The Toxin Dragon would be left all alone in the makeshift graveyard, a pocket dimension with the Sky a dark grey, the Sun a bone white, blood coming down from its mouth like watering saliva, as if it was hungry for fresh meat. The Beast tried to fly and escape, but doing so resulted in breaking apart the wings, snapping and plummeting the beast back down. As it did, parts of itself fell into its many open graves, quickly burying itself and catching the parts in tandem. It was shallow, however, more than enough to let it break away, yet such shallow graves would be more than enough, as it begun to refill itself. Ji-Mon would be seen at its epicenter, staring blankly up above, on his knees as he'd let himself rest. The Dragon roared, almost as if it wanted to ask a question, before being struck down and swatted into another set of graves.
His own tail attacked back, or rather a necrotic version of it, busting out from the dirt and showing no mercy to its living counterpart.
Shoka would look at what was happening, seeing the shallow graves trap, then free, then refill, all to make the next set of body parts. "...So that's what you do... Just like what Franken does..." He'd mumble, laughing weakly to himself as he basks in that pale light. He took in the stale air as the beast screeched and whimpered, more of its parts beginning to rise, until each piece was available. When such pieces to make the whole monster came, they magnetize to one another, slowly drawing themselves in and attaching each other as if they were mere dolls, the stitching as its thread and needle. A zombified version of the Toxin Dragon was born, and with it, a personal energy tank to utilize its abilities, its Virus, attacking back and weakening the Dragon with its own poison. Slowly, more and more began to grow, more and more began to push into each other and develop into the monsters Ji-Mon wanted. He laughed weakly as he watched the new army begin to serve under him in such spirits. "This place... it's my own Graveyard. It makes the Living become the Dead... then lives under me. To live... is to die... is to live. What a fitting finisher for me. I'd imagine a lot of magic will be needed to really facilitate this level of power, but it's all worth it." He'd clutch his chest as he'd feel his lungs burn, the wick and wax melted into his flesh, now becoming one, now becoming his body.
He'd exhale a few puffs of smoke, watching it flow freely, quickly reaching into his pockets and taking a new talisman, planting it on his face. The smog was able to leave through the talisman, his body now a living incense, at peace with himself for the moment. "Red Death... I called it that, didn't I? During my Hysteria against that Vampire? I wonder why I chose that name... Was I trying to credit her for being the reason I reached such a state?" He'd ask himself out loud, ignoring the sounds outside of him, the many growls and screeches the Dragons had as they ripped into each other. "...I must've. I can't see any other reason to why I threw my life like that, let alone take such risks to achieve this power. I don't think I'm gonna be the same again after this infernal candle took root, am I?" He laughed as he'd reach his hand out, almost wanting to caress the sun, for giving it as much care as it did when he was growing. "Every day when I saw that light, I always get reminded that today will have something special. Even at my lowest... even when my parents inevitably passed away... you still stuck with me to the end. My one and only sunshine. My one that always came... when skies are truly grey. Never leave me... my beautiful sun." He'd confess, letting his body collapse and rest, his eyes closing, as the necrotic domain remained alive.
Outside, Bathory could hear such harrowing sounds, choosing to retreat rather than push on, her magic now waned to a mere sliver of its former self, finding and rescuing her son after such a strike. "He's supposed to be the Second Elite, wasn't he? How did he grew so much? Why did he grew so much? What made him take me of all things as his motivation to keep going...? I need to report this to Sozo. King's army is getting out of hand the longer it remains. Taro seems to have won his at least, so hopefully he's able to pick up our slack. To my love, I am so sorry for failing you again. I can't bear the thought of seeing your woeful face knowing we lost our control. Our only hope now would be if Khonum or Axel can intercept those two Descendants in time. I hope we bought you as much as possible of a chance to keep the King away..." She'd mumble, struggling in her words as she buckled in her knees. She never expected such a rookie to take such an immense toll, let alone be alive and ready to face her.
She doesn't know what was going on beyond that realm, but she'd rather not stick around and get herself caught in its confines like before. She's smart in knowing when to back down, and this was one of those times where sticking around ensures death. She couldn't imagine how her husband would behave if she was the first to fall between the two ranks. Elsewhere, amidst such departed and destroyed lands, a silhouette would be seen approaching the realm, his hand reaching out, watching it ripple like water, before sucking him in and absorbing the body, taking it to the next world. Once he did, he was able to find Ji-Mon. Once he found him, he took his time walking towards, and placing his hand on the Necromancer's shoulder.
Shoka would be stunted a bit as he'd look up to see who it was, smiling in relief as he saw his Mentor, albeit with half of his skin carved and burned away, his skeleton visible in one side. "You did well, my pupil. You did well..." He'd whisper weakly, the summon and damage from his own monster showing his pain. He knelt down and basked in the pale light just as much, both ignoring the now fleeting sounds of the Dragon. Both were proud of themselves, in surviving, and in matching with their opponent leagues above them.
Both were proud indeed.