The Colosseum rang with the clash of steel and the roar of the crowd. Golden and silver light flashed through the haze.
Hercules staggered forward, fists raised, his chest heaving. His arms trembled, armor scorched and dented, but his eyes still burned with defiance. The golden aura flickered weakly across his body, threatening to gutter out.
Across from him, Sephiroth stood untouched. Not a crease marred his black coat, not a single scratch marked his pale skin. The Masamune gleamed immaculate, angled low at his side. His green eyes studied Hercules, calm and sharp, as though he were observing the movements of an insect pinned beneath glass.
The crowd screamed encouragement for their hero. "C'mon, Herc!" "You've got this!" "Punch him out!"
Phil cupped his hands to his mouth. "Don't you quit on me, kid!"
Hercules inhaled, his breath shuddering. 'Don't quit. Not in front of them. Not in front of Phil.'
He roared and charged, fist glowing gold, swinging in a heavy Punch aimed straight for Sephiroth's chest.
The Masamune moved once.
Steel kissed knuckle. The strike was redirected in a blur, Hercules' momentum carried forward and punished by a brutal kick to the gut. He staggered back, coughing, the crowd gasping.
Sephiroth advanced. The Masamune cut in a flurry of quicksilver arcs, so fast the eye barely tracked them. Sparks danced across Hercules' bracers as he blocked, but each parry jarred his arms to the bone. By the tenth strike, his guard faltered—by the twelfth, the blade carved a line across his side.
"I can't see him!" Hercules grunted, trying to swing back.
Sephiroth slid around the counterpunch, ghostlike, blade whistling past Hercules' neck by a hair. He vanished and reappeared behind, Masamune already slashing down. Hercules twisted, aura flashing just in time. The strike rang against the golden shield.
The crowd roared in relief.
Sephiroth paused, tilting his head. His voice was smooth, deliberate. "So… even gods can bleed from time to time."
The aura shimmered, holding. Hercules smirked despite his ragged breath. "Guess you're not as strong as I thought after all!"
The Masamune lowered, then vanished in a blur.
Hercules braced, but the slashes hammered the shield from every angle. Sephiroth struck high, low, sideways, faster and faster, a storm of steel battering against the invincible dome. The golden light flickered with every impact.
The Colosseum held its breath.
Then Sephiroth stilled. He slid Masamune into a low stance. His body coiled, every muscle compressed, aura dimming to a razor focus.
Hercules' instincts screamed.
The blade flashed.
A single Iai slash carved upward—silent, perfect, faster than sight. The crowd didn't even see the motion, only the aftermath: the golden energy surrounding Hercules split open like paper, the slash carving straight through Hercules' invincibility.
Gasps erupted. Phil nearly dropped his whistle.
Hercules staggered back, shock wide in his eyes. His invincibility—broken.
Sephiroth exhaled softly, almost amused. "So it can be cut. I think I'll call it God Slayer."
Blood welled across Hercules' chest. His knees buckled, but he forced himself upright, fists raised again. "I'm… not done yet!"
The crowd roared their approval, hearts soaring at his defiance.
He spread his arms wide. Twin Aura Spheres blazed from his palms, gold fire streaking toward Sephiroth.
The Masamune flicked twice. Both spheres split apart, bursting harmlessly in the air. Sephiroth vanished, reappeared above, and brought the blade down in a descending strike. Hercules caught it on his bracers, sparks shrieking, but the force drove him to one knee.
"On your last legs," Sephiroth murmured.
Hercules shoved upward with a roar, swinging his fist in a desperate uppercut. It clipped Sephiroth's jaw—barely—and forced him a step back. The crowd erupted in cheers.
Sephiroth touched his chin, eyes gleaming faintly. For the first time, he almost smiled. "Good."
His free hand rose. The air warped, heat rippling.
Above the Colosseum, the sky split. A burning meteor descended, wreathed in fire, its tail searing the clouds as it plummeted. The crowd screamed, half in terror, half in awe.
"Supernova…"
Hercules' eyes widened. "No—!"
He lunged forward, fists glowing, hurling punches into the sky as if he could shatter the falling star. Each blow released shockwaves, gold colliding with the descending flame, but the meteor only grew closer.
Sephiroth lowered his sword. He turned his back.
And walked off the stage.
Hercules roared, one last Detonation Attack shaking the ground, shockwaves tearing across the ring. Dust and stone erupted, but the meteor tore through regardless, blazing brighter than the sun.
The Colosseum went silent as the fiery explosion swallowed the stage.
When the smoke cleared, the arena floor was a crater. Hercules lay at its center, body scorched, armor shattered, his golden aura extinguished. He coughed once, eyes fluttering—then went still.
Phil's whistle shrieked. "That's it! Hercules is down!"
The crowd erupted in noise, some cheering, some screaming, some too shocked to speak.
"Winner… Sephiroth!"
The one-winged angel did not turn back. He vanished into the tunnel, Masamune gleaming at his side, coat trailing like a shadow.
The roar of the Colosseum followed him, fear and awe blending into one.
On the floor, Hercules lay broken, not defeated in spirit but crushed in body. The healers rushed to him, calling his name.
Phil watched, face grim, ears flat. "Kid gave it his all… made me proud."
The Advanced Cup's king was still as undefeated as always.
And the crowd knew: none yet stood on Sephiroth's level.