(All stat boost!)

  (All stat boost!)

  The chamber echoed with a thunderous SLAM as Axel’s body crashed to the floor, tossed like a ragdoll from Yokubo’s sucker punch. Before he could even twitch, Yokubo was on him—one hand gripping Axel’s throat like a steel vice.

  Veins bulged in Yokubo’s forearm as he squeezed.

  CRUNCH.

  Axel’s neck collapsed inward, spine shattering with a revolting snap. Blood erupted from his mouth in a steaming geyser as he choked on his breath.

  THUD.

  Yokubo slammed him down. Then again.

  And again.

  STOMP. STOMP. STOMP.

  Boot after boot crashed into Axel’s chest, face, and spine—over and over—shattering ribs and pulverizing muscle. The ground cracked beneath the impact, blood pooling outward in a spreading lake of gore.

  Axel’s screams were lost beneath the chaos—his bones shattered, his body twitching. Eyes wide, spinning, losing focus. And yet...

  (All stat boost!)

  (All stat boost!)

  The floor trembled.

  A shadow swelled beside them, shifting unnaturally. From the darkness surrounding them, Axel conjured a colossal fist—twenty feet wide—wrought from pure black magic.

  WHAM!

  It slammed into Yokubo, the impact cracking the wall and sending a shockwave through the castle.

  But when the smoke cleared—Yokubo stood, slightly scuffed, a bruise forming on his side. Nothing more.

  His smile deepened. “Cute.”

  From the rubble, Axel rose.

  Blood poured from his body in sheets. He panted like a starved wolf, his body trembling—but his eyes... they burned with hunger. With hatred. With purpose.

  Those weren’t the eyes of a man anymore.

  They were the eyes of a beast.

  (All stat boost!)

  (All stat boost!)

  Muscle swelled. Flesh knitted. Wounds vanished like mist. The shadows on the floor slithered toward him, coiling around his limbs, seeping into his veins like liquid void.

  - Axel (Emperor of the Night: activated.)

  (Emporer of the Night: Grants the user dominance under the cover of darkness. Automatically increases all stats by 20%. Nullifies mana costs for techniques and magic attacks utilizing dark magic, while enhancing dark-elemental magical attacks by an additional 20%. Provides the ability to weaponize shadows and draw from surrounding shadows to create or amplify dark-elemental attacks.)

  Mana: 1,393 / 1,921

  A black aura surged around Axel’s body, shadows rippling beneath his skin, causing his veins to bulge and pulse unnaturally. His muscles swelled to near-rupture. His teeth clenched as his entire body became a vessel for darkness incarnate.

  He vanished.

  Then reappeared—across the room. And again.

  He was no longer stepping. He was flickering.

  Yokubo raised his arm just in time.

  BOOM!

  Their fists collided—monster against monster.

  The force of the impact snapped the air. The entire castle shook. The floor cracked, walls fractured. Wind exploded outward, tearing banners from the rafters.

  Their arms trembled under the pressure, locked in place.

  Neither moved an inch.

  But the strain was visible. Axel’s eyes bulged with exertion, his muscles twitching. Yokubo’s grin faltered slightly as their bones groaned beneath the pressure.

  And then—Yokubo chuckled.

  “Heheh… this is getting good.”

  Their fists remained pressed, unmoving. Energy pulsed from their bodies like violent storms trying to devour each other.

  “You’ve impressed me,” Yokubo admitted, his voice low, strained but still mocking. “Your regeneration, your shadow manipulation, your damned Carnage Feast… No wonder you’ve crawled this far.”

  His strength surged, pushing Axel back just a fraction. The stone under Axel’s boots cracked.

  “But you’ve overestimated yourself. You're betting on the wrong combination. The longer you regenerate, the more stamina you bleed—and the closer you come to death.”

  He leaned in, smile widening.

  “I don’t need to overpower you. I just have to outlast you.”

  Axel’s teeth ground together. He said nothing.

  But the flicker of fire in his eyes was answer enough.

