Dark: Oi...
His voice broke the silence like a cracked blade scraping across stone.
Dark stepped forward, dragging his boots through the remains of his army—broken swords, ash-cloaked helmets, shattered bones.
Dark: Astaroth...
He stopped in the center of the ruined throne hall, surrounded by fire and ruin.
Dark: You killed them all.
His tone never shifted. No mourning. No rage. Just a fact.
Dark: Every last one of them... My Champions. My Shadows. My Hollows.
Across the hall, Astaroth stood atop the fractured remains of his obsidian dais. His armor radiated heat like a burning forge. The greatsword rested across his back like a cross too heavy for lesser men to bear.
Astaroth: I did.
Astaroth: They fell because you commanded them to rise.
Astaroth: You unleashed them knowing they would burn.
Astaroth: And I welcomed their flames.
Dark didn't answer. He exhaled slowly and tilted his head.
Dark: Igor.
A faint metallic rasp followed as the bloodied knight shifted on one knee.
Igor: Yes... my Emperor?
His voice was steady, noble—barely hiding the strain in his broken frame. His armor was cracked from shoulder to hip, and yet his eyes remained fixed on Dark, not the monster across from him.
Dark raised his hand.
Dark: Return.
Igor didn't protest. Didn't flinch. He bowed his head once and let go.
His body collapsed into a pool of black mist, like oil dripping backward into a well. The shadow poured into Dark's palm without a sound.
The room grew quiet again.
Dark looked at Astaroth, his face unreadable.
Dark: (thinking) I have nothing left. My reserves are almost gone.
Dark: (thinking) He's still playing with me. Everything I've done hasn't even touched the real him. Just illusions... acts.
Dark's left eye twitched. He dragged his fingers across his temple and sighed.
Dark: (thinking) Maybe I should just collapse. Pretend to be dead. Buy a little time. Or maybe wait for some divine bullshit power-up to fall from the sky...
He snorted and shook his head.
Dark: (thinking) No. That's not me.
Dark: (thinking) First I leaned on Sukojo. Then Igor. Now I'm standing here thinking someone else is going to save me again?
He clenched his fists. The veins across his arms pulsed dimly.
Astaroth: You look... tired.
Astaroth: If thou wishest for a pause to gather thy strength, I shall grant it. I am not without mercy.
Dark: You're the Fourth Emperor, right?
Astaroth nodded.
Astaroth: Aye. The Throne of Embers. Herald of Desolation. Sovereign of Ruin.
Dark: Right. So tell me...
He took one step forward, flicked some dust from his shoulder.
Dark: What happens if I kill you?
Astaroth tilted his head, not amused, but contemplative.
Astaroth: Shouldst thou succeed... the world shall take notice.
Astaroth: The sky will turn its gaze, and fire shall kneel before shadow.
Astaroth: But you will not survive long enough to see it.
Dark: Thought so.
He rolled his neck. Bones cracked.
Then he reached down and picked up a pebble—a meaningless, charred little thing.
Dark: Just needed some motivation.
He lightly tossed the pebble toward Astaroth.
Astaroth: ...What is this?
Dark: Distraction.
Dark vanished.
He reappeared directly above Astaroth, fist drawn, claws flaring black and red.
Dark: Duck.
The blow landed, detonating a dome of pressure that vaporized the ground beneath them. The remains of the palace cracked and folded inward like crushed parchment.
Astaroth didn't budge.
He didn't even blink.
Dark landed on the ground and staggered forward, coughing.
Dark: Okay... yeah. That one was supposed to break a star.
Astaroth: I felt it.
Astaroth: Barely.
Dark: You offering me a break or not?
Astaroth: Two minutes. Use them wisely.
Dark: Yeah.
He sat down cross-legged in the rubble and closed his eyes.
Dark: (thinking) I can't use Domain World... he'll shatter it instantly.
Dark: (thinking) But Sukojo once mentioned something else... Domain Verse.
He pressed two fingers to his temple.
Dark: (thinking) Domain Trick is small. A room. A battlefield.
Dark: (thinking) Domain World... entire galaxies. Universes. Dimensions.
Dark: (thinking) But Domain Verse...
Dark: (thinking) That's not a place. It's a law. A command that rewrites past, present, future... simultaneously.
Dark exhaled.
Dark: (thinking) I can't do that. Not yet.
He opened his eyes.
Dark: Not until I figure out what I am beyond all this.
Astaroth tilted his head slightly—his expression unchanged.
Astaroth: Then let the pain of knowing guide you.
No flourish. No theatrics.
Just the sound of boots shifting ash.
