The volcano had not slept in centuries.
It breathed.
Molten rivers crawled along its inner walls, casting the cavern in a hellish glow. The air itself warped from the heat, thick with sulfur and ash, each breath a punishment. At the heart of the caldera, coiled around a lake of fire, Amaterasu stirred.
Black armor plates shifted against one another, each scale etched with fractures that glowed faintly crimson, like wounds that never healed. His body was colossal—mountainous—his horns scraping the heavens as he rose. Lava poured from his frame as if he were not merely dwelling within the volcano, but was the volcano's will given form.
Then—
Light intruded.
A sharp, unnatural brilliance cut through the smoke, hovering above the molten lake. Not fire. Not magic as the world understood it. Clean. Focused. Hostile to the darkness of the night.
Amaterasu's eyes opened.
White-gold pupils contracted, ancient and intelligent.
"…You," the Dragon rumbled, voice reverberating through stone and magma alike. "It has been some years."
The figure hovered in silence, radiant energy pulsing faintly around his body like a restrained sun. His outline was that of an ordinary man, but the way the air recoiled from him betrayed the lie.
"I told you not to return," Amaterasu continued. "Children of Light never listen."
The figure moved first.
He vanished in a flash—reappearing at Amaterasu's flank in an instant—fist already cocked. Light condensed around his arm, dense and blinding, before detonating on impact.
The caldera exploded.
The punch landed like a meteor, shockwaves rippling through the magma lake, lava geysers erupting violently. Amaterasu's head snapped sideways, armor plates cracking under the force—but not breaking.
He laughed.
A deep, knowing sound.
"Stronger," the Dragon said. "But still reckless."
Amaterasu's tail whipped through the air.
The figure barely reacted in time—rocketing upward as the tail cleaved through the space he had occupied, the shock alone collapsing half the wall. Stone and fire rained down as the Dragon reared back, wings unfurling, blotting out the light with vast, armored spans.
Black flames ignited.
Not fire.
Not heat.
Annihilation.
They burned without color, without glow—void-black tongues that devoured light itself. Where they touched stone, the rock did not melt or shatter.
It ceased to be.
The figure's instincts screamed.
He twisted midair, blasting himself sideways with a burst of light as the black flames passed inches from him. The stone behind him vanished—no crater, no debris—just a smooth, impossible absence carved into reality. Nothingness greeting creation.
Certain death.
"So you remember," Amaterasu said. "Good."
The Dragon exhaled again, a sweeping arc of black flame scouring the cavern. The figure darted through the air, weaving, firing concentrated blasts of light to redirect himself—each movement precise, measured. A single misstep meant erasure.
He counterattacked.
Light lances streaked forward, slamming into Amaterasu's chest in rapid succession. The blasts detonated with concussive force, staggering the Dragon, driving him back into the magma lake. Lava surged violently, waves crashing against the volcanic walls.
Amaterasu snarled—not in pain, but irritation.
"Tactical now," he observed. "Last time, you were all fury. Prima."
The figure paused.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Amaterasu saw it.
Recognition flickered in the Dragon's eyes.
"So it is you," he said quietly. "I wondered if the silence meant death. Or perhaps cowardice."
The figure surged forward.
This time, he didn't fire.
He closed the distance.
Light wrapped his body as he slammed into Amaterasu's snout with a flying kick powerful enough to crater the Dragon's skull against the magma bed. The volcano convulsed, magma erupting skyward as Amaterasu roared.
The Dragon retaliated instantly—jaws snapping shut where the figure had been a heartbeat earlier. Black flame leaked between his teeth as he lunged again.
The figure was learning.
He feinted left—drew the flame—then cut right, slipping beneath Amaterasu's jaw and driving both fists upward in a devastating uppercut of condensed light. The impact lifted the Dragon's head, shattering armor plates, sending molten fragments flying.
For the first time—
Amaterasu bled.
Golden-black ichor hissed as it struck the magma.
"…Yes," the Dragon said, almost pleased. "Now you fight like you remember."
The inner walls began to collapse.
This was no longer a battle—it was a catastrophe.
Amaterasu unleashed his full breath, black flames spiraling outward in a widening storm. The figure rocketed skyward, blasting through the volcano's ceiling as molten rock and annihilation chased him into the open sky.
The mountain erupted.
Above the volcano, amid ash clouds and lightning, the two clashed again—light and void colliding in blinding, world-shaking impacts. Each exchange was faster, harsher, more desperate. Trial and error. Adjustment. Escalation.
"You cannot kill me," Amaterasu thundered. "I am the great scale upon which all life is weighed."
The figure drove a knee into the Dragon's chest, light flaring violently.
"There is no balance," he replied.
Amaterasu froze.
Just for an instant.
"…You said that before," the Dragon whispered.
Light surged.
And the world screamed.