  He wasn’t done.

  Not by a long shot.

  (All stat boost!)

  (All stat boost!)

  Axel snarled through his teeth, muscles trembling as he locked arms with the warlord.

  "You talk too much," he spat. "Keep running your mouth... it's gonna get you killed."

  The ground suddenly rumbled.

  A trap.

  Weapons of all shapes and sizes burst from the floor beneath Yokubo—spears, swords, axes—all conjured from shadow. They struck like fangs from the earth.

  Caught off-guard, Yokubo recoiled—and Axel lunged.

  KNEE—CRACK!

  A brutal shot to the jaw sent the warlord’s head whipping back.

  SMASH!

  A follow-up punch drove Yokubo to the floor, just as the blades rained down.

  They descended all at once, stabbing, slashing, pinning Yokubo into the cracked stone. Most missed vital points, but the damage was done. Blood dripped from dozens of shallow cuts as the warlord rose, lip split, expression dark.

  He scanned the wreckage—and stopped cold.

  His skin prickled. A chill ran up his spine.

  He turned toward the ceiling.

  And saw him.

  Axel hovered midair, dark energy crackling around him, hand extended.

  A massive orb of pure destruction pulsed in his palm, screaming with unstable magic.

  “Death Ball.”

  There was nowhere to run.

  Axel grinned and let it go.

  BOOOOOOM.

  The destruction consumed Yokubo.

  The entire room vanished in fire and ash. Banners disintegrated. Display armor melted into puddles. Pillars toppled. The ceiling cracked wide open, unleashing the full wrath of the storm into the hollowed chamber.

  Rain and wind howled through the broken roof. The once-regal audience hall was now a scorched ruin.

  Axel landed among the debris, bloodied but standing, steam hissing off his shoulders.

  Yokubo was on his knees.

  Smoke rose from his body. Wounds covered his frame. His smile was gone.

  “Excellent work…” he coughed. “Using your magic to scan the area… You’re quite the strategist.”

  He looked up—and paused.

  Axel stood tall, a slow, crooked smile crawling up his face.

  And in that moment—Yokubo felt it.

  Fear.

  For the first time since the battle began.

  SHLICK.

  A sword pierced his chest.

  Axel stood directly in front of him, hand still gripping the hilt. Blood poured from the wound—and from Axel’s own side.

  He’d concealed the final blade. Hidden it with his body. Used the Death Ball as bait.

  “I saved one,” Axel muttered. “All I needed was one.”

  Even the warlord’s instincts hadn’t predicted such madness.

  Axel had stabbed himself to land the killing blow.

  “Relying only on strength…” he growled, “is suicide.”

  Yokubo staggered. His leg buckled. His fingers clung to the blade.

  He fell to his knees.

  Thud.

  Axel turned and walked away—silent, victorious.

  But something was wrong.

  The system didn’t notify him.

  No transfer of stats. No ability absorption. No reset.

  His buffs were still active.

  He turned back—

  And froze.

  Yokubo was rising.

  Still clutching the sword buried in his chest.

  Still bleeding.

  Still alive.

  Like a corpse reanimating, he stood tall and ripped the blade free.

  Blood splattered the ground. His heart, visible through the wound, thumped madly—still beating.

  "I was so close to dying..." Yokubo muttered, half-dazed, voice trembling. “I saw the light... and then it vanished.”

  He chuckled.

  “Do you know what that does to a man?”

  Then he grinned. Not cruelly—but with exhilaration.

  “You’ve really got the blood pumping now.”

  His chest heaved.

  "You leave me no choice... but to take this seriously."

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The floor cracked.

  The air shifted.

  The temperature spiked instantly, steam rolling off Yokubo's skin as if his blood were boiling.

  "Congratulations, Axel..."

  He crushed the sword hilt into dust.

  "You’re one of the few who’ll see what I really am. And the last to remember it."

  A storm ignited at the center of the room—rain and wind twisting into a cyclone, weapons and debris sucked into the spiral. Tiles shattered. Walls peeled back. Magic warped reality.

