Dust settled thick over the wreckage, obscuring all vision, while the deafening echo of their attacks still reverberated through the air, like the roar of a thousand furious storms.
With every breath, Masaru let out a groan of pain, but his resolve pushed him to fight with even greater fury. He had taken a few steps back after rising to his feet, his will rising like an unbreakable wall before the terrifying demon he now faced.
The devastating effects of the relentless use of dark and spiritual energy permeated the surroundings, warping the reality around them.
The air was saturated with the pungent stench of sulfur and blood, while the searing heat evaporated any trace of moisture, leaving the atmosphere arid and suffocating.
His eyes, burning with ferocious intensity, reflected not just the brutality of the battle, but a depth of determination bordering on insanity.
Before him, the sinister entity stood waiting, and around its silhouette, the horizon shimmered and twisted like a distant mirage.
Azaael, half of his face disfigured by the last strike, raised his black blade with savage force. His eyes blazed with a venomous mix of admiration and hatred as he stared down the young exorcist whose courage defied all his expectations.
"The strongest? A mere childish title is what you value more than your own name? How ironic..."
His voice, sharp as the blade he wielded, sliced through the heavy silence hanging over them.
The exorcist, confronting the provocation with a fire burning inside him, clutched his left shoulder as an aura of light enveloped his body, radiating a vibrant energy that seemed to shake the air itself—like the violent tides of a stormy sea.
And as the light sank into his wounded arm, converting metaphysical essence into physical matter, it left behind deep scars as testimony to his courage.
"Names are just labels—imposed on us without our consent! I'd rather be defined by what I do and the impact I leave on the world, not by a name given to me by others! And that childish nickname? That was my choice!" he declared, his voice echoing with a conviction that defied even hell itself.
"Aren't names meant to be an extension of our identity? Don't they shape who we are?" the entity retorted, determined to probe the mystery surrounding the young exorcist—for him, every battle was a chance to unravel the secrets of those he deemed worthy.
"No! Listen well, creature of darkness! When we leave this world, it won't be our name that remains—but the legacy we leave behind, the changes we create, and the lives we touch! True identity is forged by what we do, not by the labels we carry! So you'll know me as the strongest exorcist you've ever faced! And that's enough!"
His words rang out as the light around him flared with nearly blinding intensity—like a supernova on the verge of collapse.
He was the brightest star to ever blaze across the skies!
In that climactic moment, a flicker of recognition passed through Azaael's mind; a distant memory of golden wings once faced, now replaced by a blinding brilliance.
There was no difference between déjà vu and the present unfolding before his eyes.
Yamasaki's eyes—mirrors of the soul—reflected and projected his deepest thoughts, an unwanted side effect of the possession rejected by their pact.
An undeniable truth in the spiritual realm.
"You remind me of a madman… one who once dared call himself my brother. But go ahead—show me the strength behind your empty words!" he challenged.
With both their auras reaching their peak, the tension between the two combatants snapped, and the demon surged forward with unrelenting fury. His blade spun with supernatural speed, cutting the air with such force that it left scars in the ground behind each swing.
The entity's heavy footsteps echoed like thunder, cracking the earth beneath him, while tiny black embers fell from his blade, vanishing into the air like fleeting shadows.
"So be it!" whispered the young exorcist, his voice an echo of unshakable determination.
Masaru launched into the deadly dance, moving with supernatural agility that defied the world's laws, dodging the blade that slashed the air with the threatening grace of a venomous serpent.
He felt the scorching heat radiating from the sword's darkness—a constant reminder of the imminent death lurking in each of the demon's moves.
In a moment of pure audacity, he threw himself sideways, his right leg sweeping upward in a graceful arc as his body twisted in a fluid motion, delivering a powerful kick that struck the demon square in the chest—forcing him away from the blade.
It was the peak of his physical skill, every fiber of his being thrumming with energy rivaling the very darkness he fought.
Without needing to resort to fortifying spells like before, the creature nearly staggered from the force of the blow, his feet scraping the ground as his right arm rose and his left clutched his face, contorted in pain.
From his outstretched claws, Azaael unleashed a storm of black lightning, bursting forth with titanic fury, tearing through the ground with unrestrained violence, opening fissures that seemed to devour the earth itself as they raced toward Masaru.
The young exorcist narrowly escaped the lightning's devastating strike, launching from the ground with such force that it left a deep crater in his wake.
His movements—swift and destructive—disrupted the lightning surrounding him, sending waves of energy rippling through the air, causing the atmosphere itself to vibrate.
His figure, rising above the demon, looked like a fleeting mirage in the whirlwind of chaos and destruction unfolding around them.
Every gesture, every motion, was a frantic dance between life and death.
As the black lightning intensified, engulfing the blade driven into the earth, the weapon began to dissolve slowly under the overwhelming power—consumed by an insatiable hunger that could devour even bone, leaving only the searing heat of its spread behind, like a burning scar on the skin of reality.
He's getting stronger with every second!
In that moment, Azaael had a dreadful epiphany—finally understanding who he was dealing with: someone whose presence would force him to unleash the darkest depths of his abilities.
He was the strongest exorcist!
"Transmutatio materiae et status!" Masaru chanted, his voice resonating through the air, hair flying around his face as waves of power emanated from him, making the very air tremble with his imposing presence.
A few meters below his feet, the demon rose, eyes burning with fury, teeth grinding, a growing, uncontrollable rage surging within as the boy prepared his next move.
The palms of his hands radiated immense energy—an aura that distorted the very fabric of reality, weaving the threads of fate into a dizzying dance of furious winds and burning flames.
He cast two spells in a single chant—while a black dragon, born from the very flames he wielded, emerged from Azaael's shadow and wrapped itself around the demon's left leg, coiling up his back until it reached the palm of his right hand.
Let's raise the stakes…
It was an act of cursed conjuration—one that only the most powerful demons to walk Crea could perform. From this point on, the demon would fight side by side with the most dangerous of his servants—a mythological entity entirely under his command.
"Are you ready to be exorcised, human?!"