Dark moved first—fast. Low. He burst forward and dragged Kyuketsu along the ground behind him, sparks trailing in a jagged arc.
He closed the gap in under half a second.
Astaroth stepped forward too.
They met in the middle.
Metal struck metal.
No time to think. Only impact.
Kyuketsu slammed into Astaroth's massive blade. The force bent the air—then cracked it.
Dark twisted his wrist mid-clash, shoved Astaroth's guard aside, and sent a quick jab into his ribs with his off-hand.
Blocked. Elbow.
Countered. Shoulder.
Astaroth slammed the flat of his blade down toward Dark's collarbone like a warhammer.
Dark ducked low and shot up with a rising knee—caught Astaroth clean in the stomach.
Astaroth didn't flinch.
Instead, he turned his torso and threw a heavy hook across Dark's face. It landed—raw.
Dark's body tilted mid-air, blood flicking from his jaw. But he didn't stumble. He used the momentum, spun mid-step, and dragged Kyuketsu in a horizontal sweep.
Astaroth parried.
The clang sent tremors into the earth. Their weapons scraped as they locked—shoulder to shoulder, weight against weight.
Astaroth: You lack balance. Power does not listen to those who hesitate.
Dark shoved his forehead into Astaroth's face—headbutt.
Astaroth staggered half a step.
Dark followed through.
Uppercut.
Spinning slash.
Reverse knee.
He kept moving, fast—mechanical. Efficient. Not out of style. Out of anger.
Astaroth caught the blade mid-swing—grip like stone—and kicked Dark straight in the stomach. The impact launched Dark through three ruined pillars, shattering each like glass.
But Dark didn't scream.
He rolled once mid-air, stabbed Kyuketsu into the ground to stop himself, and dragged to a halt.
He stood. Slowly. Blood on his lip. Breathing steady.
Dark: (cold) That suit sale's not going to wait forever.
Astaroth: Nor shall I.
Dark stepped forward again.
They met again.
No gap this time.
Close-quarter carnage.
Elbow into ribs.
Blade across neck—parried.
Knee to thigh.
Step-in shoulder bash.
Astaroth spun and brought his sword down overhead—an executioner's strike.
Dark raised Kyuketsu flat. It caught the blow—but the force cratered the ground beneath them. Cracks expanded in all directions.
Dark twisted, slipped under Astaroth's guard, and slammed his palm into Astaroth's chin—then followed up with a rising slice across his torso.
The edge of Kyuketsu carved up Astaroth's chestplate in a single, brutal draw. Steel shrieked. Astaroth's body arched back slightly—not from pain, but from acknowledgment.
He stepped backward, letting the blade finish its climb, before seizing Dark's wrist in an iron grip.
Astaroth: A precise angle... yet the weight behind it lacks absolution.
He pivoted, using Dark's own momentum, and hurled him over his shoulder. Dark hit the ground hard, back-first, but flipped instantly—sliding low and dragging Kyuketsu in a defensive arc above him.
The blade caught a downward stomp—Astaroth's heel slamming into the katana's flat. The ground exploded beneath the point of impact, sending up a wall of scorched debris.
Dark surged through the smoke.
Kyuketsu reversed into an icepick grip—thrust low for the ankle.
Astaroth lifted his foot just enough, then retaliated with a forward knee.
Dark ducked.
Spun under the strike.
His elbow snapped up and crashed into Astaroth's ribs.
Followed by a sweeping leg-hook.
Astaroth staggered—only slightly—but it gave Dark enough room to pivot back and put two hands on the blade.
He exhaled once.
Then stepped forward.
One slash.
Clean.
But Astaroth raised his sword in both hands and caught it mid-swing, the two blades grinding against one another—sparks flying between their faces.
Astaroth: You are persistent, I'll grant you that.
Dark's voice was lower now—measured.
Dark: And you're stalling.
Astaroth: If I was stalling, you would be dust already.
He twisted, disarming Dark with a calculated jerk of the wrist. Kyuketsu skidded across the floor.
Dark lunged bare-handed.
He caught Astaroth's forearm, twisted, then slammed his shoulder into the demon's sternum.
The two clashed—body to body—stripped of style. Just strikes. Just weight.
Fists, knees, palms, bone.
Astaroth threw a punch—Dark ducked, stepped in, and countered with a precise strike to the liver.
Astaroth flinched.
Dark's left hand grabbed the back of Astaroth's head, and he slammed their foreheads together with a brutal crack.
Both staggered.
But only one stumbled.
Dark retrieved Kyuketsu with a flick of the hand—pulled it back to him through the shadows like a whisper.
He stood again, breath calm.
Dark: (quietly) You're stronger. I know that.
