The silence didn't hum. It didn't breathe. It watched.
Dust hung in the air like broken prayers, each mote suspended in stillness, waiting for permission to fall. Around them, the base remained cracked and lifeless, its defenses vaporized, its soldiers scattered or unconscious. A moment ago, it had been a battlefield. Now it was a ring.
Dark took a single step forward. His boots dragged slightly, carving a sharp line into the stone beneath him. The cloak of shadows he wore slithered against the wind, reshaping with every movement like it was alive.
Kyuketsu pulsed in his grip. The weapon, no longer just a blade, had begun to hum with something deeper. Not hunger. Not rage. A kind of awareness. A kind of purpose.
Astaroth stood at the center, unmoving. His body radiated a steady glow, the embers of his core flickering across his collarbones and spine. He didn't raise his hand. He didn't flare his power. He just stared. Eyes low. Posture even. Flame dancing gently at his heels.
Dark didn't speak.
He lunged.
The explosion of force that followed tore the air into pieces. It wasn't just a movement, it was a rupture. Pavement exploded under his feet, sending splinters of concrete slicing upward like shrapnel.
Kyuketsu came first. The slash was low, angled from hip to neck, its edge dragging the heat out of the air as it passed.
Astaroth caught it. Sparks screamed from the contact. Flame wrapped around his forearm as his fingers closed on the black blade.
Dark stepped in closer, almost chest to chest. His left hand lashed out. The punch was raw. His knuckles slammed into Astaroth's ribs, and the impact made a sound like a hammer splitting a bone.
It wasn't symbolic. It was literal. The third rib on Astaroth's left side cracked down the middle. The noise echoed across the ruins with a dull, wet pop.
Astaroth blinked once.
Dark twisted the blade in his hand and used the momentum to spin. His elbow caught Astaroth in the mouth, splitting the bottom lip instantly. Blood sprayed sideways, thick and red, splattering across the broken floor.
The Emperor stumbled back. Only a single step. But it was enough.
Dark followed. His foot snapped up, catching Astaroth in the stomach. The boot sank into his solar plexus, and something beneath the flesh gave. Astaroth exhaled sharply, a breath that dragged blood out with it.
Dark didn't pause. He grabbed the edge of Kyuketsu and slammed the pommel into Astaroth's collarbone.
The crunch was disgusting. Astaroth's left shoulder dipped unnaturally. The bone hadn't just broken—it had cracked in two and slipped forward beneath the skin. The collarbone protruded now, jutting up just beneath his throat like a second blade trying to escape his own body.
Astaroth raised his hand to retaliate. He didn't get the chance.
Dark ducked under the swing, stepped in, and drove his forehead directly into the bridge of Astaroth's nose.
There was no snap. Just a dull rupture. Astaroth's nose didn't just break—it caved inward. Cartilage burst. Blood sprayed upward like a fountain, warm and immediate. His head jerked back from the force, eyes blinking rapidly, unable to see.
Dark shifted again. Both fists came up. He delivered three punches in under two seconds.
First to the jaw. The bone cracked on impact. Blood sprayed sideways, two teeth flung from the Emperor's mouth like shattered ivory.
Second to the throat. Not enough to crush it, but enough to rupture the soft tissue and force a ragged gasp from deep in Astaroth's chest.
Third to the gut. Full force. Dark's knuckles sank in several inches. The flesh rippled around the impact point. Blood exploded from Astaroth's mouth, painting the ground with a thick, ropey splash of crimson.
Astaroth doubled over.
Dark stepped in again and grabbed the back of his head.
Then he slammed Astaroth face-first into the ground.
Stone shattered. Bone cracked.
The Emperor's face skidded across the concrete, his flesh peeling open from brow to cheek as he ground into the debris. Sparks and blood sprayed out in a line as his body was dragged several meters.
Dark yanked him back up.
Astaroth's right eye was sealed shut. The flesh around it pulsed with swelling. The bone underneath was cracked in two places. His mouth dripped blood like a leaking faucet, painting his chin and neck in wet red streams.