  Axel tensed, eyes narrowing. Even his Heat Resistance couldn’t stop the sweat forming on his brow.

  Yokubo’s body bulged, pulsing violently. His chest thundered with inhuman heartbeats.

  THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

  His muscles exploded outward—tearing flesh, warping bone. Armor cracked and shattered. Arms doubled in size. His chest grew broader. Skin sealed over the wound, hardening like living steel.

  Then came the face.

  Flesh twisted. Tusks burst from his jaw, massive and jagged. His nose flared wide. His skull cracked and reshaped. A monstrous jaw jutted forward, warthog-like, grotesque.

  And still—he grew.

  Over twenty feet tall.

  The tiles beneath him split apart. The very room groaned under the pressure of his presence.

  Reality warped. Wind howled. Even the storm outside seemed to flinch.

  Axel’s fists trembled.

  He couldn’t move.

  Couldn’t speak.

  Could only feel the magnitude of what stood before him.

  Yokubo was no longer a man. No longer a warlord.

  He was a beast.

  The last of his human silhouette vanished beneath the mass.

  The chaos slowed.

  The cyclone died.

  Silence reclaimed the room, save for the sound of thunder above and the sharp exhale of steam from Yokubo’s nostrils.

  He stared down at Axel—towering, terrifying.

  The transformation was complete.

  Yokubo

  Level: 76

  Race: Monster (Formal human)

  Occupation: The seventh Warlord, the sin of lust

  Hp: 101,767/120,821

  Mana: 69,420/75,320

  Attack: 112,053

  Magical Attack: 146,667

  Defence: 167,531

  Magical Defense: 168,901

  Mana res: 1000%

  Speed: 170,692

  “Heh... heh... heh…”

  The hulking creature that was once Yokubo stared down at Axel with glowing, inhuman eyes. Steam poured from his nostrils, rising like smoke from a furnace. His deep, guttural voice rumbled through the broken chamber.

  “What’s wrong…?” he taunted. “Afraid of my true form?”

  His lips peeled back into a jagged grin as thunder cracked behind him.

  “You didn’t really think defeating a warlord would be that easy, did you?”

  He stepped forward, the very ground trembling beneath each step.

  “I was holding back. I wanted to enjoy it. Wanted to see what the reaper was capable of. But now...”

  More steam hissed violently from his body as his aura thickened, suffocating the air itself.

  “Now you'll get a taste... of what it means to face a real monster in combat.”

  His red eyes pulsed with menace. His massive arms lifted skyward—slowly, deliberately—as if welcoming the world to its execution.

  “You’d better be ready…”

  The wind began to scream.

  “To experience your last battle… inside a living, breathing nightmare.”

  FWOOM.

  With a sound like tearing thunder, something burst from behind him.

  Two massive wings—black, fleshy, jagged at the edges—erupted from his back. Bone and muscle cracked outward as they stretched wide, wide enough to nearly engulf the entire ruined audience hall.

  The pressure from their emergence alone sent a shockwave through the chamber.

  CRACK.

  Walls buckled. Stone shattered. The ceiling groaned violently.

  Axel dug his heels in, arms raised to shield his eyes as the winds grew violent. Loose debris whipped through the air like shrapnel. Banners were torn to ribbons. The storm outside fed into the madness inside.

  WHUMP.

  The wings flapped once.

  And the world screamed.

  A hurricane exploded outward, shattering what remained of the windows. Tiles lifted. Pillars cracked. The entire room convulsed under the sheer pressure of Yokubo’s ascension.

  He rose from the ground, suspended by the monstrous wings now beating with a life of their own. His heartbeat thundered in rhythm with the storm—faster, louder, growing closer to something unholy.

  "Play with me, little puppet!" he roared. “I’ll rip you limb from limb! Bit by bit until you forget what it was to be human!”

  His body surged forward.

  Round Two had begun.

  The nightmare wasn’t ending.

  It was only getting darker.