Astaroth raised his brow.
Dark: But strength doesn't mean invincibility.
Astaroth's eyes dimmed. The faint amusement that once lingered in their golden depths vanished completely.
Astaroth: Then allow me to remind you... what invincibility used to look like.
He stepped forward—and everything broke.
The floor beneath them ruptured in a single pulse. Dark moved first—shoulders dropping, Kyuketsu in both hands, dashing low with inhuman speed. A precise strike aimed for Astaroth's hip, meant to disable.
But it never landed.
Astaroth's palm met his chest before the blade could even cut air. Just a single touch. Just a push.
Dark was launched backward like a ragdoll, his body crashing through five pillars of infernal stone. Each one burst into shards, the last one cracking open and burying him in its remains.
Astaroth didn't follow.
He just stood still—and raised his hand.
The rubble shivered.
Then exploded.
Dark was yanked forward mid-fall—gravity itself rejecting him. Astaroth's magic twisted space like wet cloth. Before Dark could even stabilize mid-air, Astaroth appeared—his hand already cocked back.
The punch landed clean across Dark's jaw.
The air shattered around them.
Dark's head snapped sideways—his body lagging behind it—then spiraled into the rock wall of the throne chamber with such force that cracks split the entire mountainside outside.
He hit the ground face-first. Blood pooled fast.
He tried to get up. One palm on the stone.
Astaroth's foot came down on his spine.
Hard.
Dark let out a low growl—but the pressure was too great. His ribs cracked. Astaroth didn't stop pressing.
Astaroth: You charge with boldness... but no balance. Rage without calculation. Power without presence.
Dark forced his arm to move, pushing against the floor.
Astaroth knelt slightly, still standing on his back, and whispered.
Astaroth: Is this the posture of an Emperor?
Then kicked him.
Full force.
Dark was flung across the entire throne hall. His body rolled, leaving a trench of blood and broken stone, finally stopping in the far corner beneath a collapsed statue of some long-forgotten deity.
Dark: (spitting blood) Tch—ghk... fuck...
He tried to rise again.
Astaroth was already there.
He grabbed Dark by the throat and lifted him.
Off the ground.
Effortless.
Astaroth: You believed I toyed with you. You believed I acted. That I feigned fatigue or humility...
His fingers dug deeper into Dark's neck.
Astaroth: But you are not even worth pretending for.
He threw him—upward.
Dark soared straight into the ceiling, crashing through blackened stone and bursting into the open sky of Hell. Flames licked at the edges of the breach, and Dark's body tumbled—burning, spinning—before Astaroth appeared above him once more.
This time, no words.
Just a brutal kick to the chest.
Dark plummeted.
The ground met him like a vengeful god.
Everything went silent.
A massive crater had formed where he landed—his body limp at the center. Blood soaked the soil. One leg twitched.
Astaroth descended slowly.
He stood at the crater's edge, arms at his sides, gaze steady.
Astaroth: Still alive...?
Dark didn't answer.
His body was sprawled in the center of the crater—broken, scorched, twitching like a dying ember in a furnace far too vast. His armor was cracked, his skin torn in dozens of places. Blood pooled beneath him, thick and slow, steam rising where it touched the cursed soil of Hell.
But his hand was still moving.
His fingers curled around something in the rubble.
Kyuketsu.
It was half-buried, but the blade pulsed faintly—responding not to strength, but defiance.
Dark: (barely audible) ...Not yet.
Astaroth's brows shifted by a hair. No amusement. No mockery. Just observation. The way a god might observe a mortal who refused to drown.
Astaroth: You drag your body like it were still your ally. Yet it has long since abandoned you, Emperor-to-be.
Dark planted his palm down. He didn't lift himself.
He forced the earth beneath him to rise.
The entire crater shifted upward. Rock split and pushed as if Hell itself obeyed the pressure of his will. His knees locked. His spine straightened. And slowly, inch by agonizing inch, Dark stood again.
He was swaying.
But upright.
Kyuketsu dragged behind him like a dead limb.
Dark: (cold) You done?
Astaroth tilted his head.
Astaroth: Done...? You are not a meal, boy. You are the breath between courses.
He vanished.
Dark's eyes widened. His instincts screamed. He raised his blade to parry—too late.
Astaroth reappeared at his side, elbow already slamming into Dark's ribs with a crunch that echoed like a drumbeat of death.
Dark coughed hard. Blood sprayed the air.
A follow-up knee rammed into his stomach, lifting him from the ground.
Astaroth seized him mid-air, spun, and hurled him into a jagged cliff face that erupted in a plume of black flame upon impact.
