complacent ego. Now they hid in bunkers beneath the earth, praying that his rage could not dig into the heart of their nest, like a family of rabbits hoping that the Snake did not find its way into their burrow. He wondered how fast, how hard their hearts thumped in the chests of their elders, their children, who would be scarred with nightmares well into their adulthood should they even survive this night.

It wasn't the thought of glory that enthralled him, but rather the generation-spanning mental scars that would follow any Yaarou lucky enough to escape with their lives. And for those across the sea on the land of B'halia, for them to know that there were forces capable of opposing them, that humanity—or whatever Kin was now—would not buckle beneath their weighted feet. That if they wanted to see humanity scrubbed from the planet, they themselves would risk extinction in the process. The Oroborus… the snake eating its own tail.

Kin could see, just beyond the brush of cyan and fuchsia smoke, Hiroshi’s soul force ebbing, wavering like a failing beacon as he fought to maintain control over his cursed magics. How he struggled, his soul toiling and bubbling like a cauldron nearly spilling over, the potent energies of Rao threatening to overwhelm him. A casual smirk crept on Kin's face, delighting in watching the sorcerer fight for his life, for Kinslayer knew, just like Hiroshi knew, that if Rao managed to break free, Hiroshi would be the first thing he would slay.

And unsurprisingly, that is exactly what occurred. Kin’s artillery strike proved to be too much for Hiroshi to handle; the sheer kinetic force destabilized his precarious hold. This, coupled with Rao’s defiant spirit and G'hor's final, desperate arbiter freeing Rao from Hiroshi's control, sealed the sorcerer's fate. Like a bat out of hell, Rao appears before Hiroshi, a blur of primordial fury. He mutilated him viciously, tearing an arm from his body with a sickening rend, a wet snap echoing in the smoke-choked air.

But then… Kin’s AION, Kuro, warned him once more, its voice a low, urgent hum inside his mind.

“Fatal Energy signature detected.”

It was then, barely a second after Kuro’s warning, that Rao opened its mouth, and from it erupted something ancient, something that defied the very laws of creation: the Primordial Roar. Reality buckled, folded, and was regurgitated as everything before the Roar was atomized nigh instantly, unmade in a flash of non-existence. Unlike Hiroshi, who was facing the technique at point-blank range and had already ceased to be, Kinslayer had a precious moment—a sliver of eternity—to decide on a course of action.

But before he could even process the true horror unfolding, he heard Kuro’s voice again, more direct, more assertive than ever before.

“Sovereignty permission requested.”

This was the first time since obtaining his AIONS that they had communicated to him so directly, requesting full control. Kuro must have had a plan, a desperate, unimaginable countermeasure. Kin was leery of giving his body up, knowing the trauma of what APhois had done while in control, the alien manipulations, the violation of his very being. But Kuro was named after his closest friend, a memory of loyalty and sacrifice. He would place his faith in the memory of his friend, just this once.

“Granted.”

No sooner than he uttered those words did he feel his sense of self arrested with a level of speed and calculating ability that far surpassed anything Kin had ever enacted before. Kuro used his body, every sinew and nerve, to weave a series of lightning-speed hand signs, a blur of motion that defied human perception. The mass of dark naten-infused Ophidian nanites hovering around him, a storm of living shadow, took on a vivid violet hue, pulsing with untold power.

“Mythic Art; Dark Matter...”

A technique that his AIONS had theorized based on the energy signature that G'hor displayed from his gesture earlier, a fleeting glimpse of something incomprehensible. And though G'hor had not unleashed the full technique, Kuro had processed hundreds, if not thousands, of possible techniques and came up with several potential contingencies for such an apocalyptic force. It seemed that Rao had confirmed the AION's speculations, and Kuro had developed a technique accordingly.

"Suture..."

The mass of Ophidian dark matter dissolved, absorbed by Kinslayer’s body, reinforcing him at a cellular level. His veins ignited with a sickly fuchsia and deep obsidian glow, visible through his skin like a fractured glass window, betraying the impossible energies raging within. This influx of hyper-dense, liquid-metal dark matter flooded the spaces between his own cells, molecules, and atoms. It generated a localized, inward gravitational pull, manipulating space on a subatomic level. Instead of projecting his darkness outward to block the attack, Kuro imploded the dark matter and AION nanites directly into Kinslayer's physical form, using the dark matter as a subatomic scaffold to lock his body in place.

