Azrion's gaze locked on Ren—then narrowed dangerously.
The faint flicker of humanity inside Ren enraged him.
A shockwave burst from Azrion's body; even the void bent violently around his aura as he moved.
One step—
And he vanished.
The next instant he appeared behind Ren.
Akira's eyes widened—
"REN!"
But he couldn't move fast enough.
Azrion slammed his claw straight into Ren's chest, not piercing—but gripping.
Dark light surged.
Ren screamed as Azrion inhaled sharply, and streams of black-purple energy—Oblivion fragments—ripped out of Ren's body and into Azrion's palm.
Every fragment Ren had been struggling against was torn free, absorbed as if returning home.
Ashurael cursed under his breath.
Ryozen's expression darkened into pure fury.
Azrion finished absorbing the fragments and threw Ren aside like a toy—
straight toward the collapsing void-wall.
Akira blurred forward, shredding the space between them and catching Ren in his arms before impact.
The ground cracked under Akira's feet as he slid backward, holding tightly.
Ren's eyes fluttered open—
normal brown, trembling.
"…A—Akira…"
Akira froze.
His chest tightened.
"Ren…? You… You're back?"
Ren gave a faint smile—weak but real.
"Sorry… I took so long…"
Akira nearly broke.
He grabbed Ren's shoulder, forehead touching his.
"You idiot… I never gave up on you."
Ryozen's voice cut sharply across the battlefield.
"Kid! Move! Azrion's power just increased—if he gets more time, we're done!"
Akira gritted his teeth, nodded, and carried Ren away from the center of battle, placing him on a floating shard of stable ground.
Ren squeezed his hand weakly.
"Go… end him…"
Akira stood.
His shadow flared.
Yamitsurugi burned black-silver in his grip.
He turned toward Azrion, eyes filled with deadly resolve.
"I will."
---
Ryozen stepped beside him, golden aura swirling like a storm.
Ashurael descended, wings unfurled in black-silver radiance.
The three stood together—
one swordsman, one guardian of cycles, one fallen seraph—
against the architect of oblivion.
Azrion rolled his shoulders, absorbed fragments pulsing through his muscles like meteor veins.
"You stand before the one who birthed your nightmares," he growled.
"And you believe three flames can erase the night?"
Akira raised Yamitsurugi.
"I don't need light to kill you. My darkness is enough."
Ryozen spun his weapon, energy spiraling outward.
"We've beaten everything you built."
Ashurael cracked his knuckles and smirked.
"Let's add you to the list."
Azrion roared.
The void shattered as all four charged.
---
Akira was first.
He blurred forward with incredible speed, blade sweeping upward in a crescent of black-silver fire, cutting clean through several layers of space.
Azrion blocked with his forearm, sparks igniting like falling stars.
Ryozen appeared behind Azrion, golden rings forming around him as he launched a gravitational pulse that bent Azrion's posture.
Ashurael dove from above like a meteor, his spearfold slicing through the air, trailing divine shadow.
Azrion twisted, one wing slamming Ashurael away, another claw tearing through Ryozen's rings, while his tail lashed toward Akira—
The tail missed.
Akira ducked, slid, then countered with a brutal upward slash that carved a glowing wound across Azrion's chest.
Azrion staggered—
only for a second—
then grabbed Akira by the head and hurled him downward, sending him crashing through three floating shards of obliterated planets.
Ashurael reappeared, kicking Azrion in the jaw, cracking bone.
Ryozen's halos slammed into Azrion's spine.
Akira shot upward again, blade ready.
The battle spiraled into chaos—
claws, wings, blades, halos, voidlight, divine fire—
every motion fast enough to tear reality.
Each exchange was violent.
Equal.
Desperate.
For every wound they gave Azrion, he returned two.
For every technique they mastered, Azrion countered with the power of worlds.
But none of them backed down.
---
At one moment, the battlefield stilled—only for a heartbeat.
Akira floated left.
Ryozen floated right.
Ashurael hovered above.
A perfect triangle.
Azrion recognized it—and growled.
"You dare…"
Akira's eyes narrowed.
"Now."
Ryozen slammed his staff into the groundless void, forming an enormous golden sigil.
Ashurael channeled divine-black fire into his arms.
Akira raised Yamitsurugi, its blade glowing with pure, destructive resolve.
Their voices layered.
"YAMITSURUGI—"
"CYCLE CONVERGENCE—"
"SERAPHIC OBLITERATION—"
The three attacks fused.
A colossal beam of black-gold-silver energy exploded outward in a triangular pattern, converging on Azrion.
The light engulfed him—
tore through his armor—
ripped apart his wings—
crushed the space beneath him—
and detonated like a dying star.
The shockwave erased everything in a hundred-mile radius of void.
When the light faded—
Azrion stood in the center of the shattered battlefield, one arm cracked, wings torn, chest bleeding black starlight.
He looked down at his wounds—
then lifted his gaze.
And smiled.
The smile was cold.
Slow.
Almost amused.
"Impressive… You have finally begun to resemble threats."
Akira's breath hitched.
Ryozen's eyes narrowed.
Ashurael clenched his jaw.
Because Azrion's aura—
despite the wounds—
was growing.
The smile widened.
"Now… shall I show you despair?"