Shinsei's stance was absolute.
The Jade Dragon in his right hand, the Azure Blade in his left — both tilted at precise, opposing angles, their edges catching faint ripples of sunlight. His center of gravity was perfect, neither leaning forward nor back, his presence expanding like a tide.
It was not just a stance.
It was the embodiment of a life lived without compromise.
The wind shifted. The snow fell away from him, forming a clear circle in the white wasteland.
The moment breathed. The world held still.
Then Shinsei spoke — not loud, but every syllable carried, as if whispered directly into the ear of the battlefield.
Shinsei: "Tenth Flow… Ultimate Technique."
He drew in the silence, and the sky answered.
Shinsei: "Imperial Domain of the Dancing gods."
The world shattered.
The snowy battlefield dissolved into a boundless expanse — a translucent ocean of space where stars drifted lazily, their light refracting through streams of flowing energy. The ground was gone; all who stood within floated weightless in an infinite, shimmering cosmos.
Galaxies spun in the distance like lanterns on an endless river. Comets traced silver arcs across the darkness. Flow itself became visible, swirling in vast rivers toward the twin blades in Shinsei's hands.
Suno's lips trembled. Words tried to form and failed.
He was… amazed.
Suno: "T-this… goes beyond mortal strength…"
Even Kenzo Shinigami, watching from afar, felt his breath falter. His fingers twitched, his heartbeat quickened.
Kenzo: "…Impossible…"
Shinsei's figure stood illuminated in the glow of a million stars. And then… he bowed slightly, as though offering the moment itself to his opponent.
Shinsei: "…Let's finish this… shall we?"
The rivers of Flow merged into him, an ocean collapsing into a single drop — and that drop beat in time with his heart.
Gorozai's third eye flared, sensing the shift. His heartbeat thundered like a war drum.
Gong.
Gong.
Gong.
The demon dashed — and Shinsei met him halfway.
Their first clash scraped a star clean from the cosmos, its light exploding into dust.
Their second split a moon in two, fragments scattering into the void.
The sound was not steel on steel. It was creation colliding with destruction. A spectacle that defied the language of men.
They moved faster than light could follow, reappearing in bursts of brilliance across the domain. Each instant was a new battlefield — one moment among the rings of a shattered planet, the next beneath the arcs of aurora that spanned entire galaxies.
The Imperial Domain's effect deepened. Multiple silhouettes of Shinsei emerged, each moving with identical grace. They danced in unison, weaving patterns of death and beauty, each silhouette's blades cutting at angles impossible to defend against.
Gorozai stumbled back, regenerating faster and faster — but for the first time, his adaptation was being overwhelmed. Every recovery was met with another wound, every counter answered before it began.
One silhouette rushed him — he slashed it apart.
Another came from above — he tore it down.
But the numbers grew, the rhythm became unpredictable, and the elegance of the assault made even his clairvoyance falter.
The galaxy seemed to breathe in time with Shinsei's strikes.
Raijin: "So… this is what it is when samurai don't compress their Flow in battle."
Suno nodded faintly, eyes fixed on the spectacle.
Suno: "…Correct. Our attacks are meant to be condensed — to strike with full force, while sparing the world around us. But here… in this domain… Shinsei can fight like the beast he truly is."
Shinsei's eyes had turned pure white. His breath was steady, but there was no trace of the world around him in his expression — only the perfect harmony of blade and soul.
Slash.
Slash.
Slash.
The silhouettes struck from all directions. Gorozai's body convulsed under the storm, regeneration slowing, then failing.
It was over.
Gong.
A single heartbeat shifted everything.
Gorozai's chest expanded, his third eye spun faster than sight could follow. His heartbeat steadied — adaptation complete.
In one brutal motion, he slashed the air. Reality screamed.
The domain tore like silk, the cosmic light shattering into fragments before fading into nothing.
They stood again in the void — featureless, infinite.
Gorozai was heaving, his armor fractured, his skin scored with a hundred cuts. But he was alive.
Far away, Kenzo leaned forward, excitement returning to his grin.
Kenzo: "…You've been narrowed, Shinsei. Gorozai wins."
Silence bled into the void.
Then… the air changed.
Shinsei's aura shifted, no longer sharp or heavy — but divine. The kind of presence that bent the knees of warriors without command.
His eyes opened, no longer white, but blazing with a luminous blue that seemed to reflect an unseen sky. A mark shimmered into existence on his forehead, delicate yet impossibly intricate.
Suno's breath caught.
Suno: "…No way. He… he's been… enlightened."
The disciples stared, unable to look away.
Suno: "The first man of this generation… to ever reach that realm…"
Shinsei stepped forward. Time obeyed.
The world slowed to stillness. Snowflakes froze in midair, their crystalline edges glittering like shards of captured light. Even Gorozai's movements halted, trapped in the frame of this frozen moment.
The light drained from the battlefield, fading into a monochrome silence.
The twin Mythic Blades lost their color — their steel became a silhouette of black and white, edges indistinct, as though they no longer belonged to the physical world.
A soundless ripple radiated outward from Shinsei, and reality folded. Where his blade passed, the air did not split — it vanished, leaving a hair-thin seam of darkness that sealed itself in an instant.
Gorozai's body began to bleed light. Not blood — light. Threads of his existence peeled away, curling into ash that disintegrated into nothingness.
Shinsei's voice was calm.
Shinsei: "Bushidō Mythic Flow… Zetsuro no Tachi."
Gorozai froze mid-step.
The wheel on his eyes spun wildly, then stopped.
A single, final heartbeat echoed like a temple bell.
Cracks of white light spread through his form like porcelain shattering. His bone armor fragmented, drifting upward as shards. His muscles unraveled into glowing dust, each strand severing from the idea that had once bound it together.
And then… he was gone.
No shadow.
No sound.
No trace.
The void dissolved. The battlefield returned snowy, bloodstained, eerily quiet.
Shinsei knelt slowly, his blades trembling in his hands. Every breath was heavier than the last. He had burned his life force to fight — and the toll showed in the lines of exhaustion across his face.
Far away, Kenzo's mouth hung slightly open.
Even he — who had awaited Gorozai's triumph — could only stare.
Gorozai had fallen.