Dark's body slammed into the rocks, bounced, then hit the dirt below like a lifeless doll.
Silence.
Then—
Dark: (groaning, barely conscious) T-two minutes isn't up yet...
His left eye had swollen shut. His right arm hung useless. But he was smiling.
Dark: (thinking) I can't beat him like this... not in power. Not in form. But maybe...
Astaroth stood above, arms still relaxed, cloak dragging slightly in the windless heat.
Astaroth: Still clinging to hope? Still convinced you're more than a flicker in the dark?
Dark didn't flinch.
Instead, he laughed. Slowly. Quietly at first. Then louder. Not the laughter of confidence or relief—but of something else.
The kind that burns after you've lost everything.
Dark: More than a flicker in the dark?
He wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand.
Dark: (low) Did you forget something, Astaroth?
Astaroth tilted his head, unbothered.
Astaroth: Then enlighten me, Shadow Monarch.
Dark stood up fully, slowly, shoulders squared under the weight of the battlefield.
Dark: I am the incarnation of darkness itself. The abyss doesn't fear the flame—it consumes it.
Dark: I don't exist to balance evil. I exist to erase it. Entirely.
He glanced to the side—blood dripping across shattered stone.
Dark: You think standing as one of the Six grants immunity? That the word "Emperor" is a shield?
Dark: If this world won't accept me as one of you...
He stepped forward once.
Dark: ...then I will become something greater than an Emperor.
Astaroth's lip curled into a thin smile.
Astaroth: Khaaahahaha... delusion suits you well, mortal.
Dark: (cold) No delusions left. Only resolve.
Dark's voice cracked the silence like a slow thunderclap.
Dark: I don't need your approval. I don't need your throne. I just need you to stop standing.
He opened his arms wide.
Dark: So come on then—help me erase the name Dark from your history.
Dark's aura swelled as he spoke. The cracked earth trembled beneath his boots.
Dark: You sent Solas, your most twisted embodiment. I destroyed him. Now it's your turn.
Astaroth gave a long, tired sigh, walking back toward his throne. Each step echoed against the crumbling stone.
Astaroth: Solas, reveal thy form. Show this boy what he thinks he broke.
For a heartbeat, nothing.
No movement. No tension. No energy.
Then the world dropped.
An overwhelming downward force—reverse gravity—snapped into existence. The skies of Hell bent. Stone cracked and wept. Dark staggered, dropping to one knee as the atmosphere itself crushed down like a living hammer.
Dark: Tch—what the...?
Solas: Exactly.
His voice came from everywhere—layered and disjointed. A chorus of discord.
Solas: This... is Hell.
He manifested behind Dark, his voice now grounded. More focused. Less scattered.
Solas: I am not merely a guardian.
Solas: I am the skeletal spine of this realm. I am the whisper in every scream. I am the Corridor of Hell.
Before the words finished, Dark turned and drove his fist straight into Solas' head, sending the void-being flying through several mountains.
Dark: Shut the hell up.
He straightened.
Dark: (thinking) I let Sukojo use me as a vessel. That means his power... his anger... all of it's still here.
Dark: (thinking) I'm going to regret this.
Solas returned—form shifting. Now not humanoid, but a black void with elongated limbs, a jaw too wide to belong to any species, and glowing white eyes like sunken moons.
Solas: You'll regret more than that.
Dark's arm shot forward—faster than lightning—and cracked Solas across the face again.
Dark: Did you not hear me?
Dark: I said... shut up.
His eyes narrowed. A low growl echoed in his chest. Something ancient stirred behind his gaze. A ripple of hunger, like Sukojo's grin surfacing under his skin.
Dark: (thinking) Controlling this bastard's soul is like holding a collapsing star in your gut...
He exhaled, then raised his hand and pointed at Astaroth, still lounging upon his throne.
Dark: You.
Dark: Get over here.
Astaroth appeared in front of him, like a shadow stepping through a frame. No sound. No wind.
He kicked Dark square in the jaw.
Dark's head snapped back, body unmoved. But then... he looked at Astaroth again. Slowly.
Two more crimson eyes opened beneath his own.
Astaroth stepped back. His breath hitched.
Astaroth: That gaze... That curse...
Dark raised both hands to his chest, fingers curling inward like a ritual.
Dark: Domain Verse.
Astaroth's eyes twitched.
Dark: Shiro No Yami Sakai.
The world pulsed. Reality convulsed. Blood erupted from Astaroth's mouth as a crack split through his skin.
Dark: Convergence of Absolute.
The battlefield died.
Everything turned monochrome.
As if ink had spilled across existence, painting the world in high-contrast black and white.
Time stopped.