Dark let go.
Astaroth dropped to one knee.
Not willingly. Not with honor. His leg simply gave out.
Vorax: (thinking) That's it. That's the stumble.
Dark: (thinking) Then I'll keep going.
He pulled Kyuketsu free, the blade now jagged like a saw, edges serrated and stained with dark light.
He raised it—
And brought it down across Astaroth's back.
The blade didn't slice through cleanly. It tore. The edge ripped into the flesh along Astaroth's right shoulder blade, carving through layers of muscle, sinew, and tendon. Blood fountained upward in a geyser of heat and steam. The wound wasn't a line. It was a trench.
Astaroth let out a low, guttural noise. Not a scream. A growl.
Dark pressed forward and kicked him in the ribs again. The broken section cracked further inward, the sound a disgusting mix of snapping bone and tearing meat.
Astaroth's hand reached out toward the ground.
Dark brought his heel down on it.
The bones in the Emperor's hand broke instantly. The middle and ring fingers bent backward at impossible angles. Skin tore open. Blood spurted from the knuckles in small, high-pressure arcs.
Vorax: (thinking) He's still conscious. How?
Dark: (thinking) Doesn't matter. I'm not stopping until he bleeds like us.
He leaned down and grabbed Astaroth by the back of the neck again.
This time, he hurled him upward.
Astaroth's body soared into the sky, trailing blood in a long arc.
Dark followed.
He didn't fly. He jumped. The force of it cracked the ground beneath him in a spider web-like pattern, stone breaking outward in jagged veins. The impact shattered the lower foundation of the ruined base, dropping broken metal and scorched debris into the crater below.
Astaroth soared upward through the clouds, leaving behind a spiral of fire.
He glanced back.
His eye narrowed, and for the first time in this war of silence and blood, a flicker of disbelief touched the corners of his mind.
Astaroth: (thinking) Does this young man truly think he is doing something?
He tilted his body slightly, adjusting his center mid-flight. The sky opened around him, red and black, Hell's ceiling stretching into the smoke of dead stars. The world was too slow to catch him.
But then—
He saw it.
Dark.
Not falling behind. Not struggling.
Closing the gap.
His cloak whipped violently behind him, shaped by Vorax's writhing presence. His eyes didn't blink. His teeth clenched. He wasn't flying. He was dragging himself up the sky with rage and raw momentum.
Astaroth's eyes narrowed further.
Dark: (thinking) I don't need to be faster. Just close enough.
Dark: (thinking) One hit. One real one.
Vorax: (thinking) Then go. Rip his lungs out.
Dark roared.
The sound pierced the air like a signal. It wasn't a scream of power. It was a command. The blood soaked into his arms ignited into black, burning shadow. The scars across his chest flared open like mouths hungry for revenge.
He twisted midair and kicked off a broken chunk of stone falling beside him.
His body accelerated.
In a blink, he closed the final distance.
Astaroth turned, his hand beginning to glow with celestial fire. Too late.
Dark spun and drove his right fist directly into Astaroth's stomach.
The punch didn't thud. It detonated.
A blast of shadow erupted from Astaroth's back. Flesh burst open around the entry point, muscle tearing in every direction. Blood jetted out in a thick, high-pressure stream. Astaroth's body buckled midair, eyes wide.
His mouth opened.
No words came out.
Only blood.
Dark didn't let up.
He grabbed Astaroth by the face and spun them both downward. Gravity bent around them as Dark dragged the Emperor from the sky like a meteor pulled from orbit.
The two figures tore through the clouds. Their descent split the atmosphere. The sky cracked open in a ring, parting like a curtain around their fall. Black wind howled against their descent, and still, Dark held on.
His grip crushed into Astaroth's jaw, the bones creaking with every second. The blood from his previous wounds trailed behind them in a long arc, painting the sky with the Emperor's own ruin.