  .

  .

  .

  "Haaahhh!!"

  A knight lunged behind Alice while she was locked with another.

  CLANG!

  She blocked it one-handed, gritting her teeth as her blood-soaked arm screamed. Kicking her opponent back, she twisted and headbutted the rear attacker, then swung—cleaving his hands off and driving her blade straight through his heart.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  Her vision blurred. Sweat drenched her face. Her legs trembled. Her breath hitched. She was far past her limit, held together only by the promise she made her sister.

  More knights charged. She took the hits, countering with brutal precision. Every move reopened her wounds—but she pressed on.

  Her ears twitched.

  CLANG!

  Ten blades caught her sword mid-swing—Mask had returned.

  “Hehehe... what’s wrong, sister? Getting tired? C’mon now, fight back! Dance with me!”

  The claws sparked as they clashed again and again. Alice blocked, but every blow from Mask rattled her bones. Her wounds tore further open. Blood poured down her arms and legs, soaking her armor until she resembled a corpse.

  Yet she didn’t fall.

  Mask’s speed and strength were monstrous—its attacks landed like cannon fire—but Alice, injured and alone, met them all.

  From the sidelines, the knights watched—shocked.

  This was Mask. The Bloodshed Mantis. A monster credited with slaying over a thousand men. And yet... Alice was still standing. An escort knight. An outcast. A woman they’d mocked.

  And now, she was surviving what no one else could.

  “Hahahahahaha! You’re not breaking—how exciting!” Mask screamed with delight. “Dance with me ‘til you shatter!!”

  BOOM!

  A strike slammed into Alice’s chest.

  CRASH!

  She soared across the ballroom and smashed into the wall, her armor exploding off her body like splintered glass. She dropped to the ground, twitching, blood pooling fast.

  She didn’t move.

  Mask’s claws gleamed as it chuckled, walking toward her limp body. “Oops... maybe I got a little carried away. But don’t worry... I’ll savor every last second from here.”

  Across the room, Annabelle screamed into her gag, thrashing in the knight’s arms, tears pouring freely.

  “Oh, don’t cry,” Mask sneered, turning toward her. “You’ll be next. But first—watch. Let this sight haunt you.”

  The gag was yanked from Annabelle’s mouth.

  “Alice!! No!! Please get up!! Please—don’t die!!” she sobbed, her voice cracking. “You promised me… please... I can’t lose you too…”

  Mask turned back, raising its claws.

  “Let’s begin with the arms—she doesn’t need those.”

  But it stopped.

  Alice’s fingers were twitching.

  Slowly, painfully—her hand clenched her sword.

  Then her head lifted, eyes burning with agony and resolve.

  Mask froze.

  "...Impossible."

  Alice forced herself up, using her sword like a crutch. Her arms shook. Her body swayed. Every breath was agony. But she stood.

  “I… can still fight…” she rasped. “Until I win… or die trying.”

  Even Annabelle went still, staring in disbelief.

  Blood soaked every inch of Alice’s body. Her left arm hung useless. Her right was gashed to the bone. And still—she stood.

  Mask took a step back, for the first time… rattled.

  “You... should be dead…” it whispered. “You shouldn’t even be conscious…”

  But Alice didn’t respond. Her eyes never left her enemy.

  “I have a promise to keep,” she said.

  Mask’s laugh returned, but it faltered. “Heh… you're something else. Still… this changes nothing. One more hit, and you’re done.”

  It raised its claws.

  Alice steadied her stance.

  They both lunged.

  BOOM!

  Mask struck first—slamming its claws into her stomach with bone-crushing force.

  Her body lifted from the ground, air ripped from her lungs.

  CRACK.

  Her ribs gave out. Blood sprayed from her mouth.

  “NOOOO!! ALICE!!”

  Annabelle’s scream pierced the hall as Alice was sent flying, landing hard, motionless among the bodies littering the floor.

  She didn’t twitch. Didn’t breathe.

  Mask licked the blood off its claws and turned toward Annabelle with a wicked grin.

