The sky tore itself apart.
Ash clouds spiraled violently above the volcano as Amaterasu surged upward, wings beating once—once—and the shockwave flattened the mountainside below. Rivers of lava were hurled skyward like rain, instantly flash-cooling into obsidian shards that screamed as they fell.
The figure of light did not retreat.
He charged.
A sonic crack split the heavens as he crossed the distance in an instant, fist cocked back, light compressing so tightly around his knuckles that it screamed—no longer illumination, but pressure, intent, will.
The punch landed.
The Great Dragon was hurled sideways through the air, his massive form carving a trench through the mountainside before crashing into the far slope. Entire ridgelines collapsed beneath his weight, snow and stone cascading into the valleys below.
Amaterasu rose immediately.
His laughter echoed across the lands.
"Yes," he rumbled, eyes burning with ancient fire. "That is it. That pressure… that refinement. You did not wield this before."
The figure flashed forward again—faster now.
A flurry of blows followed.
Each strike detonated with blinding flashes of light, each impact shattering the air itself. Amaterasu twisted, blocked, countered—claws swiping with impossible speed for something so vast. One talon grazed the figure's shoulder.
Black flame ignited.
The figure tore himself free instantly, blasting backward as the fabric of his cloak and a portion of the air itself vanished where the claw had touched. The space burned—erased.
A near miss.
Certain death avoided by inches.
"You hesitate," Amaterasu observed. "You remember now what my flames are."
The Dragon inhaled.
The world recoiled.
Black fire gathered deep within his chest, compressing, folding inward, swallowing even the light spilling from the figure's aura. The breath that followed was not a stream, but a wave—a sweeping curtain of annihilation that raced across the sky, devouring clouds, shadows, and even concepts themselves.
The figure dropped.
Straight down.
He plunged toward the erupting volcano, twisting mid-fall as he thrust both palms downward. Light erupted beneath him—not scattered, not wild—but structured, layered upon itself in impossible density.
The air buckled.
He rebounded upward like a launched projectile, bursting through the black flame wave at its thinnest edge. A fraction of his aura sheared away, unraveling into nothingness—but he cleared it.
Barely.
He was already moving.
This time, the light changed.
It no longer spilled outward.
It condensed.
Amaterasu's eyes narrowed.
"…So," the Dragon said slowly. "You have remembered how to shape it."
The figure extended one hand.
Light twisted—not brightening, but deepening, folding in on itself until it resembled a star crushed to the size of a fist. The air screamed as invisible pressure lines radiated outward.
He fired.
The blast struck Amaterasu square in the chest.
The impact did not pierce the scales.
Instead, it drove the Dragon backward with catastrophic force, compressing his armor plates inward, forcing a roar from his throat as he was slammed into the volcano's rim. The mountain split—its peak shearing away as the Dragon's mass carved through it.
Amaterasu did not rise immediately.
"…Decades," he said at last, pushing himself free of molten stone. "The last time I felt resistance like this… was decades ago."
The Dragon lifted his head, eyes glowing brighter.
"When the Lord of Darkness and the King of Light stood against me together."
The figure did not answer.
He attacked.
This time, he struck with intent.
Light wrapped around his body as he drove into Amaterasu like a living meteor, hammering blow after blow into the Dragon's armored form. Each strike landed with greater precision than before—testing angles, timing, recoil.
Trial.
Error.
Adjustment.
Amaterasu countered with equal mastery.
His claws no longer lashed wildly—they intercepted, parried, redirected. His tail snapped with lethal precision, forcing the figure to burn light explosively just to evade. Black flames licked the battlefield in controlled bursts now, forcing space denial rather than outright annihilation.
They were learning each other.
Again.
"You fight differently," Amaterasu said, locking jaws around the figure's forearm.
Light detonated point-blank.
The Dragon was blasted backward, jaw forced open, scales scorched—not broken, but strained.
"But you still cannot break me," he continued. "This body has no weakness. No flaw. No end."
The figure hovered, breathing steady.
Light gathered around him once more—but now it felt heavier.
Not brighter.
He clenched his fists.
The world responded.
The air compressed violently around him, gravity bending inward. Clouds were dragged toward his position, spiraling like a maelstrom. Even Amaterasu felt it—felt the pull, the pressure, the authority.
"…That presence," the Dragon said quietly. "Last time, you did not carry it so fully."
The figure raised his gaze.
"This time," he said, "I will not hold back."
Light changed.
It was no longer merely just ambient energy.
It was commanding.
Amaterasu roared and unleashed his full might—black flames erupting in all directions, the sky itself beginning to unravel under their touch. The volcano detonated beneath them, the land breaking apart as if the world itself were retreating from what was to come.
The figure surged forward, wreathed in blinding radiance, fist drawn back—
And for the first time in millennia—
Amaterasu braced.
The collision was not an explosion.
It was a declaration.
A blinding shockwave tore outward, flattening everything within miles. Mountains collapsed. Valleys were rewritten. The sky split open in a ring of pure force visible from distant kingdoms.
Far away, bells rang in temples unbidden.
Farmers halted mid-harvest.
And in the Northern Empire, the God-King's grip tightened on his throne.
The last Great Dragon staggered.
Just one step.
But it was enough.
"…So this is your true light," Amaterasu whispered. "Not illumination. Not destruction."
"…Judgment."
The world held its breath.