Vorax: (thinking) Hit the ground. Don't slow down. Let it break him.
Dark angled his knee up.
The city approached below, fast, shivering under the energy of their fall.
Dark: (thinking) Shatter everything.
And he did.
They slammed into the Earth with enough force to cause a citywide quake. The street beneath them exploded in a blast of debris and fire. Asphalt turned to molten glass. Buildings tilted from the impact wave.
The crater was massive.
But more importantly—Astaroth's body bounced.
He didn't just fall. He rebounded off the ground, his ribs folding inward like broken scaffolding. His shoulder bent in the wrong direction, muscles snapping like cables under pressure.
Dark followed through.
He grabbed Astaroth mid-air and spun, driving him into the ground a second time. This time, face-first. The skin on Astaroth's cheek shredded against the concrete. His eyebrow split open. One of his teeth cracked, jagged and exposed.
Dark: (cold) Not so high now, are you?
He reached down and pulled Astaroth back up by the neck.
Blood poured from the Emperor's mouth, his left eye swollen shut. His right hand twitched, trying to summon fire—but nothing came.
Dark headbutted him.
Once.
Twice.
The third time, something inside Astaroth's skull popped.
Dark dropped him.
Astaroth fell to one knee. His breathing came in shallow, choked gasps. He spit blood into the dirt. His hand reached out, trembling.
Dark didn't let him rest.
He raised his leg and stomped down on Astaroth's back.
The sound was sickening. Bone cracked. Spine compressed. Blood spurted from his mouth like a hose.
Dark raised his boot again and stomped harder.
Astaroth's back arched unnaturally. Skin split beneath his robe. Vertebrae cracked in sequence.
Vorax: (thinking) You're making him crawl.
Dark: (thinking) Good.
He leaned down, whispering cold words beside the Emperor's ear.
Dark: Crawl.
Dark: (low) That throne you sit on? Burn it. You're not worthy of it.
Dark stood up.
He left Astaroth trembling in the dust, body twitching, blood pouring out of every wound.
But it wasn't over.
Not even close.
Dark turned his back. His shoulders lifted slightly with each breath. Blood ran in thin rivers down his arms, dripping from his fingers into the crater below. His heart beat like a war drum. Victory tasted close. Too close.
Then he felt it.
A presence.
Behind him.
Dark turned—
And bumped into Astaroth's chest.
He didn't slam. He didn't crash. He simply collided, like walking into a wall that wasn't there a second ago.
Dark froze.
Astaroth stood tall. Taller than before. Unmoving. His robes were spotless. His flames danced again, calm and full, no longer flickering. His skin was flawless. No cuts. No bruises. No blood. Even his teeth were whole again.
His eye glowed.
Dark: ...No.
Astaroth smiled.
Astaroth: Yes.
He reached forward.
His hand pressed gently against Dark's shoulder.
Then shoved.
Dark flew back across the crater like a ragdoll. His body skipped along the ground, smashing into rocks and steel beams, spine bending with each impact. Blood sprayed from his mouth before he even tried to breathe.
He coughed as he rolled to a stop.
Dark: (gasping) How...?
Astaroth was already above him.
He grabbed Dark by the face and lifted him effortlessly, boots hovering inches off the ground. A crowd had begun to form along the edge of the city. Civilians. Survivors. People who had no idea what they were watching.
Astaroth turned Dark toward them.
Astaroth: (to the crowd) Behold, mortals. Thy protector. Thy champion.
He dropped Dark like trash.
Dark collapsed onto the stone, barely catching himself on one elbow. Blood trickled from his nose. His lungs wheezed.
Astaroth walked slowly around him.
Astaroth: This is the shadow you feared. The devourer of gods. The boy who believes himself worthy of our thrones.
He kicked Dark in the ribs.
The crack echoed through the city. A woman in the crowd covered her child's eyes. Another man stepped back in horror.
Dark rolled across the ground, trying to rise.
Astaroth didn't wait.
