The dark skies of the royal Bloodmoon Kingdom hung low over the Royal Arena.
It was casting an ethereal glow that bathed everything in shades of deep dark red and flickering gold.
The air was thick with anticipation, a hum of energy that vibrated through the stone seats and echoed in the distant roars of the crowd.
Paulo Satoshi sat in the elevated pavilion reserved for the monarchs, his blue hoodie pulled low over his blue hair
His mismatched eyes. one blue, the other green cosmic with energy pouring out, scanning the arena below with a detached intensity.
At an age of two million five hundred thousand years old, throughout his old body appeared eternally youthful and looks at around twenty years old, Paulo had seen empires rise and fall, universes twist and reform.
Yet here, in this moment, waiting for the semi-finals of the Bloodmoon Queen Tournament, he felt an unusual weight pressing down on him.
The pavilion was a grand structure, carved from obsidian and adorned with banners fluttering in the blood-scented wind.
Seated around a massive circular table were the other monarchs, their presences like gravitational forces pulling at the fabric of reality.
Lucy Lightheart, the Queen of the Sky and the Monarch of Light, sat to his left, her angelic wings folded neatly behind her, her golden hair cascading like sunlight. She kept stealing glances at Paulo, her eyes filled with a mix of regret and longing, remnants of their ancient betrayal that still haunted them both.
Across from her was Antares, the King of Destruction and the Monarch of Dragons, his fiery red aura flickering like embers, his muscular frame clad in armour that seemed forged from volcanic rock.
Rayan Andre, the Monarch of Nature, lounged with a cool detachment, his silver hair glistening like frost, while Izuki Remioka, the Monarch of Steel, fidgeted with a fan that stirred mini-cyclones around her fingers.
The conversation among them was lively, laced with the casual arrogance of beings who had shaped worlds. They were placing bets on the upcoming match, their voices rising and falling like a symphony of power.
"I say Eris and Stun take it," Antares boomed, slamming a fist on the table that sent sparks flying. "Bone Magic and Decay? That is a nasty combo. They'll rot those tengu boys from the inside out before they can even charge up."
Lucy chuckled, her voice melodic but edged with some sharpness. "Antares, You're underestimating this young future monarchs commanders. His 1st in command, Riku Masusa has that vampire edge now, and his 3rd in command Rajin Mori's blood manipulation is raw tengu heritage. I will wager all my cosmic artifacts on them, say, the Orb of Eternal Dawn?"
Rayan leaned back, frost forming on his goblet as he sipped. "Bets are for fools who can't see the ice beneath the surface. Stun Kikuchi's decay is insidious; it creeps, it corrupts. Eris Maita's bones will rise like an army. But fine, I'll throw in a shard of the Frozen Abyss if Paulo's side pulls through."
Izuki fanned herself faster, creating a breeze that rustled everyone's clothes. "Wind whispers secrets, you know. I hear Paulo's been... off lately. Fusing with shadows? Betting against him might be wise. I'll stake a gale crystal on Rayan's champions."
Paulo tuned them out, his mind wandering to the story that had brought him here.
It all started in those suffocating hallways of Keiko High School, where Ava's obsessive love had been both a balm and a curse.
The rumours, the bullying, Hana's suicide, it had shattered him, leading to his own leap from the rooftop. Waking in the Terra Universe, discovering his powers, building the New Order... it was a tapestry of pain and triumph.
Riku and Rajin were now representing him in this tournament to influence the Bloodmoon throne, and everything felt precarious.
Suddenly, he felt an evil pain lanced through his stomach, like a thousand blades twisting in unison.
It was as if death itself had gripped him, not once, but fifty times over, each wave more excruciating than the last.
Paulo's hand instinctively went to his abdomen, his ultra regeneration kicking in, but it did little to dull the agony.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, his blue hair sticking to his skin.
The pain was unnatural, a churning void that threatened to consume him from within.
He glanced at the arena below. The crowd was roaring, the announcers hyping the semi-final matchup.
Riku and Rajin were already entering, their forms silhouetted against the red sand.
But Paulo could not focus.
The pain intensified, a burning, roiling sensation that made his vision blur.
"Excuse me," he muttered to the monarchs, standing abruptly.
Lucy's eyes widened in concern, but he waved her off. "Just... need a moment."
He slipped away from the pavilion, navigating the labyrinthine corridors of the Royal Arena.
The walls were etched with ancient runes that glowed faintly, depicting battles of old, monarchs clashing, souls shattering. Guards in crimson armour nodded as he passed, recognizing the Cosmic Vessel, the Monarch of Radiation.
But inside, Paulo was unravelling.
The pain grew with each step, like a storm building in his core.
He recalled the recent fusion with Momo Yokoyama, the Monarch of Death. He had spared her, absorbed her, but perhaps that mercy was a mistake.
By the time he reached the opulent bathroom, marble floors veined with blood-red quartz, mirrors framed in gold, he was doubled over.
He burst through the door, slamming it shut, and lurched to the sink.
