In the midst of a once-great kingdom now sinking into golden sands, the remnants of a lost civilization jutted from the dunes — rooftops of houses, crumbled towers, shattered spires, and broken halls pierced through the desert like forgotten memories. But above all, suspended upside-down from the heavens, hung a colossal castle — so vast it seemed built for giants. Its towering spire shimmered with a golden brilliance, twinkling like a distant star against the sky.
Suddenly, the graveyard stillness was shattered by the thunderous roar of battle.
Titanic golden spears, several times faster than sound, screamed through the air — too fast to see, too loud to ignore. They tore through reality, obliterating all they touched, turning stone, sand, and shadow into golden dust. The sky erupted with destruction.
Dodging them was a lone figure — blurred, near-impossible to see, moving with godlike speed. A whisper of motion, a flicker between moments. The spears that came close never touched him — instead, they erupted into blinding explosions or disintegrated before impact, detonating one after another across the dying kingdom in a catastrophic chain.
That figure was Akami.
Perched atop a tower, he suddenly stilled, his body low like a spring ready to be released. Then — in an instant — he vanished. The tower beneath him disintegrated, shattered by a volley of golden spears that pierced the air where he once stood. Spears embedded deep into the earth, their aftermath dissolving stone into sand.
But Akami had already launched himself toward the upside-down star above.
As he hurtled through the sky, a golden spear — impossibly massive — appeared directly in his path. Its point glinted inches from his face. But Akami didn't flinch. His hands ignited in a burst of crimson flames — liquid fire, molten like magma. A volcanic aura erupted around him as he swatted the spear aside. It combusted instantly, unraveling into nothing.
Yet the battle was far from over.
Thousands of spears blinked into existence before him, a sea of divine death. Each spear crackled with world-ending potential.
Akami's veins pulsed with light. Glowing molten circuits lit up under his skin, fire flowing through his body like living plasma. His entire form radiated a blazing brilliance, as if he were no longer flesh and bone — but a living inferno.
BOOM.
The sound barrier shattered. Hundreds of spears turned to golden shards, bursting like glass under pressure.
BOOM.
The very air around him collapsed into a vacuum. Thousands of spears melted mid-flight, dripping golden molten droplets suspended in stillness.
BOOM.
Light itself bent — he moved at incomprehensible speed. The rest of the spears disintegrated behind him, reduced to echoes.
He was nearly there — the star above, just within reach — when the sands themselves stirred.
A colossal wall of golden sand erupted before him, forming a living barricade. Dozens of golden spears protruded from it like thorns. They rained down like a divine storm.
Akami didn't stop.
As the first wave neared him, his body detonated with searing flame. The caged inferno within him burst out, a wave of annihilation. Everything it touched was reduced to ash. Then — just as he reached the wall — the flames reversed, collapsing back into his body in a torrent of energy. His form burned white-hot, in that split second he became a walking sun. He had become heat incarnate.
With a thunderous cry, he unleashed a dropkick into the golden barricade, punching a massive hole through it. Molten dust and shattered sand scattered across the skies.
Then — the world trembled.
A heartbeat echoed across reality.
One beat — time itself slowed.
Two beats — the air thickened, and all movement stalled.
Three beats — the laws of this realm bent, kneeling before an ancient presence.
The shining star shuddered.
Four beats — six white wings unfurled, emerging from its core.
Five beats — a divine aura swept across the land, washing over every grain of sand.
Six beats — a radiant being stepped forth, two meters tall, its light-brown skin glowing with golden circuits that pulsed like molten blood.
Adorned in a regal tunic of white and gold, amethyst patterns of oceanic corroding waves flowed along its edges. Its presence demanded reverence — a god reawakened.
Seven beats.
A golden lance appeared in its grasp — three meters long, radiating with divine power. Then, it moved.
With a motion that tore through space itself, the being hurled the spear toward Akami. The force of the throw cracked the sky, rippling through the very fabric of the world. The spear blazed a trail of golden sand behind it — not thrown, but unleashed like the wrath of creation itself.