He grabbed Dark by the cloak, hoisted him into the air, and spun—slamming him into the pavement.
Once.
Twice.
The third time, the ground gave out.
A crater formed beneath Dark's body, bones cracking with every slam. His skin peeled open along his back, chunks of his cloak tearing away.
Vorax twitched across his chest, writhing defensively.
Astaroth's eyes shifted.
Astaroth: Disgusting thing.
He reached forward and gripped the edge of Vorax's form, fingers sinking into the symbiote like plunging into mud.
Vorax screamed.
Not with sound. With pressure. The entire area warped. The civilians staggered back. Car windows shattered from the frequency.
Astaroth yanked.
Vorax began to tear.
Dark convulsed. His body arched upward as tendrils peeled away from his neck, chest, and arms. Blood sprayed from every connection point. The symbiote fought—slithered—cried—but it was no use.
Astaroth ripped him out.
Vorax: GGGGAAARRRGHHH—
The symbiote screamed as it tore free, flesh stretching like chewed gum before snapping. Black liquid splashed across the ground. Shadow tendrils whipped out like broken nerves, reaching for Dark.
Astaroth held Vorax by the throat.
The symbiote's body writhed. His eyes opened across the surface, blinking rapidly in panic.
Vorax: PUT ME BACK.
Astaroth sneered.
Astaroth: Silence, parasite.
He tossed Vorax aside like garbage.
The symbiote slammed into the side of a collapsed transport vehicle, splattering across the metal. He tried to reform, but Astaroth was already there.
He raised his foot.
And stomped.
The heel crushed into Vorax's half-solid skull. Black ooze exploded from beneath the boot. The symbiote shivered violently, his body flattening beneath the pressure, limbs twitching uncontrollably.
Astaroth: Filthy animal.
He stepped off and turned back to Dark.
Dark wasn't moving.
His eyes barely open. His breath shallow. Without Vorax, his body was cold, twitching, unprotected. His blood soaked the ground beneath him.
Astaroth knelt beside him.
Astaroth: Dost thou see now, little king?
Astaroth: This is not thy story.
Astaroth: This is not thy war.
Astaroth leaned closer. His voice lowered.
Astaroth: Thou art not chosen. Thou art not feared. Thou art not me.
He grabbed Dark by the jaw.
Astaroth: Look at them.
He pointed toward the civilians in the distance. Some had started to cry. Some had already run. Others simply stood, stunned by the sight of a god breaking a boy.
Astaroth: They will never follow thee now. Not after this.
Dark didn't reply.
Not yet.
But something flickered.
Deep inside.
Vorax twitched on the ground, his form beginning to pull itself back together.
Black tendrils dragged through the dirt, pulling chunks of his body into one misshapen, twitching pile. His breathing wasn't sound. It was pulse. It vibrated across the air like a dying heart that refused to stop beating.
Astaroth didn't turn.
He stood over Dark, gaze fixed on the boy's broken form.
Dark: (quiet) ...You done?
Astaroth froze.
Dark didn't move. He couldn't. His arms barely worked. His vision blurred with every blink. Blood soaked through his teeth when he spoke.
But his voice?
Solid.
Dark: (hoarse) That all you got?
Astaroth didn't answer.
Dark slowly turned his head, eyes locking on the back of Astaroth's leg.
Dark: You healed everything I did.
Dark: But you felt it.
Dark: I saw it in your face.
He coughed. Blood spilled across his lips.
Dark: I made you feel human.
That word hung in the air like poison.
Astaroth turned his head slightly.
His expression didn't break. But his silence did.
Astaroth: Thou art persistent.
Dark: No.
Dark: I'm patient.
He let his head fall back into the dirt.
Dark: Big difference.
Vorax: (from the shadows) Heh...
Vorax's form rose like smoke, still incomplete, still fractured, but laughing. Not loud. Not crazed. Just low and cold, like oil catching fire under wet skin.
Vorax: He's still breathing.