His reflection stared back: blue hair dishevelled, eyes mismatched and wild.
Then, the nausea hit full force. He vomited, but it was not bile, it was blood, thick and dark, splattering the porcelain like ink from a shattered quill.
Gasping, Paulo gripped the edges of the sink, his knuckles white. He looked up into the mirror, and his heart, or what passed for one in his immortal form, skipped. Instead of his own face, he saw Momo's reflection superimposed over his.
Her pale skin, her dark hair framing sharp features, her eyes glowing with an otherworldly purple hue.
She smirked, but there was no malice, only a weary familiarity.
"Paulo," her voice echoed in his mind, resonant and intimate, as if speaking from within his soul. "Why do you fight it? Why refuse to let me have some control?"
He straightened, wiping blood from his lips. "Momo... or whatever's left of you. I absorbed you. You are part of me now. This pain, it is you resisting?"
Her image then flickered, her lips started moving in sync with the voice in his head. "Resisting? No, darling. This is us clashing because you are not in sync. I am your second half, remember? We need to harmonize if we're to become our old self again."
Paulo's mind reeled. Flashes of memory assaulted him, not his recent ones, but ancient, buried deep.
Before his death, before the split.
He had been whole once, a being of immense power, the original Cosmic King perhaps, or something greater.
But in a moment of despair, betrayed by Lucy, heartbroken over Rika's conception amid infidelity, he had chosen to fracture his soul.
One half reincarnated on Earth as Paulo Satoshi, the quiet high schooler destined for tragedy.
The other half manifested as the Monarch of Death, Momo Yokoyama, wandering the cosmos in isolation, building her empire of shadows and blood.
The realization hit like a cosmic beam. "That was... me? We were one?"
Momo's reflection nodded. "Yes Paulo. You split to escape the pain, to start anew. But fragments cannot thrive alone. The depression you feel. It is ours, amplified by separation. Hana's death, Yuki's great and not needed sacrifice, Lucy's betrayal, they echo our ancient wounds. Fuse truly, Paulo. Let me in fully. Become whole."
He hesitated, the pain surging again, forcing him to his knees.
Blood trickled from his nose now, his ultra regeneration struggling against the internal war.
Memories then flooded: his ancient life as the unified being, wielding powers beyond imagination, cosmic extraction on a galactic scale, realm creations that spanned dimensions.
The split had weakened Paulo and scattered his essence.
Reincarnated Paulo had the cosmic eye, the vessel potential.
Momo had the death affinities, the shadow depths.
"Fine," he whispered, closing his eyes. "Let's do this."
The fusion began not as a battle, but a merging. Energy swirled within him, green cosmic from his eye, purple death from Momo's essence.
His body convulsed, auras clashing then blending.
He felt her memories integrate: centuries of loneliness as the Monarch of Death, raising skeleton armies, duelling monarchs.
In turn, she absorbed his Earthly pains, the bullying, Ava's love, Hana's loss.
The stomach-ache transformed into a warm convergence, pain giving way to power.
When it the merge ended, Paulo then stood, his reflection his own again, but subtly changed.
His eyes held a deeper shadow, his aura a faint purple tint mixed with green.
No one would notice; the difference was internal.
He was whole now, power level surging subtly, though he masked it.
The depression lingered, but shared, it was bearable, a fuel rather than a chain.
Paulo then washed his face, composed himself, and returned to the pavilion.
The monarchs were still chattering, bets escalating.
"Everything alright?" Lucy asked, her voice soft.
Paulo nodded, taking his seat. "Just pre-match nerves. For them, not me."
He turned his gaze to the arena. The semi-final was about to commence.
Riku Masusa, his first in command, stood tall at 6 foot 2, red hair tousled, black hoodie and red tracksuit joggers giving him a casual yet menacing vibe.
His left eye glowed red vampire, right blue adaption, ready to counter any hit.
Power level without zone: 730 million, but with it, 450 septillions.
He was charging light energy, palms glowing with ethereal white, two daggers were summoned and they were humming.
Beside him, Rajin Mori, the tengu heir, 6 foot 1, half-human half-tengu with red eyes.
No zone, but tengu form pushed him to 550 million.
He channelled blood energy, veins pulsing crimson, fists clenched as if drawing from his very essence.
Opposite them, Eris Maita, a skeletal figure in tattered robes, bone magic crackling around her.
Bones levitated, forming shields and spears. Stun Kikuchi, hulking and decayed, skin mottled green, decay magic oozing like mist, corroding the sand at his feet.
The announcer's voice then shouted and boomed out everywhere: "Fighters of the arena, enter your fighting immediately at once!"
They all complied, Riku in a low crouch, daggers crossed; Rajin with fists raised, blood aura flaring; Eris with arms outstretched, bones rattling; Stun in a wide stance, decay pooling.
The crowd held its breath waiting for the match to start as the 4 enter fighting positions.
Paulo leaned forward, his newly fused self-humming with anticipation.
But the bell had not rung yet. The tension built, seconds stretching into eternity...