Only Dark moved.
He circled Astaroth, who stood frozen, his form beginning to fracture—small fissures spreading across his skin like broken porcelain.
Dark: (low) This... this should've locked everything.
But the cracks in Astaroth's skin began to seal.
Dark: ...No.
A low boom echoed behind him.
Then another.
Then the world exploded.
Not like an eruption—but like a page being ripped apart.
Lines shattered. Shadows screamed. Sound bled ink.
Everything in front of Dark was gone.
Smoke curled upward in slow, twitching spirals.
Dark: ...He's gone?
He scanned the white emptiness, now starting to flicker with collapsing runes and burning glyphs.
Dark: No one should be able to move in here.
Dark: This Domain Verse covers twenty percent of everything—the threads of history, time, void, silence—
He clenched his fists.
Dark: ...how is he not bound?
Silence.
Then...
From above—Astaroth's voice.
Low. Refined. Echoing like a memory.
Astaroth: ...Then let me show you what true freedom looks like, oh child of shadows.
Astaroth raised his hand slowly.
Astaroth: Let me show you the elegance... of one simple trick.
A faint red-black glow formed at his fingertips—a glyph, curved and ancient, traced midair like a dying ember clawing its last breath.
Astaroth: Domain Trick.
The world hiccuped.
A small sphere—barely wider than a room—manifested around Dark, swallowing him whole. Its surface flickered like a heartbeat, dark red and void-stained black.
Astaroth stepped inside without a sound.
Inside the sphere, the space was silent. Claustrophobic. Just Dark and Astaroth, suspended in a frozen void of shifting red light.
Dark stood still.
Breathing.
Blood dripping from his jawline.
Astaroth smiled.
Astaroth: You spent everything, didn't you?
Dark: ...
Astaroth: Overscaling your mana... how reckless.
He stepped closer, the space tightening around them with every inch.
Astaroth: You reached for Domain Verse. Shiro No Yami Sakai. The Convergence of Absolute.
Astaroth: But do you know the law of exhaustion?
He stopped a few steps away.
Astaroth: Right after a Domain Verse... a Domain Trick, used with precision...
He raised two fingers—then slowly, deliberately, tapped the side of his own temple.
Astaroth: ...is enough to rupture the soul.
The glyph behind him expanded. A pulse rang out.
Astaroth: Trick of Doom.
Dark's body convulsed.
Veins popped. Blood erupted from his nose, mouth, ears, even his fingertips.
He collapsed to one knee.
Astaroth: There it is.
Astaroth: The consequence of power without discipline.
Dark gasped—but no words came out.
Astaroth: You tried to channel Sukojo.
Astaroth: His soul... even a fragment of it... is a maelstrom. A cosmic riot bound in flesh.
Dark coughed blood onto the glassy surface of the sphere.
Astaroth watched him—then slowly raised a hand to his own head.
Astaroth: That man...
He closed his eyes.
Astaroth: Sukojo... The Devourer Of All.
Astaroth: The only being to ever match me—blow for blow, breath for breath. Power. Speed. Spirit. All of it.
Flashes of memory burned across the void.
Two gods locked in a timeless war.
Astaroth and Sukojo—each strike from them collapsing realities. Their punches cracked verses. Their footwork distorted concepts. Their screams warped timelines.
Astaroth: We fought for so long...
Astaroth: The war outlasted empires. Stars were born and died while our blades danced.
Astaroth: I don't remember when it ended...
He paused.
Astaroth: I only remember the voice of Shou.
Astaroth: The Supreme One. The Watcher Beyond All Ends.
Astaroth: He commanded Cosmic... and only then... only then was our battle halted.
His hand fell to his side.
Astaroth: Since then, I slumbered. Deep within Hell. Sealed by my own will. Until your arrogance woke me.
He turned his gaze back to Dark—who was trembling, eyes barely open.
Astaroth: But even now...
He narrowed his eyes.
Astaroth: When I look at you...
Astaroth: In that flicker of defiance, that damnable refusal to die...
He took a breath.
Astaroth: I see him again.
Dark: (thinking) He's talking too much...
Dark: (thinking) This isn't arrogance...
Dark: (thinking) Why is he mentioning the past though?
Astaroth stepped back.
Astaroth: Dark, oh Dark...
Astaroth: You are not Sukojo.
Astaroth: But you've earned something he never did.
He extended one arm—like a knight acknowledging a rival.
Astaroth: My recognition.
Astaroth: Thus... thou hast proven thyself worthy.
Dark lifted his head, one eye bleeding, mouth curled into a defiant grin.
To Be Continued.
End Of Arc 6 Chapter 13.