γπππππππ ππ: πππ πππ-ππππ πππππππ ππππ ππππππππγ
---
β¦The battlefield: a broken void between universesβ§
Fragments of planets spun in silence. Stars flickered like dying candles. The Monkey King had already darted away toward his own battle with Doomsday Meteorite, but hereβthis space belonged to two warriors alone.
γπΎπ‘πππ«ππ£π πππ©ππ€π§ππ©πγ
β¦ So you are the infamous Bat-King. They say your wings once blackened a million suns.β¦
γππ€π§ππ©πγ
β¦ And they say you are a blade-child who hides behind speed. Let us see which tale survives tonight.β¦
γπππ π πππ πππππππ ππππππ ππππππ βπππ ππππ ππππ ππππππ .γ
---
β¦First Clashβ§
Their collision detonated the void. Cleaving's twin forearm blades tore arcs of silver across reality, each swing carving fissures into the cosmos. Xorath countered by igniting his signature spell:
ππππππππβππππππ ππππππ.
From his arms erupted burning, magma-forged sabers, their edges dripping molten fire that hissed when it met the cold void. His wings blazed open, each flap raining sparks of destruction.
γππ€π§ππ©πγ
β¦ Bissaper shall decide if you live.β¦
Their swords screamed against each other, blade to blade, sparks streaming like rivers of fire.
Cleaving darted left, right, aboveβhis movements impossible, every slash timed to strike between Xorath's swings. But Xorath was no novice. He parried with molten fury, each block unleashing shockwaves that cracked asteroids into dust.
---
β¦The Dance of Bladesβ§
Cleaving's voice was calm, his strikes relentless.
γπΎπ‘πππ«ππ£πγ
β¦ Predictable. You swing wideβyour rage slows you.β¦
γππ€π§ππ©πγ
β¦ My rage burns. And fire always consumes.β¦
Xorath spun mid-air, both molten sabers whirling in a storm. His Bissaper spell extended them into long magma-whips, each slash carving craters into space itself. Cleaving darted between them, body twisting like liquid steel, and countered with sharp precision cuts.
Their fight was more than strengthβit was art. Every stroke of Cleaving's silver blades was surgical. Every roar of Xorath's Bissaper was raw destruction.
γπππ ππππ πππππππ ππππ ππππππππππ ππ πππππ πππππ ππππ πππππππ.γ
---
β¦Xorath presses the assaultβ§
Xorath roared, wings igniting brighter.
γππ€π§ππ©πγ
β¦ BissaperβCascading Storm!β¦
πππ ππππππ ππππππ πππππ ππππ πππ, ππππππππ ππππππ πππ ππππ π ππππππ ππππππ πππππ.
Each molten weapon darted independently, slashing from every direction. Cleaving was forced back, blades ringing as he deflected the onslaught. Sparks blinded, magma dripped across his armor, sizzling.
Still, Cleaving grinned.
γπΎπ‘πππ«ππ£πγ
β¦ Better. Show me why galaxies once screamed your name.β¦
---
β¦Cleaving turns the tideβ§
In a blur, Cleaving vanished. His form flickered faster than Xorath's eyes could follow. The molten blades struck empty space.
γππ€π§ππ©πγ
β¦ Whatβ?β¦
A silver flash. Pain ripped across his side. One of Cleaving's blades had pierced through his armor.
γππππππ ππππππ , ππππ ππππππππ ππππ πππ πππππ .γ
γπΎπ‘πππ«ππ£πγ
β¦ Too slow, Bat-King. Rage blinds you. Precision ends you.β¦
Xorath staggered, molten blood dripping into the void, burning holes into passing meteors.
But the Bat-King laughed.
γππ€π§ππ©πγ
β¦ Yesβ¦ hurt me more. Only pain sharpens my claws.β¦
---
β¦The Battle Heatsβ§
Xorath's wings ignited, a blazing inferno flooding the void.
γππ€π§ππ©πγ
β¦ BissaperβInfernal Collapse!β¦
πππ ππππππ ππππππ ππππππππ, πππππππ ππππ πππππ πππππππππ ππ ππππ, ππππππππ ππππ ππππππ πππππ ππ πππππ πππππ πππππ.
Cleaving fought hard, but each block rattled his frame. Sparks seared his flesh. His blades moved with liquid perfection, but the storm of molten sabers pressed him harder, faster.
γππππππ πππ ππππ πππ πππ ππππππ πππππ, π ππππππ πππππ πππππ πππ πππππ.γ
---
β¦But Cleaving adaptsβ§
Suddenlyβhis silver blades began glowing brighter. He locked eyes with Xorath.
γπΎπ‘πππ«ππ£πγ
β¦ You fight with storms. I fight with silence.β¦
In one movement, his body flickered between molten arcs. His blades struck faster than soundβclean, exact. Each slash cut through a molten saber, shattering the Bissaper constructs one by one.
γππ€π§ππ©πγ
β¦ Impossibleβ!β¦
Another strike. His wing shredded. Blood spilled, fire dimmed.
γππππππ'π ππππππ ππππππ , ππππππ π πππππππππ.γ
γπΎπ‘πππ«ππ£πγ
β¦ Bat-Kingβ¦ your fire is fading.β¦
---
β¦The cliffhangerβ§
Still, Xorath stood tall, battered, wings shredded, molten sabers flickering like dying torches.
γππ€π§ππ©πγ
β¦ Fade? No. I burn brightestβ¦ at the edge of death.β¦
He raised both molten sabers, his Bissaper surging one last time, wings blazing against the void. Cleaving lowered his stance, silver blades humming like pure death.
Their final clash drew nearβsword to sword, molten flame against cutting light.
γπππ ππ ππ ππππππ, πππ πππ-ππππ ππππππ π πππππ πππ, πππ ππππππππ ππ ππππβπππ πππππ πππππππππβ¦γ
