"Is that so?" Then Throximus put his sword to the ground. "Only one way to find out."
He disappeared from where he stood and appeared in front of Arthur. Throximus's sword, which was high up, came slamming down. Arthur dodged the sword by using explosive magic on the ground.
After dodging, Arthur turned into his fallen-angel form, his bright wings spread across the field.
And because of the passive effect of this form, anyone with negative karma that exceeds a certain limit will burn. Because of this effect, Throximus's skin started to burn, and smoke started to come from his skin, but that was quickly healed by his natural healing ability.
The ground beneath Arthur's feet no longer bore his weight; he floated above it.
{Please make me rich.}
{Can I even find a girlfriend for myself.}
.
.
.
Prayer started to fill Arthur's head.
'It been so long since I hear this.' Arthur thought to himself.
'Friday, block all these prayers.' Arthur said.
Friday didn't reply, but in seconds, the voices disappeared.
"Now, I can focus on this fight."
"This is the second form," Throximus murmured, gripping Billion Black tighter. "The one etched into the tomes… I always wondered how much of it was myth."
"This is your final warning," Arthur said, his voice reverberating across the ruined battlefield. "Stand down, Throximus. I won't hold back."
Throximus smirked, dragging Billion Black up from the ground. "Neither will I."
He launched forward again—this time faster, fiercer. Billion Black moved with terrifying speed for its size, cleaving the air in an arc aimed to split Arthur in two. But he summoned his own sword and blocked the sword.
Arthur's hand glowed as if it were forged from the heart of a sun. "Billion Black… Divine-Class, but still just a weapon."
Throximus pushed harder, pouring cursed energy into the sword. "And yet, it's the only one that ever made you bleed."
He said that as he dropped his sword for a moment and punched him in the same hand holding the sword, trying to catch Arthur off guard.
But that didn't happen as Arthur parried Throximus's punch with his wings.
The holy feathers flared, exploding with light, sending Throximus flying back—but he twisted mid-air, dug his sword into the ground, and skidded to a halt.
Followed by a holy spell. {Holy Smith}
"RRRRAAAAAGHHHHHH!" Throximus's roar was deafening, to say the least.
"That was such a dirty play." Throximus said as his regeneration kicked in.
"What, getting cold feet?" Arthur said smugly.
"I see now why the even mother feared this form," Throximus spat, cracking his neck. "Even demons would kneel… But I'm no demon. I'm your son."
Arthur lowered his hand. "Then act like it."
Throximus's grin widened as he reached into the dimensional pouch strapped at his side. "Then I guess it's time I act like your son…"
He pulled out a bundle of old, weathered scrolls. Then he started tearing them in half.
"Oh, sealing scrolls, Haven't seen those in ages. I used to keep stacks of them in my study back when Sacred Gear was created." Arthur said.
Sealing scrolls are items that can store magic; they're like sealing crystals.
"Yeah, I found them in your graveyard (Nazarick)," Throximus replied as he tore two more scrolls in rapid succession.
"Calling your own home a graveyard is not nice, you know." Arthur said.
From the torn parchment, a sea of crimson fog rolled outward. A giant phantom version of Billion Black emerged, so massive it scraped the clouds. Behind it, illusions of Throximus—ten of them—charged alongside.
Arthur didn't blink. "Cute."
He brought both hands together. A faint golden circle spun into existence around his wrists.
"{Lux Mirare}."
A pulse of light erupted like a sunburst, revealing every illusion, clone, and magical signature. The fake swords crumbled. The fog dispersed. The clones vanished, winking out one by one.
Only the real Throximus remained, now above Arthur with Billion Black ready for a cleave.
But Arthur was already there, having teleported in a blink and appeared behind him.
As if Throximus had already expected this, he once again dropped his sword, twisted his body, and delivered a powerful punch to Arthur's chest.
But unlike last time, this punch connected.
Arthur grunted as the punch landed—a direct hit to the sternum, laced with raw brute strength and reinforced with Ki.
The sheer force of it cracked the air like a thunderclap, launching him backward. He crashed through a mountain ridge, skidding across ancient stone and soil, carving a trench with his body until he finally halted.
Smoke rose from his chestplate—cracks spiderwebbed across the golden armor. Golden blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
"…Impressive," Arthur muttered, straightening as his wings snapped open again with a radiant flare. "It seems you have become a Ki master. Sebas is going to be proud if you were not against me."
Throximus didn't say anything to it. He picked up the sword and was once again ready.
[Sir, if you don't hurry up, you are not going to there when Asia wakes up.]
'Okay,' Arthur said. Then he returned his focus back.
"Alright, Throximus. I'm on a tight schedule." Arthur said. " Your companions are likely watching through that dimensional rift, waiting for me to show my true self. You won't give up until I show you that, Right?"
Hearing Arthur, Throximus was stunned. How did he know that they were watching their fights? They were using the dimensional rift to hide and watch. Only after a moment of thinking, Throximus shook his head; he is not good with deep thinking.
"So what?" Throximus shouted, lifting his sword and pointing it at Arthur. "Why don't you show me that doppelgänger form I've heard so much of since I was a kid? I want to see what made the old world fear your name so much that they wrote tome about your horror."
Arthur's expression didn't change. He stepped forward, his divine presence growing sharper, like a blade unsheathed.
"Sorry to disappoint you," he said, raising his glowing hand. "To defeat you—this is enough."
He moved.
In an instant, Arthur crossed the distance between them and unleashed a flurry of strikes—each one precise, deliberate, and impossibly fast. Throximus barely kept up, parrying and countering, the battlefield cracking beneath their blows. He landed a strike across Arthur's shoulder—but it was his last.
Arthur ducked the next swing, drove his palm into Throximus's gut, and with one powerful blast of divine Ki and cursed harmonics, sent his son flying.
BOOM!
Throximus crashed to the ground, unconscious. Not dead—just bested.
Arthur descended slowly, his wings folding behind him. His armor dissolved, his divine glow fading.
He returned to his Incubus form, brushing soot from his coat. A smile formed on his lips—not mocking, not cruel, but warm and proud.
"Well done, son…"
❌❌❌
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