The earth quivered beneath every step Ymir took. His colossal frame, clad in armor forged from the bones, feathers, and scales of slain beasts, moved like a living mountain across the scarred land. Each impact of his heel sent shudders across the ground, rattling trees and splitting stones.
He hummed a tune under his breath, almost playful, almost mocking, as though the weight of hundreds of corpses he had left behind were nothing but echoes of a forgotten song. To him, survival wasn't about pride or glory anymore—it was simply momentum. Forward. Always forward.
"Hmm… I wonder what my next enemy looks like," he muttered, eyes glinting beneath the shadows of his helm. "Welp, no use thinking too hard. I chose Hell Mode, didn't I? Only rule's simple—don't die. Not even once."
His voice carried no fear, only a crooked grin hiding behind iron.
For a week he wandered like this, replaying in his mind the countless battles against the Shinobi clans, against Hiroko and his desperate comrades. He replayed every strike, every counter, every misstep—scenarios folded and refolded endlessly in the training ground of his memory. Each memory became a trial, sharpening his instincts for the battles ahead.
Then, the ground began to tremble.
At first it was faint, a low vibration that tickled the soles of his feet. Then it grew into a thunderous rumble, the unmistakable march of countless beasts.
Ymir braced himself, muscles coiling like cables of steel. "Finally," he murmured. "Been too quiet."
But the stampede did not crash against him. Instead, wave after wave of demonic beasts surged past, their eyes wide with fear, bodies trembling as they bolted past the towering giant. Ymir's brow furrowed. For the first time, they weren't running towards him. They were running from something.
He turned his head and saw it.
At the rear of the stampede, one beast tripped. It clawed at the earth, trying to scramble to its feet, but then it screamed—a sound ripped straight from the soul. Small, writhing shapes scuttled over its body, black and glistening, their mandibles clicking as they sank into flesh. They didn't just eat; they dissolved. The beast's skin bubbled, melted, and peeled back under their touch, muscles liquefying, bones dissolving in seconds. The air filled with the stench of rot and acid.
Ymir tilted his head. "That's one disgusting way to die."
The creature thrashed, shrieking in blind agony, until its voice broke and it collapsed into silence—leaving only a puddle of bubbling black goo.
"Giant Eaters, huh?" Ymir mused, his tone flat but eyes alight with recognition. "Hell Bugs. Flesh Bugs. Whatever name mortals curse you with. Nemesis of giants, they say."
He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. Then he smiled.
"Guess I'll test that theory."
With a sudden leap that shook the ground, Ymir hurled himself into the swarm. His massive hand gripped the trunk of a colossal tree, uprooting it like a child snapping a twig, and with a roar he swung it down. The trunk smashed into the writhing tide of insects, flattening them by the thousands in an explosion of ichor and crushed carapace.
The survivors screeched in unison, an ear-splitting chorus, and turned their many-eyed gazes upon him.
"Yeah, that got your attention."
They surged forward like a tidal wave of black armor. Ymir leapt from tree to tree, his enormous body moving with shocking agility, each impact splintering bark and snapping ancient wood. The bugs clawed up the trunks, mandibles gnashing, legs scraping, but they couldn't yet bite through the colossal trees. Too weak, too unevolved.
"Solar-class trash," Ymir muttered, grinning as he taunted them. "Chase me harder. You're not even worth a warm-up."
For six hours, the game continued. A giant chased by the very swarm meant to devour him, his laughter booming across the forest like thunder as he swung trees, stomped whole clusters, and vaulted above their snapping jaws. To him, it was entertainment. To them, it was vengeance.
But boredom set in.
Ymir landed with a ground-quaking crash, exhaling in disappointment. "Alright, I've had my fun. Playtime's over."
Flames burst across his armor—not natural fire, but a searing blaze born of the abyss itself. He swept his arm in a wide arc, igniting the earth in a curtain of cursed flame. The bugs shrieked, their carapaces cracking, bodies curling as fire consumed them. Within moments, the swarm was nothing but ash, scattered by the wind.
Ymir stood among the smoldering remains, tilting his head back and breathing deep the acrid smoke. Then he smirked. "Next."
He didn't have to wait long.
From the haze of smoke, a shadow loomed. Larger. Heavier. Older. The ground quaked beneath its steps, and the air itself seemed to warp around its presence.
The creature that emerged stood six hundred feet tall, a grotesque amalgamation of predator and nightmare. Its head was that of a bull, but its maw was split with jagged teeth more fitting of a shark. Its torso bore the bulk of a rhinoceros, armored hide glistening with molten veins. Its legs were striped with the sinew and claws of a tiger, built for speed. From its jaws dripped saliva like magma, sizzling against the dirt and burning holes into the ground.
Ymir's eyes widened, then narrowed into a feral grin.
"It's been a while," he said, voice low, almost reverent. "A Beast of Sin."
He could feel its aura radiating, thick and oppressive, pressing down on the land itself. The hunger. The malice. The sin etched into its very being.
Beasts of Sin. Born from the pits of hell, each one an incarnation of the seven sins that plague existence. Sloth, Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Wrath, Envy, and Pride—the weakest to the strongest. Each sin a realm. Each realm shattered into ten stages of power, compounding endlessly.
And this one… this beast reeked of Envy. Second only to Pride.
The monster bellowed, molten spit splattering across the ground, and then it charged.
Ymir's smile widened into a laugh. "Good. Don't die too quick."
They collided.
The impact cracked the land open, fissures spider-webbing outward as rivers of molten lava gushed from the wounds of the earth. Ymir grappled the beast, muscles straining as he lifted the six-hundred-foot abomination and slammed it into the ground. But it wasn't just brute flesh—it was cunning. The beast twisted mid-air, rolling its weight to break free from his grasp.
Ymir skidded back, catching himself on gouged earth. His chest rose and fell with exhilaration, his laughter echoing.
"That's more like it!"
They clashed again. Fists against claws. Horns against steel. Their movements shattered mountains, their roars split the sky. Each strike detonated with the force of earthquakes, shockwaves flattening forests, winds ripping trees from their roots.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The battlefield became a wasteland, and still neither yielded.
And then, amidst the chaos, Ymir felt it. A presence.
Far off, hidden among the debris and storm of their fight, a man watched. His body was tiny by comparison, but his spirit sharp, his hand gripping the hilt of a katana. A samurai, battered by the shockwaves, clung to survival inside a cave. His eyes peeked from the shadows, and what he saw froze his blood.
Two titans warring like gods. One a beast dripping magma, the other a giant armored in the bones of slaughtered monsters.
The samurai swallowed hard. His body trembled, but his voice whispered with unbroken duty:
"That is no man. That… is a calamity."
He fled, carried by the wind itself, racing to deliver his warning to the shogun.
And Ymir? He had seen him.
He let him go.
"Run, little blade," Ymir chuckled as he tore back into the Beast of Sin. "Spread the word."
The legend of Ymir had just gained another witness.