And so. The Sephiroth of golden sands had awakened. And Akami was its target now.
Across the ruined lands, where the divine spear should have struck with world-ending force… stood Akami.
His hair blazed like living fire, flaring skyward with supernatural rage. His hand — scorched, yet unwavering — clenched the molten head of the once-pristine golden lance. Liquid gold dripped from his grip, sizzling as it scorched and melted the platform beneath him. His eyes glowed with a crimson inferno, their radiance rivaling the sun.
And then — he crushed the divine weapon.
With a strain of his arm, the impossible happened: the golden lance twisted, warped, and dripped to the earth in molten streams. A mere mortal had destroyed the weapon of a god.
He looked down at his battered hand, watched the damage for a beat — then, without flinching, let molten crimson flames erupt from his palm. The searing blaze danced across his skin, mending flesh and bone in an instant.
Then Akami lifted his gaze, stoic and inhuman, eyes locked on the celestial spire.
Something had shifted. The forgotten golden kingdom — once buried beneath sands — began to rise. Its ruins floated, frozen mid-air like shattered memories caught in time. From beneath the sands, grotesque forms emerged — colossal centipede and millipede-like horrors, slithering forth with the stench of ancient sin. The sky itself darkened, veiled by countless titanic golden spears suspended above like an omen.
The god of the golden sands had awakened.
The Sephiroth of the golden sands.
Akami rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and stretched casually.
Then — he vanished.
In the instant he disappeared, spears slammed into where he once stood, annihilating the ground into golden ash. Akami zigzagged through the floating ruins, leaping from platform to tower, from shattered homes to crumbling spires. Each point of contact erupted into molten ruin, unable to withstand the firestorm he had become.
Then — the first horror lunged.
A centipede of incomprehensible size, its mandibles twisted in grotesque formation, surged forward. Toxic golden fluids dripped from its fangs, sizzling on contact with the air. Its speed was abominably fast, impossible for something of its size.
But it never touched him.
BOOM.
A gaping hole where its head once was.
BOOM.
Three more combusted in perfect sync.
BOOM.
Floating islands turned to nothing.
BOOM.
The armored scales of a millipede exploded, unable to endure the heat.
BOOM.
Another hole. Another horror gone.
Two centipedes lunged from both flanks while a millipede rose from beneath, seeking to consume him whole. Akami flicked his fingers.
BOOM.
Both centipedes bulged and exploded in flames midair, golden blood spraying like molten stars.
He turned downward, forming a ball of flame in his palm — dense and volatile. With the motion of a titan, he hurled it into the millipede's gaping maw.
BOOM.
An eruption. A sea of fire. Nothing remained.
Akami ducked. A spear passed just millimeters from his face, trailing golden vapor.
And then the onslaught truly began.
Thousands of titan spears — fast as light, unwavering in their aim — homed in on him. But Akami had already cloaked himself in tenfold flames, moving through the chaos like a living meteor. A crimson blaze streaked across the kingdom, dodging, clashing, burning, blocking, swatting down spears in rapid succession.
A single second passed — within it, a symphony of multitudes:
Dodge.
Flame.
Strike.
Burn.
Explode.
Dodge again.
Smite.
Ascend.
He flew higher into the golden sky — only to meet millions of spears descending like a divine apocalypse. But this… this was the moment he had prepared for.
Akami's flames surged, roaring into a new form. They wrapped around him, shaping themselves into a vast, blazing sphere — a crimson sun born. From this sun burst tendrils of pure flame, coiling and twisting until they converged into seven colossal rings, spinning at unfathomable speeds around him.
And then — BOOM.
A wave of incinerating heat erupted outward.
The sky was cleansed. Every spear, every cursed weapon, was reduced to ash in a breath.
From the sun's blazing core, colossal serpentine dragon heads of flame roared to life. They dove across the land, devouring the eldritch horrors with relentless hunger. Centipedes, millipedes, all swallowed in flames. All erased.
At the heart of the inferno stood Akami.
