The ground split open like a wound.
A wave of dark flame burst outward, rolling across the battlefield in rippling distortions. The molten stone hissed and collapsed, unable to withstand the sheer pressure of the heat.
And from the heart of that inferno
a giant silhouette began to rise.
The laughter came first deep, cracked, manic.
Then came the shape.
Bakuza.
But no longer the same man who fought them moments ago. His frame twisted, expanded, and burned. Crimson veins writhed beneath charred black skin, each pulsing rhythmically like molten arteries. His armor reformed on its own jagged obsidian plates with glowing cracks, the molten light bleeding through every gap.
His eyes twin black stars with cores of violent red burned into existence, staring through the haze.
When he spoke, his voice carried the tone of a furnace and void blended as one.
"Voidart: Crimson Void."