Vorax: That's all that matters.
Astaroth narrowed his eyes.
Vorax slithered forward, dragging his twisted frame through the ash.
Vorax: And if he's breathing...
Vorax: Then I'm still alive.
The moment the last word left his mouth, Vorax surged forward like a starving beast. His body snapped upright, tendrils unraveling from his back like whips, clawing into the dirt, launching himself toward Dark without hesitation.
Astaroth's eyes widened, the flame around his shoulders spiking for the first time in minutes.
Vorax collided with Dark's chest in a violent impact of shadow and force. His body didn't slip over skin or ooze across muscle. It slammed in. Every tendril punched into every scar. Black veins shot across Dark's frame like lightning, feeding into broken bones, torn flesh, failing lungs.
Dark gasped.
The sound was sharp, alive.
Every shattered rib snapped back into place. Skin sealed shut. Bruises faded. Muscle rebuilt itself in reverse, twitching under the rapid pulse of regeneration. His left eye stopped bleeding. His jaw realigned. His breath steadied.
His hand clenched into a fist.
He stood.
Astaroth took a half-step forward.
Dark didn't speak.
He moved.
His leg snapped up in a clean, brutal arc, foot driving straight into Astaroth's chest.
The kick landed.
The impact echoed through the air like a bomb going off underwater. Astaroth didn't fly. He didn't stagger. He simply lifted one arm and caught the leg mid-motion.
His fingers tightened.
Bones crunched.
Dark gritted his teeth as the femur cracked like dry wood. The pain hit instantly, white and loud, flaring through his nerves like an explosion. Astaroth twisted once, and the leg broke completely at the joint.
Dark hissed, falling forward—
But the healing began immediately.
Vorax screamed through his blood, tendrils racing down Dark's spine and into the shattered leg, flooding it with black mist. Muscle reknit. Bone sealed. Tendons reformed in seconds.
Dark vanished.
Not a teleport.
Not flight.
He just wasn't there.
Astaroth turned his head slowly, sensing the shift in weight behind him.
Too late.
Dark reappeared behind him with Kyuketsu already mid-swing.
The blade curved upward from the left side, dragging a wall of shadow behind it, and carved into Astaroth's back.
It didn't break through completely, but it cut. For the first time since his regeneration, the Emperor bled again.
A streak of red splashed across the ground.
Astaroth spun, elbow lashing out.
Dark ducked. His cloak twisted with him, shielding his ribs from a second blow. He stepped in close, too close, and drove his shoulder into Astaroth's chest, sending both of them backward into the wall of a broken building.
The impact cracked the wall in four directions.
Dark didn't wait.
He dropped low and swept Astaroth's legs out from under him. The Emperor fell to one knee, and Dark swung upward with Kyuketsu in his left hand, aiming for the jaw.
Astaroth raised his arm just in time.
The blade met flame.
Flames howled up around them in a burst of resistance. Kyuketsu hissed, its edge glowing from the heat. The steel didn't melt, but it wavered. Vorax's form bent with the stress, his voice echoing in Dark's head.
Vorax: Too hot. Too fast. Switch.
Kyuketsu shifted in Dark's hand instantly, turning into a narrow spear.
He thrust it forward, point-first, into Astaroth's shoulder.
It pierced.
Not all the way, but far enough to draw blood.
Astaroth growled.
His hand shot forward and caught Dark by the neck, dragging him forward through the flames, slamming him into the building behind.
The wall cracked.
Astaroth pulled back and punched him in the ribs.
Bones cracked again.
Dark spit blood across Astaroth's chest.
Astaroth lifted him higher.
Dark raised his own hand and drove a fist into the Emperor's throat.
Both flinched.
Both backed off.
They landed opposite each other in the crater.
Dark panted, blood leaking from his mouth, one eye closing slightly from the swelling.
Astaroth stood tall again, flame curling around his shoulders like a crown.
To Be Continued.
End Of Arc 6 Chapter 15.