The battlefield had become a graveyard of carnage.
The once-vast lake of human blood, which had surrounded both combatants like an unholy sea, had all but vanished. What remained was a mere thin, glistening film, stretching weakly across the ground, desperate, fleeting. Scattered across it were remnants of the fallen—fragments of bone, dismembered limbs, half-submerged skulls staring lifelessly into the night sky.
As the resource necessary for the curse's technique dwindled, so too did her dominion over this battlefield.
Her power was running dry.Her options were narrowing.
And Izaya knew it.
He stood amidst the devastation, unwavering, his golden eyes like molten steel in the moonlight. His expression remained unreadable, his stance calm, yet absolute, as though the surrounding destruction was no more than a shifting breeze.
"You are nearing your end."
His voice was level—matter-of-fact, indisputable. A simple truth, spoken with the same ease as one would state the color of the sky.
But if his words were meant to intimidate, they did no such thing.
The curse—a creature of unearthly beauty and monstrous malice—remained unfazed.
If anything, she seemed to relish it.
Raising her arms in a slow, deliberate motion, she shaped them into a V, her body poised mid-dance, as though she were a goddess basking in the moonlight. Despite her situation, despite the dwindling blood around her, her presence had not diminished. If anything, her allure—dark, irresistible, utterly wrong—only seemed to intensify.
Her smile remained. Not a smirk, not a sneer—but something deeper, something more intoxicating. A smile that was both alluring and terrifying, magnetic in its raw, wicked confidence.
Then, her voice—honeyed, sweet, dripping in something sinful—rang out through the desolation:
"Chi Nurareta Shura no Yoroi..."
(Bloodborne Armor of the Asura)
At once, the thin film of blood trembled.
Then, like a sentient tide, it rose, levitating toward her in countless twisting streams. The crimson fluid snaked around her form, wrapping her in a growing cocoon of pulsing, living blood.
Izaya watched, his golden gaze narrowing.
Slowly, the sphere of blood began to shrink, contracting inward, molding to her form.
Then—she began to change.
Her stature grew, her silhouette stretching, elongating into something far less human.
Massive, demonic horns erupted from her head, curving backward like those of a beast that had long since abandoned humanity. Crimson scales spread over her arms and legs, their shimmering surface pulsating as though alive, as though they were no longer mere armor but an extension of her very being.
Her fingers sharpened into claws, each one gleaming with razor-thin edges, crafted to tear through flesh and bone as though they were paper.
And then—her eyes.
Her once-alluring gaze had transformed into something truly monstrous.
They glowed—deep crimson orbs, burning with a light that was no longer simply madness, but something deeper. Something primeval, insatiable, demonic.
When she spoke again, her voice was layered with something inhuman—a resonance that carried the weight of countless slaughtered souls.
"This is the end for you, Izaya."
A single bead of sweat trickled down Izaya's neck.
He muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. "Armor...? No. This is something else. A transformation... A demon."
Yet his resolve did not waver.
"Not that it truly matters."
His words, though spoken calmly, carried the weight of an absolute verdict.
This was still a battle to the death. And he would be the one to survive.
Then—she moved.
A thunderous boom shattered the silence as the transformed curse launched herself forward, exploding off the ground with inhuman force. The sheer velocity of her takeoff left a gaping crater in her wake, the surrounding debris scattering outward like an expanding shockwave.
Izaya reacted instantly.
His right hand clenched into a fist.
Though his lava-based attack had been extinguished, the battlefield itself still carried traces of his cursed energy—an invisible network of influence, lingering beneath the earth like a dormant storm, waiting for his command.
He activated it.
With a sharp pulse of will, the ground erupted.
Countless obsidian stakes speared upward from the earth, shooting toward the oncoming curse, each one positioned to skewer her mid-flight.
But she was faster.
Her body twisted and coiled through the onslaught with impossible grace, her movements no longer simply humanoid, but serpentine, each dodge executed with eerie premonition-like precision.
Izaya's mind raced.
'Her perception has drastically improved. She's predicting my technique...'
Realizing that ranged attacks would be ineffective, Izaya immediately shifted his stance.
His right leg slid back, aligning with his other leg. He crouched slightly, his right fist hovering near his waist. His cursed energy flared, surging through his body, reinforcing every muscle, every fiber of his being.
"A battle of arms it is."
She reached him.
The curse's clawed fist swung downward—a strike carrying raw, monstrous force, aimed to obliterate him in a single blow.
Izaya countered.
His fist met hers in a colossal impact.
BOOM!
A violent shockwave burst outward, rattling the very air, sending debris scattering in every direction. The earth cracked beneath them, unable to withstand the sheer power unleashed in that single exchange.
And yet, it was only the beginning.
Their blows became a storm—a flurry of devastating, lightning-fast attacks, each one colliding with the force of an earthquake.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Their silhouettes blurred, their bodies reduced to streaks of brown and crimson, clashing over and over, neither yielding.
Izaya felt it—the strain on his body. Even with his reinforcement technique, even with his immense skill and precision, the curse's sheer raw strength was starting to overwhelm him.
She noticed.
Her eyes gleamed with realization.
A third arm, forged entirely of blood, erupted from her armor, striking his stomach like a cannon blast.
Izaya's eyes widened—too late.
The impact sent him hurtling backward, his breath escaping in a violent spray of blood.
And the curse wasn't done.
She appeared beside him in an instant, her massive clawed hand gripping his face.
Then, she dragged him up—through solid stone, through the remains of the battlefield—straight into the sky.
Izaya's body slammed into the remains of a towering wall, then through it, carving a path of devastation in his wake.
But even as his body spiraled through the air, even as unconsciousness threatened to claim him—
Something shifted.
His cursed energy reacted.
The air beneath his feet solidified—for the first time, he had achieved the impossible.
He launched forward—one final strike.
"Kokusen."
A Black Flash.
Cursed energy erupted from his fist, crackling in the form of black lightning. The air around them distorted, space-time itself warping from the sheer force of the impact.
The curse hurtled through the air, colliding with the ground in an explosive crash.
Boom.
The air beneath his feet solidified again as he jumped towards the ground.
Izaya landed nearby, his movements still guided by instinct.
His eyes remained white, his consciousness seemingly absent.
Neither of them noticed the pair of blue eyes observing from the shadows, watching their every move with keen interest.