The canyon was no longer a canyon.
It had become a battlefield carved by gods.
Paulo Satoshi stood in a swirling storm of green cosmic energy, his katana now unsheathed and glowing with radiant power.
The blue glow in his eyes pulsed with calm fury, his stance grounded yet fluid, like a star waiting to explode.
Across from him, Momo Yokoyama hovered above a pillar of blood, her red aura thick and suffocating, her scythe spinning slowly in her grip.
The black glow in her eyes shimmered like a void, her presence bending the air around her.
They moved.
Not with speed, but with intent.
Paulo dashed forward, his katana slicing a crescent arc through the air.
Momo countered with a sweep of her scythe, the blades colliding in a burst of green and red light.
The shockwave flattened the nearby cliffs, sending debris flying in every direction.
No damage. No blood. Just power.
Paulo twisted mid-air, launching a cosmic pulse from his blade.
Momo spun, deflecting it with a shield of condensed blood magic.
She retaliated with a volley of blood spears; each one aimed with surgical precision.
Paulo danced between them, his movements effortless, his aura absorbing the stray impacts.
He landed, crouched, then launched upward with a rising slash.
Momo blocked, her scythe vibrating from the force.
She kicked off the air, flipping backward, and sent a wave of death energy toward him.
Paulo raised his katana, slicing through the wave with a single motion.
Still no damage. Still no blood.
They circled each other again.
The terrain around them warped, trees uprooted, rivers reversed, the sky flickered between day and night.
Their Zones were so powerful, reality itself struggled to contain them.
Momo lunged, her scythe spinning like a cyclone.
Paulo met her mid-charge, their weapons clashing in a flurry of strikes too fast for mortal eyes.
Each blow echoed like thunder; each parry lit the sky.
They separated.
Paulo's cloak was torn. Momo's armour was cracked. But neither was hurt.
They stared at each other, breathing heavily.
"You're holding back," Momo said.
"So are you," Paulo replied.
They charged again.
Paulo unleashed a barrage of cosmic slashes, each one infused with radiation. Momo deflected them with blood shields, then countered with a spiral of death magic. Paulo dodged, flipped, and landed behind her, swinging his katana in a wide arc.
She blocked. He kicked.
She spun. He ducked.
Still no damage.
Still no blood. But the tension was rising.
Their Zones pulsed louder. Their auras grew brighter.
The world around them began to fracture, cracks forming in the sky, gravity bending, time slowing.
And yet, they kept fighting.
Not to kill. Not yet. But to understand.
To measure.
To prepare.
Because when the first blow lands, it will be the beginning of the end.
***
The sky above the shattered canyon had become a swirling canvas of chaos, green and red auras clashing like celestial storms, distorting the very fabric of reality.
The terrain was no longer recognizable.
Mountains had been reduced to craters, rivers had turned to vapor, and the air itself pulsed with pressure that could crush steel.
At the centre of it all stood Paulo Satoshi, the Monarch of Radiation, his body enveloped in a radiant green aura that shimmered with cosmic energy.
His eyes glowed with a piercing blue light, focused and unwavering.
His katana, forged from the heart of a dying star, pulsed in his grip, humming with power that could split planets.
Across from him hovered Momo Yokoyama, the Monarch of Death, her red aura thick and suffocating, swirling around her like a living storm.
Her Blood Scythe spun slowly, dripping with condensed death magic.
The black glow in her eyes was not just power, it was hunger.
A hunger for vengeance, for justice, for the finality that only death could bring.
Her Zone was fully active, and its influence was beginning to show.
The ground beneath her feet bled.
The air around her twisted.
Every breath she took seemed to drain the life from the world itself.
They had been clashing for minutes that felt like hours.
Each strike between them sent shockwaves across the battlefield, flattening hills and cracking the sky.
Paulo's cosmic slashes tore through space, but Momo's blood shields absorbed them with terrifying efficiency.
Her magic was adaptive, fluid, and relentless.
Every time Paulo landed a blow, Momo's blood magic responded, healing, countering, evolving.
It was as if she had become the battlefield itself, her power woven into every molecule of the air.
Paulo's movements began to slow.
His breathing grew heavier.
The green aura around him flickered, dimming slightly with each exchange.
He had never faced an opponent like this.
Momo's blood magic was not just defensive, it was invasive.
It seeped into his wounds, into his energy, trying to corrupt the very essence of his Zone.
His cosmic katana, once a blur of unstoppable force, now felt heavier in his grip.
His strikes were still precise, still powerful, but they lacked the overwhelming dominance for which he was known.
Momo, by contrast, seemed to grow stronger with each moment.
Her scythe danced through the air, carving symbols of death into the sky.
She summoned blood serpents, crimson spears, and waves of necrotic energy that Paulo struggled to deflect.
His cosmic armour absorbed some of the damage, but the blood magic was persistent, it clung to him, wrapped around his limbs, slowed his reflexes.
He slashed through a swarm of blood blades, only to be caught by a tendril that wrapped around his ankle and yanked him into the ground.
He recovered quickly, blasting the tendril with a burst of radiation, but the effort cost him.
The psychological toll was mounting.
Paulo had always been the strongest, the most composed, the one who trained others to master the Zone.
But now, he was being assessed in ways he had never imagined.
Momo's power was not just raw, it was emotional.
Every strike she delivered carried the weight of loss, of betrayal, of grief. Her fury was focused, her pain weaponized.
She was not fighting to win. She was fighting to end.
Paulo tried to regain control.
He activated a pulse of cosmic energy, creating a shockwave that pushed Momo back.
He followed with a flurry of slashes, each one faster than the last, his katana glowing brighter.
For a moment, it seemed like he was turning the tide. But Momo adapted again.
She formed a dome of blood magic around herself, absorbing the strikes, then exploded outward in a burst of crimson energy that knocked Paulo off his feet.
He landed hard, skidding across the broken ground.
His aura flickered again. He rose slowly, blood dripping from a cut on his cheek, his first visible wound.
He wiped it away, staring at the crimson stain on his glove.
It was a reminder: Momo was not just matching him. She was beginning to surpass him.
She hovered above him, her scythe spinning, her aura pulsing, "You're slowing down," she said, her voice calm, almost pitying.
Paulo did not respond.
He adjusted his stance, breathing deeply, trying to centre himself.
But the pressure was immense.
His Zone was still active, but it was being eroded, not by time, but by Momo's relentless assault.
Her blood magic was unlike anything he had ever encountered.
It did not just attack, it consumed, It learned and It evolved.
The battlefield darkened further.
The green and red auras clashed in the sky, forming a vortex that threatened to tear open the heavens. Lightning crackled.
The ground trembled. And yet, neither monarch backed down.
Paulo charged again, his katana blazing.
Momo met him mid-air, their weapons colliding in a burst of energy that lit up the horizon.
They exchanged dozens of blows in seconds, each one more desperate than the last.
Paulo's strikes were still precise, still powerful, but Momo's counters were faster, her defences tighter.
She was adapting to his rhythm, predicting his moves, exploiting his weaknesses.
He landed a slash across her shoulder, but she did not flinch.
She retaliated with a blood spike to his ribs, forcing him back.
He tried to summon a cosmic barrier, but it cracked under the pressure of her death magic.
He launched a radiation pulse, but she absorbed it, converting it into energy for her next attack.
Paulo was struggling.
And Momo knew it.
She pressed the advantage, her scythe spinning faster, her aura growing darker. She summoned a storm of blood blades; each one aimed with lethal intent.
Paulo deflected most, but one grazed his arm, another his leg.
He winced, his aura dimming further.
The Monarch of Radiation was faltering.
And the Monarch of Death was rising.