  Annabelle screamed—shattered, hopeless.

  And Alice… didn’t rise.

  Not this time.

  “Hmph… she was faster than I thought,” Mask sneered, claws dripping. “But no matter. That hit ended her.”

  It turned its back—then froze.

  Drip… drip…

  Blood hit the stone floor.

  From beneath the rubble, Alice stirred.

  Her fingers twitched. Then her arm. Slowly—agonizingly—she rose. Blood trailed from her lips. Her body trembled like a leaf in a hurricane. But her hand gripped her sword.

  Her head lifted.

  And her eyes locked onto Mask with a glare so filled with hate, pain, and defiance—it etched itself into the back of its mind forever.

  “What—no…” Mask whispered, stumbling back, unnerved. “You should be dead! I felt your ribs fracture! You should be drowning in your own blood!”

  Alice dragged her sword across the floor, steadying herself with it as her breathing slowed to a ragged hiss. Then she spoke.

  Her voice was weak—but rising.

  “You think I don’t know that?” she rasped. “Every nerve in my body is screaming. My ribs feel like shattered glass. My arms are numb. My lungs are crushed. Every breath I take is borrowed.”

  She took a step forward.

  “I’m not standing because I’m strong. I’m standing because I refuse to stay down.”

  Another step.

  “You broke my bones. You spilled my blood. But you didn’t break me.”

  She raised her sword—bloodied, trembling, but defiant.

  “You wanted a puppet, Mask? Someone to dance for your amusement?”

  Her golden eyes narrowed, burning.

  “Too bad.”

  “I don’t dance for monsters.”

  She took one last step forward, and declared:

  “You’re not fighting a knight anymore. You’re facing a promise made flesh. And I’m not stopping until either you fall—or I do.”

  Mask’s eye twitched.

  “Don’t screw with me!!”

  BOOM!

  It lunged, claws slamming into Alice and sending her crashing through stone. She hit the ground like a wrecked doll, her body limp, blood trailing in the air.

  Annabelle screamed.

  Alice stirred.

  And stood.

  Again.

  Again.

  And Again.

  Mask snarled. “Why won’t you die!?”

  It raised its arms and began chanting, fury boiling:

  “Heaven and Earth, bestow me the power to end this—Giga Crush!!”

  A massive sphere of energy formed between its claws—and it smashed it down with all its might.

  BOOOOOOM!!!

  The castle quaked. The blast incinerated the ballroom, vaporized the remaining knights, and left a crater where the floor once stood.

  Smoke thickened the air.

  Leonardo stepped through the dust with Annabelle in his arms, shielding her as debris fell.

  ‘This is madness,’ he thought. ‘All that… for one knight?’

  Mask stood at the center of the destruction, breath heavy, blood spattered across its mangled claws.

  In the crater lay Alice—buried, motionless. Her sword had fallen. Her eyes were closed. Her chest didn’t rise.

  Silence.

  “…Alice,” Annabelle whispered, her voice cracking. “No…”

  Mask stepped forward, grabbed her by the leg, and yanked her from the rubble like garbage. Blood poured freely from her fingertips.

  “Nothing left now,” it said. “She’s done.”

  It raised its claw.

  “Goodbye, dear sister.”

  “ALICEEEEE!!!”

  Annabelle lunged forward, bones cracking as she fought against Leonardo’s grip.

  Mask brought the claws down—

  SHHHNK!!!

  Alice’s eyes snapped open. Her hand lashed out. Her blade met Mask’s throat in a flash of silver.

  SLICE!

  Blood gushed from the open wound.

  Mask stumbled back, shrieking in agony, clutching its neck as blood sprayed like a geyser.

  Roy’s eyes widened.

  “No—Mask!!”

  He charged, roaring with fury.

  But Alice—barely breathing, soaked in blood, face pale and body trembling—stood once more.

  Her sword gripped tight.

  Her eyes unshaken.

  “One down,” she breathed while staggering. “Two more to go.”