When the roar’s shockwave hit, attempting to violently separate his atoms and vaporize his flesh, this dark matter acted as an indestructible mortar, forcefully pinning his atomic structure to its exact spatial coordinates. He didn't fly backward. Instead, Kinslayer was held rigid, a being in a state of reinforced suspended animation. The roar sheared away his outer layers—his clothing and skin vaporized into ash—but beneath it, there was no blood or bone. There was only a churning, tightly bound silhouette of pure, dense shadow and crackling blue circuitry weaving his muscles back together millions of times a second.

Even weakened, the acoustic and metaphysical pressure of the roar inevitably sheared through tissues. Kinslayer's deified healing factor was pushed into overdrive. To a level beyond his earlier feat against Hiroshi's Tartarus curse. This was not mere regeneration; this was a level of restoration likened to the rearranging of reality itself. As the roar forcibly severed his molecular bonds, the infused darkness acted as cosmic adhesive. It bridged the microscopic gaps, the exact microsecond they were broken, allowing his hyper-accelerated regeneration to use the dark matter as a map to rebuild his flesh as the roar dissolved it.

For the duration of the blast, Kinslayer's body ceased to function as standard organic tissue and instead became an immutable, hyper-dense statue of absolute blackness that actively refused to be unmade by the laws of physics. Save for gravity, he fell to the earth like a meteor crashing, yet he fell on his feet. He stood entirely still at the epicenter, a black, vibrating glitch in the center of a nuclear sunrise, an impossible anchor against existential obliteration.

While Onyx Suture guaranteed survival against molecular disintegration, it was equally agonizing. He was effectively experiencing being vaporized and reborn continuously for the duration of the attack, enduring the excruciating sensation of his being torn apart and stitched together, atom by atom, over and over. As if he were trapped in a perennial prison of the most heinous torments. His mind treaded upon the precipice of shatter with every reknit molecule, every reforged bone. Holding one's own atoms together against a Mazoku-tier kinetic force severely drained Kinslayer's Naten reservoirs. He was nearing the end of his rope...

When the roar finally subsided, leaving behind only smoldering ruin and a lingering scent of ozone and nothingness, the Sutures deactivated. Kinslayer's divine healing factor, pushed beyond its limits, dropped into a sluggish crawl for a brief window due to cellular exhaustion. He was left standing, a scorched, battered figure, his skin marred with raw, blistering burns, utterly drained. He had survived, but he was physically battered, heavily scorched, and vulnerable.

The cost of defying annihilation had been paid in full, and the bill was steep. But now there was one more feat to add to his list.

An expression to almost...honor G'hors' resolve when he took the full force of Kinslayer's Cold Sin Judgment head on.

Kinslayer had survived the Mazoku's most feared arbitor, and he had done so standing.

"Survival ensured, Sovereignty restored to primary host..."

Kinslayer AIONS were the true victor here. They had saved him, just as his pet snake had saved him from a life of isolation and total apathy all these years.

"Thank you...Kuro"

[The Bhalian Empire]

Ash drifted through a sky torn open by the lingering echo of Rao's wrath.

It gathered into a vast canopy of smoke, dust, and vaporized earth that eclipsed the heavens themselves, transforming daylight into a sickly dusk illuminated only by distant embers and scattered flames.

Edo had become truly unrecognizable..

The resulting damage upon the landscape was nothing short of surreal.

The ground had been reduced to blackened sheets of fractured stone, split apart by colossal fissures that stretched across the horizon in every direction. Rivers of molten rock glowed within the deepest ruptures, casting an infernal light across a realm that seemed void of life entirely.

The region looked less like a battleground, and more akin to the site of a nuclear fallout.


And at the center of that devastated graveyard stood the architect of its ruin.. barely held together by stubborn flesh and borrowed time.

