The clash of blades thundered ...
a storm of edges, a vortex of steel and cutting arcs that tore through the silence of space itself.
Agaroth had entered a completely different form.
A form crafted for one purpose alone—
To face Nameless.
For as long as the sword was concerned, Nameless had always held the advantage.
None could rival him in skill, none could even approach his level.
And that…
Was what Agaroth had chosen to overturn.
The moment he assumed the Yaksha form, the King ascended to another plane entirely.
His speed surged beyond limits, his control over the blades absolute.
Each edge carried immeasurable force and durability—
enough to cleave through an entire moon with a single motion.
He wielded a technique reminiscent of the great claymore…
yet infinitely more lethal.
His blades could extend near-instantly, striking like beams of condensed annihilation ...
only to retract just as quickly, as though nothing had ever happened.
Agaroth abandoned spectacle.