He locked eyes with the Sephiroth — the god of golden sands — whose divine wings extended fully, radiating glory. The god stared back in silence… then flapped its wings once.
It vanished.
A flash of golden light.
Akami grinned.
The crimson sun around him collapsed inwards, absorbed into his core. The seven blazing rings formed into concentric halos behind him, spinning in silence.
And then he moved.
A sonic thunder cracked the heavens.
The final encounter had begun.
Then they clashed.
The Sephiroth brought his golden lance down from above . It moved beyond the mortal scope of motion, the tip shimmering with searing radiance, trailing arcs of light that bent space in its wake. Air ruptured. Clouds fractured. Gravity screamed.
It was coming for Akami's skull, faster than a thought.
But then — a burst.
Akami's right hand surged with incandescent brilliance, veins flaring molten orange as if magma had replaced blood. The moment before impact, he thrust his palm up.
CLANG.
Metal met molten might. The resulting impact was a world-warping shockwave, a concentric ring of force that obliterated everything within a kilometer. Ruins crumbled midair. The floating spires shattered into glass-like fragments. Even the golden sands below erupted upward, a geyser of divine dust reacting to the overwhelming pressure.
But the real battle was beyond physical — a clash of WILLS.
The Sephiroth, embodiment of divine order, sought to drown Akami beneath the unrelenting tide of the golden sands.
Akami, flame incarnate, refused. His will raged like a wildfire, seeking not only to survive — but to burn the gods themselves.
Their powers repelled, forced apart with explosive energy.
Then—
Motion. Blinding. Relentless.
The Sephiroth rotated midair, his six wings arching backward in a blur, using the momentum to spin the lance sideways — horizontal cleave. The strike was meant to bifurcate Akami in half.
But Akami ducked low, eyes gleaming like twin suns.
His left arm shot forward — and melted the lance in a flash, the weapon dissolving into dripping golden plasma.
But before the molten remnants could hit the ground, another lance formed — already aimed at his shoulder.
WHOOSH.
Akami shifted to the side, dragging his glowing hand across it, erasing it into smoke and sparks.
But he wasn't fast enough.
A sudden force slammed into his flank. A reverberation of power echoed throughout his body.
A divine kick. No weapon — just pure power.
Akami's body spiraled downward, ribcage crunching, flames sputtering violently around him. Below, the golden sands writhed and extended skyward like tendrils — they weren't just a battlefield anymore, they were a weapon. Reaching. Consuming. Waiting.
But Akami's feet flared.
FWOOOM.
Twin jets of volcanic flame burst out, vaporizing the grasping sands. He launched upward, a crimson blur carving through the air, breaking the sound barrier three times in a single breath.
Then—
BOOM.
He was in front of the Sephiroth again — blazing fist drawn back.
But feathers filled the space.
Elegant. White. Suspended in stillness. Then—
They moved.
SHINK.
Two feathers became golden daggers — stabbed through his thighs, locking his movement.
Another pierced his outstretched fist, halting the blow.
One slammed into his gut.
Another in his shoulder.
Two into his ribs. One into his side.
Blood and fire exploded from the wounds.
Akami was impaled midair, held like a crucifix in a cage of holy blades. His transcendent will pushing against the will that wished to turn him into golden sands.
The Sephiroth — calm, regal — reached forward. Gripped Akami's face with his left hand.
And then—
He hurled him.
THOOM.
Akami became a crimson comet — flying toward the inverted castle.
But halfway there — gravity flipped.
The ground became sky. The sky became a void.
Akami was now falling toward the inverted castle, disoriented for a fraction of a second.
But fractions kill.
A lance — blinding white — shot toward him from above. It wasn't moving; it simply was. Teleportation through divine will.
Akami twisted midair, dodging just barely. He reignited his body, but then—
SWOOSH.
The Sephiroth was already there — another lance in hand.
SLASH.
Akami's right arm flew off.
Not blood — but golden dust spilled from the stump, climbing up his skin like parasitic vines.
