The watchers ascended the stage to announce the final match.
Around them, the arena remained unnaturally quiet.
The shock of the previous incident still lingered like a pressure on the chest—so heavy that the crowd could not cheer, could not whisper, could not even breathe with anticipation. Thousands watched, yet not a single voice dared to rise.
Together, the watchers walked to the center of the platform.
"The last match was… shocking," one of them said, his tone carefully measured.
"But the show must go on."
The words were meant to loosen the tension, to fracture the silence. They barely succeeded.
Raziel did not care.
With a casual gesture, he conjured a throne from nothingness—matter bending to his will as though it had always been waiting for his command. He sat, regal and unmoved, Arkoth standing silently at his side. His gaze swept the arena once, sharp and absolute. Ten presences revealed themselves to him immediately—hidden observers, masked existences lurking within the folds of the stands.
He noted them. He dismissed them.
Far across the platform, Esau and Shingen exchanged a glance. Even from such a distance, something unspoken passed between them—resentment, memory, blood.
The watcher continued, his voice now amplified across the arena.
"The next battle.
The match.
The dispute.
The brotherly war."
A pause.
"Shingen Yamazaki versus Esau Yamazaki."
The moment the names were spoken, the silence shattered.
The crowd erupted—cheers, screams, roars crashing into one another like waves breaking against a cliff. Fear was forgotten. Shock was buried. Only anticipation remained.
A massive projection ignited above the arena, blazing for all to see:
[ESAU YAMAZAKI — VS — SHINGEN YAMAZAKI]
"WOOOOHHH—!"
The arena shook beneath the weight of the crowd's frenzy.
Esau and Shingen stepped forward, each stride measured, deliberate. They approached one another until exactly one hundred meters separated them. The watcher stood precisely between them, a thin line dividing blood from blood.
He raised his hands.
Then brought them down.
"Begin."
Before the sound fully faded, a silent chime echoed before Esau's eyes.
A message unfolded—calm, indifferent, absolute.
[You have been gifted an ART by Raziel]
[Comment: I didn't give you a sword.]
[ART: INFINITE PRIMORDIAL OMNI-ORIGIN FORMLESS WORD BLOOD ART]
[RANK: ?]
[TYPE: Destruction / Manipulation / Origin / Word / Conceptual]
[Description:]
You are blood.
The origin of blood.
The embodiment of blood itself.
You command blood in all its forms and meanings. With a mere motion, you may sever omniverses, shatter universes, erase multiverses from continuity. With a single word spoken, you may create or unravel existence.
Your blood cannot be rivalled.
It evolves endlessly, surpassing all others.
Esau smiled faintly.
Another of Raziel's random gifts.
Shingen saw it.
He saw Esau's gaze drift away—just for a moment—and something inside him snapped. To Shingen, it was not distraction. It was dismissal. As if he were nothing. As if he did not even deserve Esau's attention.
Rage flooded him.
In an instant, Shingen raised his hand.
["Void Energy."]
The air screamed.
A monstrous mass of black void coiled around his palm—pitch-black, fluid, alive. It swallowed light, devoured color, bent reality inward. The void churned violently, as though eager to be unleashed.
He hurled it into the sky.
The heavens darkened.
["JUDGMENT OF THE VOID!"]
Hundreds—no, thousands—of black-purple spatial circles tore open above Esau. They rotated slowly, ominously, like eyes opening in the firmament. From within them, jagged spears and warped constructs emerged, trembling as they gathered force.
Shingen brought his hand down.
The sky obeyed.
The spears fell.
They descended at impossible speed—first shattering the sound barrier, then accelerating beyond light itself. The impact was catastrophic.
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
The ground was struck again and again, shockwaves tearing through the arena, seismic forces rippling outward like artificial earthquakes. Stone vaporized. Space itself screamed under the strain.
And yet—
Not a single strike touched Esau.
He stood unmoved at the center of annihilation, untouched amid devastation.
Watching his brother unleash everything—his fury, his hatred, his unrestrained desire to kill—Esau felt something inside him finally settle.
He remembered the past.
The days they played together.
The laughter.
The moments when they were inseparable, when blood meant family—not war.
That brother no longer existed.
Esau's expression hardened.
He chose.
Not to hesitate.
Not to plead.
He chose to kill the brother who was no longer by his side.
With a single, careless flick of Esau's finger, reality complied.
The void spears halted mid-descent.
The blackened sky froze.
The residual energies—void, judgment, annihilation itself—collapsed inward and vanished, as though they had never existed, as though the concept of their existence had been quietly erased from the world.
No explosion.
No resistance.
Nothing.
Then something else occurred.
Thin, blood-black lines manifested across Shingen's body.
They were not wounds—at least, not yet. They were decisions, etched into him with terrifying precision, as if the world itself had already accepted the outcome.
The first line appeared at his neck.
The second traced across his face, just short of his eyes—close enough to feel deliberate.
The third marked his hands.
The fourth, his legs.
The fifth bisected his torso cleanly, perfectly, without mercy or excess.
For a heartbeat, Shingen remained standing.
Then the lines moved.
They slid apart—smooth, silent, immaculate—as though his body had been divided by an unseen artisan. No struggle. No scream. No resistance. In less than a single second, Shingen collapsed, his form separating into precise fragments that scattered across the shattered arena floor.
Blood followed only after the act was complete, as if even it had been forced to wait for permission.
Silence reclaimed the arena.
Esau did not look back.
He turned and walked away, his steps unhurried, his presence receding as though nothing of significance had occurred. Behind him lay ruin, death, and the remains of a brother—cut not by force, but by inevitability.
The crowd did not cheer.
They could not.
They had just witnessed something far more terrifying than violence.
They had witnessed Complete ERASURE.
BUT EVEN BENEATH ALL THAT SOMETHING WAS NOT RIGHT.....