Rao's body trembled from injuries that would slain him a thousand times over. Entire sections of muscle had been stripped from his frame. Black blood poured freely from wounds too severe to heal. And every haggard breath he took rattled through punctured lungs and shattered ribs.

Yet he remained standing.. fueled by primal, hell-born fury that drowned out everything short of raw instinct.

It was then, as the haze slowly began to thin, his gaze found something worthy of that fury.
Kinslayer.

The Nether Serpent stood amidst curtains of smoke and writhing darkness, battered and scorched from his impossible survival. His body bore the cost of defying annihilation itself, yet somehow—against every law of reason and probability—he still drew breath.

For a single moment, Rao simply stared.. and wheezed. His pupils had long since faded into white pools of rage.. did any remnants of this warrior's identity. What stood before the Shi demigod was simply a monster.

And without warning, the ground detonated beneath Rao's feet as he launched himself forward before he could fully catch his breath. His ruined body screamed in protest of lunge. Splintered bones fractured completely, yawning wounds split wider, while ribbons of blood scattered behind him in a trail of crimson and black.

And he ignored all of it.

Like a rabid beast driven beyond pain, reason, and even self-preservation, Rao hurled himself across the wasteland with murderous intent toward the only living thing in his proximity. And his remaining arm swung downward with savage brutality, carrying every ounce of strength left within his dying frame.

No technique guided the strike. It was a graceless, wild, clumsy arc of raw power. Yet within this trance-like state, Shinjutsu answered every instinctual movement. It flowed through his ruined body like liquid lightning, magnifying each breath, each step, each motion to the absolute limit of what his broken form could still achieve.

And the results were horrifying.

Rao crossed the distance almost instantaneously.

He was upon Kinslayer before he had closed his mouth. And when the blow descended, it carried enough force not merely to alter geography once more, but to cleave the Nether Serpent in two.

[Kinslayer]

Qiyoto was a thick, caustic soup of ionized ozone and the metallic tang of vaporized blood. At the epicenter of the desolation, Kin’s chest heaved in ragged, wet bursts. Every inhalation felt like swallowing ground glass. To survive, Rao’s Primordial Roar—even a diluted, pale imitation of B’halia’s divine wrath—had required Kin to perform a feat of spatial manipulation so precise it bordered on the suicidal. He had been forced to rewrite his own molecular lattice at a subatomic level just to keep from being disintegrated.

Inside his mind, the cool, clinical voice of Kuro flickered like a dying candle. System integrity at 14%. Neural pathways cauterized. Reconstructing skeletal matrix... Progress: 2.1%. Focus required for further cellular synthesis."

Kin shuddered. Usually, his regeneration was a flash of light and a surge of heat. Now, it was a slow, agonizing crawl.

Through the haze of dust and ash, a shadow loomed. Rao. The Mazoku Executor was a ruin of meat and fury, his golden armor shattered, his skin weeping black ichor. He was dying, but a Mazoku did not perish quietly. He was a star going supernova, his consciousness stripped away until only the feral imperative to destroy remained. Rao launched himself forward, a living mountain of hate, his speed defying his mangled physiology.

Kin’s teeth creaked as he gritted them against the pain. He couldn't dodge. He couldn't afford the energy it would take to shift his state of matter. He needed a moment—just one moment of reprieve to let Kuro heal him to an amicable state.

"Return to me, Hades," Kin croaked.

In an instant, the world seemed to darken around his right hand. Shadow itself curdled and solidified, lengthening into the three-meter obsidian curve of the katana. The blade, Hades, hummed with a low-frequency vibration that rattled Kin’s teeth.

"Trajectory calculated", Kuro's voice echoed. "Impact in 0.4 seconds. Physical parity: 0.003%. Utility protocols engaged."

Kin knew he couldn't match a Mazoku in raw strength; they were the architects of physical violence, their flesh more akin to metal than biological tissue. But where Kin lacked brute strength, he more than made up for it in utility. As Rao’s fist—a strike capable of leveling citadels—descended, Kin manifested his will. From his right shoulder, three skeletal Ophidian arms erupted, solidifying into corded setinel muscle. They didn't just hold the blade; they braced Kin’s very existence.