Then—
CRACK.
His flame circuits pulsed. Crimson light ignited violently across his body, scorching away the corruption.
In its place — a new arm, forged from molten core, lava-hard and glowing bright. His fingers flexed, radiating heat that warped space.
He thrust his palm forward.
"INCINERATE."
A beam of concentrated crimson fire — like a solar flare — erupted from his hand. The Sephiroth encased itself in two wings, expecting protection.
But he miscalculated.
His wings blackened.
Feathers burned away like parchment. Flesh bubbled. Light cracked.
He dodged backward, wings tattered — only for them to regrow instantly. Pristine, glowing, divine.
Akami's eyes narrowed. His flames raged — becoming something else.
A vast column of fire coalesced behind him, spiraling and writhing — a serpentine shape forming. Coiling.
Then its head formed — colossal, draconic, with eyes of solar fire.
A tempest crimson flame dragon.
It roared with no sound — just pressure, enough to collapse the surrounding spires into ash. The dragon lunged for the Sephiroth, a maw of pure annihilation.
The Sephiroth's expression finally shifted — calm turning into something graver.
With a divine whisper, his feathers danced — blending with the surrounding golden sands. From this fusion, he forged a blade — colossal, impossibly broad, taller than mountains.
He swung it — a horizontal cleave across existence.
The blade tore through the dragon's neck, bisecting the beast in a magnificent burst of solar fire and molten plasma.
But in that instant—
Lava-like footprints appeared across the blade's edge, glowing hotter than the sun.
And then — BOOM — Akami appeared right in front of the Sephiroth.
His fist pulled back. Flame converged on his elbow, twisting, flaring.
One devastating punch.
THOOM.
It connected.
The Sephiroth's body lurched, armor cracking, golden blood splattering across the air in sparkling strands.
His eyes narrowed.
For the first time, the god was bleeding.
He didn't speak. He didn't hesitate.
He simply moved.
BOOM.
He was everywhere. A flash. A lance. A blade.
Wings striking like whips. Feathers like bullets. Sand exploding upward in spires to trap, impale, crush.
Akami blocked — dodged — swatted — melted — returned blows with sun-hot fists, even as he was being torn apart.
A blade cleaved his side.
Another pierced his shoulder.
Feathers sliced across his ribs.
A wing slammed into his spine.
A spear lodged into his thigh.
Blood. Sizzling. Sparks. Screamless agony.
Akami launched a point-blank blast to clear distance—
But the Sephiroth was already behind him, hands glowing.
Then — with a strike of unrelenting finality, he punched Akami through the chest, and with a gust of his wings—
Launched him.
Akami's body shot toward the floating castle's core — crashing through the great spires, past shattered gates, and into the Throne Room.
The great hall shook with the impact.
And there — on the ancient, dusty golden throne — Akami slumped.
Broken. Mangled. Blood dripping down his chin, sizzling upon contact with the floor.
His eyes were gouged, lids twitching shut.
Ribs shattered, limbs bent unnaturally.
Mana circuits, once radiant, now flickered dim — nearly extinguished.
He breathed, barely. Shallow, ragged.
He was alive.
But only just.
The air was still.
The battle paused.
Then, in a sudden flicker of divine light, the Sephiroth appeared before Akami, its tall, radiant form looming with the finality of judgment. With a slow, mournful motion, it raised its hand—wreathed in soft golden glow—and drove it through Akami's chest, piercing his heart and exiting through his back. The air trembled at the act. A low hum echoed across the blackened sky.
The Sephiroth's eyes, once blazing with supremacy, now held only pity.
"Mortal," it spoke, its voice layered like a choir of angels, each note laced with melancholy, "You have fought hard and well. I grant you the privilege of speaking your last words."
Akami's head slumped, blood pooling at the edges of his lips. He trembled—but not with fear. A violent cough broke the silence, crimson streaks trailing down his chin. Then, in a voice no louder than a whisper—but thunderous in presence—he responded:
"Boom... boom."