When the collision happened, it wasn't a sound, but a tectonic event.

The shockwave pulverized the ground for a hundred meters in every direction. Kin felt his newly restructured humerus snap like dry kindling. Muscle fibers, freshly knitted by Kuro, were shredded under the mountainous pressure. He roared, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony, but he did not break, not even as blood sputtered from his mouth. He used the very resilience of Rao’s steel-like hide against him, angling Hades at a precarious tilt. The blade groaned, the shadow-metal screaming, but the pivot held. Kin forced the momentum of the Mazoku’s strike to drift, parrying the blow into the earth to his right.

The resulting crater swallowed the horizon.

Rao skidded, his momentum carrying him past Kin, his feral eyes wide with the realization that his gambit had failed, even if just barely.

Kin stood trembling, his extra arms dissolving into wisps of black smoke. He was a wreck. He looked down at his hands—the fingers were twitching, dripping with a mixture of red blood and dark liquid metal.

"Perhaps... it was hubris to think I would be able to end this fight without using this technique..." Kin whispered to the wind.

He watched Rao turn, the Mazoku’s body twitching as it prepared for one last, mindless lunge. Kin knew he couldn't survive another parry. His soul was weary, and his vessel was cracked. It was time to stop being a man trying to survive a god and become the nightmare that gods feared.

"You have given every last of what you are to stand firm for what you believe in," Kin said, his voice dropping into a register that vibrated in the marrow of Rao’s bones. "It would be a flagrant disrespect for me to not honor this with the same. Rejoice, Mazoku, for this is an Arbiter that only those whom I have deemed worthy of True Death have borne witness to."

Kin raised his hands, his movements slow, liturgical.

"In honor of the burning golden light of your star, I will give you a vision of what it means to be the Black Sun..."

He brought his hands together to form an Ava recorded in no text, scalded on no stone. One born from the memory of a being who saw life on Vescrutia before flesh was born upon her. His left hand rested beneath the right, fingers interlaced in a complex, inverted geometry—the index and middle fingers crossed, the ring finger and thumb touching. It was a sign not of prayer, but of absolute closure.

"Amass," Kin breathed.

Inside him, the floodgates opened. Malice—the cursed Naten of the Shi clan, the legacy of the Nether Serpent Aphosis—began to boil. It was no longer a tool he used; it was a tide of damnation that flooded his being.

"Shape. Maintain."

The air around Kin began to warp. Reality didn't just bend; it fractured. Hairline filigrees of white light appeared in the empty space, and from those cracks, a murky, ink-like darkness began to seep. It was heavy, smelling of ancient dust and the end of time.

"Invoke. Reflect. Sustain."

The mantra completed the circuit.

"Profane Embodiment: Umbral Artificer."

The transformation was not a growth, but a deletion. Kin’s physical body—the blood, the broken bone, the scarred skin—began to slough away like ash in a gale. Underneath was not more meat, but a terrifying void.

The winds flared, twisted, and spiraled, but they did not touch Kin. They passed through a silhouette of cold, absolute darkness.

Reality shattered. The "Artificer" emerged from the wreckage of Kin’s mortal form.

What stood before the Mazoku was no longer a man. It was an entity sculpted from the primordial essence of the void—a lithe, terrifying silhouette that seemed to absorb the very light of life. The torso and limbs were composed of coiled, shifting musculature made of shadow so dense it had its own gravity. The head had dissolved into a swirling, wispy miasma of black fog, a crown of darkness that defied the wind. And within that fog, two piercing, blazing violet eyes ignited. They were the eyes of a serpent that had watched the birth of the first star and would be there to see the last one go cold.

The presence was suffocating. The "Umbral Artificer" didn't just occupy space; it dominated it. The boundaries between the seen and unseen realms began to blur, the very ground beneath the entity’s feet turning into a mirror of the night sky.

Kin raised a hand. The gesture was effortless, yet it felt as though he were pulling on the strings of the universe itself.

This was Aphosis's truth made manifest.

"Gaze upon me, Executioner," the voice came from everywhere and nowhere, a resonant vibration of the void. "And see the face of the end you so righteously sought."