A sickening crunch echoed as Akami's hand, coated in molten cracks of lava-red circuits, clamped tightly around the Sephiroth's impaling arm. Despite the gaping wound in his chest, his will roared like an inferno. Slowly, he raised his head, a twisted smile painted across his bloodied face. Between broken teeth, held in his mouth like a final sacrament, was an orb. It pulsed with a crimson and lava-like glow, and at its center—a sigil: a skull caught in a perpetual explosion.
The Sephiroth's pupils shrank to pinpricks. Its divine instincts screamed, but when it attempted to pull away—its hand would not budge. Akami's grip had become a vice of sheer, unrelenting willpower.
"BAKUDAN!"
A burst of reality-rending heat erupted from the orb, an explosion not of flame alone, but of existence itself. A beam of crimson lava carved through the golden sands, obliterating all—physical, conceptual, spiritual. It was a flame that denied truth and scorched the world in its entirety.
Within this roaring furnace, Akami's new lava-forged arm formed once more. With divine fury, he plunged it into the Sephiroth's chest, ripping free the god's radiant heart. The Sephiroth staggered, expression twisted in agony and disbelief, before tearing itself free from the blaze and staggering away from the inferno.
But it was too late.
As the scprched Sephiroth backed away, clutching the gaping void in its chest, something ancient stirred within the flames. The world shivered. A tale long buried, long forgotten, rose from the ashes.
[A holy-ranked fable—one from the days of divinity's infancy. Has resurfaced]
[A man once known as Jacob became Israel for it was he who wrestled with God and man... and prevailed.]
Akami, standing in the heart of the inferno, brought the severed golden heart to his mouth. Golden ichor flowed, thick and warm, cascading down his throat like liquid sunlight. He drank deeply, hungrily, until the heart crumbled into motes of golden light, fading into the ether.
From the furnace the empty, lifeless husk of divine essence—the hollow shell of the golden heart was flung out. It fell, disintegrating into golden embers.
And from the dispersing blaze... Akami walked.
Where his heart had once been hollowed, a new one pulsed—glowing gold.
1st Beat. Golden light threaded through his veins, arteries glowing like divine rivers.
2nd Beat. His shattered bones aligned, snapped ribs reforging, skin closing, muscle tightening.
3rd Beat. His chest sealed shut. Across his body, golden and crimson circuits burst into luminescence, magma-light weaving through him like living tattoos.
From flame, Akami was reborn.
[ he had obtained another great fable- that of the Phoenix]
The Sephiroth's radiant eyes dimmed. It felt the loss—not just of a heart, but of something more essential. Its body faltered, strength fading. Its wound slowly healed but at the pace of a snail. It realized the truth.
It had lost.
To a human.
A god, defeated.
The Sephiroth tried to crawl away, its wings trailing divine feathers across the burning air. But it was already too late.
Akami stood above it, face cast in the warm glow of the phoenix-fire. He reached down, gripping the Sephiroth by its face.
"Burn."
Cracks formed across the divine being's skin. Crimson light burst through like volcanic eruptions. Then—
BOOM.
The Sephiroth combusted, dissolving into nothingness, not even ash—just shimmering particles scattering across the air like stardust.
Akami watched as the wind carried them away, then smiled.
From his back erupted six colossal wings—each formed of pure, roaring phoenix flame. A molten halo—jagged, spinning, radiant—crowned his head.
One flap.
The realm bent to his will.
The sea of golden sands ignited, becoming a vast ocean of flame. The floating isles blackened, scorched into molten ruins. The sky shifted to black and crimson, burning with the rebirth of a new order. Even the colossal castle that once hung upside down from the heavens was transformed, scorched into a new throne.
And thus, Akami—once mortal—had slain a Sephiroth, become a half Sephiroth, devoured its divine essence, and usurped its domain.
He looked to the sky, and with his voice—a voice now etched into the firmament—declared:
"Now, I proclaim... a new god has been born."
And with that, wings blazing, halo shining, he took flight into the crimson skies of his new realm.