There were no heavens left above him—only distance that had forgotten how to shine.
The plain stretched forever, a battlefield scoured of color, carved by gods who no longer cared to visit.
Yuu stood in the center, bare feet on black stone that still hissed with the memory of lightning.
Wind without air slid across his face, whispering of the dead.
Every breath stung. Every heartbeat reminded him he was still human enough to feel pain.
Resonance rested at his side, dull now, its edge veined with cracks that caught the faint light like spiderwebs.
Above, the Goddess hovered in her ring of moonlight—silent, unblinking, the only witness left to what he had become.
He tilted his head back, met her gaze, and said quietly,
"Send it."
Her voice came soft as dust. "It isn't sent. It wakes."
The earth pulsed once. Then bled.
Something clawed its way out of the plain itself—flesh before thought, bone before shape.
Veins wove themselves into armor. The armor quivered, adjusting, learning.
Six eyes opened, each of a different color, each turning toward Yuu as if reading him line by line.
He could feel it studying him—his stance, his breathing, the rhythm of his blood.
A living mirror given hunger.
"What is it?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
"The Limitless Beast," the Goddess said. "It rewrites itself every time it is hurt. It ends when you do."
Yuu flexed his fingers around Resonance. "So it evolves."
Her smile was faint. "No, Yuu Yuhin. It studies."
The beast moved, and the world broke.
A ripple of soundless pressure tore through the plain.
In the instant Yuu blinked, the creature was already behind him.
He twisted—steel met claw.
Clang.
The impact sent him sliding backward, stone fracturing under his heels.
Before dust could rise, he answered—Phantom Step.
A blur, a feint, a cut of air.
Sky Sever carved a silver arc through the monster's abdomen.
Flesh opened. Blood hissed.
Then the wound closed.
The beast's arm re-formed, plated now with the same metallic sheen as Resonance.
It had learned his cut, stolen the pattern of his strength.
It moved again—faster.
They clashed like two thoughts colliding.
He ducked under the counter, drove Resonance through its chest.
A hollow boom.
The monster staggered a step, then grew another arm. Then another.
Ten limbs moved in harmony, an orchestra of death.
Yuu blocked two.
The rest found him.
Crack. Crack. Boom. Snap.
Ribs caved. His vision blurred. Blood spilled from his lips in a slow, unwilling arc.
He rolled, half-blind, half-awake.
The creature descended, weight enough to crush a cathedral.
He moved—barely.
The crater swallowed half the plain. His left arm refused to rise; bone splintered like porcelain.
The Goddess's voice drifted above, calm, almost amused.
"You still think pain is the enemy?"
He spat crimson onto the black ground. "Pain is the measure."
Death 9
The Limitless Beast came again—two claws, straight through the chest.
For a heartbeat he saw his own reflection in its eyes, shrinking into nothing.
Then—stillness.
He exhaled once.
And fell.
You died – 9
Void Sequence – The Breaking Core
He expected the drifting dark of earlier deaths.
Instead, gravity reversed. His soul plummeted—down, past the echo of Celestial Edge, past the quiet hum of Resonance, through layers of light that cracked like glass.
Each mirror he passed showed a different version of him: the man who had once cared, the boy who had once feared, the beast who had once begged.
All of them broke as he fell.
The void caught him not with softness, but with stillness.
A field of white fractured mirrors stretched to infinity, reflecting one heartbeat—his.
The Goddess's voice came through the static.
"You can't beat this thing with weapons."
He looked down at his hands. They shimmered between flesh and thought.
"Then I'll stop being the man who wields them," he murmured.
"I'll become one."
Light gathered before him—her form coalescing, barefoot upon the mirrors.
For once, the Goddess looked younger, almost curious.
"There is a path beyond this," she said. "Not divine, not mortal. It eats those who take it."
Her eyes glimmered with mischief again, the first emotion to cross her face in centuries.
"It's forbidden, you know. The gate to the Ascension Shell—power taken without permission."
He stepped closer. "Then show it."
She tilted her head, a teasing smile playing at her lips. "You really should ask more nicely. Mortals usually beg."
"I was never asking for permission."
For a second her laughter echoed, rich and human.
"Fine then, little rebel. Let's see if the abyss likes your manners."
The mirrors split, spilling light like liquid.
He walked forward without hesitation.
He awoke screaming.
The sound tore the silence apart.
White fire bled from his chest, crawling outward in spirals of silver. The ground liquefied under him, rewriting itself in circles of energy.
Symbols burned across his arms, along his spine, across his jaw.
His pupils thinned to slits. Breath came in thunder.
The Goddess watched from the air, hair drifting like smoke. For the first time in eons, she shivered.
The Limitless Beast rose again, but the moment its six eyes met his, it faltered.
Predators recognize predators.
Yuu's aura devoured the horizon.
The stones under his feet sang like metal before the forge.
He flexed his fingers around Resonance, and the sword answered.
The Goddess whispered, almost to herself,
"And now the hunter learns what it means to be hunted."
Yuu didn't wait for the creature to finish breathing.
He vanished—one breath, one flicker—and reality folded in his wake.
The clash came half a heartbeat later.
Steel met evolving flesh; light burst outward in spirals that shredded the ground into dust.
He tore through the beast's flank and emerged behind it before its nerves had time to scream.
The wound sealed instantly.
New bone crept over new muscle.
The Limitless Beast had learned speed.
Yuu smiled, faint and cruel.
"Then learn faster."
He struck again.
Every swing of Resonance left echoes—fragments of himself that trailed in shimmering after-images, each repeating a delayed strike.
The air turned to glass under the rhythm.
The beast countered, limbs multiplying until ten shadows overlapped.
Clang.
Bang.
Crack.
The plain collapsed under the pressure, swallowed by its own echo.
Fragments of black stone rose into the air like drifting islands.
Blood streamed down Yuu's chest; bones groaned but did not break.
Pain was a song now, and he was learning the melody.
The Limitless Beast changed again.
Armor rippled, claws turned to serrated blades, its spine unfolding into six jointed tails.
Its twelve eyes shone with mirrored reflection—each one replaying Yuu's own movements back at him.
It moved before he did.
Predicting.
Improving.
He blocked three strikes, parried two.
The sixth came from behind—a tail of bone that pierced his side and sent him spinning.
He crashed through a pillar of floating debris and landed hard enough to split stone.
The Goddess's voice drifted down, playful again.
"Careful, little sword. It's learning your tricks."
Yuu wiped the blood from his mouth, eyes cold.
"Then I'll teach it new ones."
Death 9 Revisited
The Beast lunged—two claws through the chest.
He saw his own heartbeat reflected in its eyes.
He did not curse.
He simply whispered, "Again."
The world folded inward.
Silence.
Light.
Then—rebirth through fire.
He rose, body blazing in white.
Energy cascaded from him like molten rivers, carving runes across the battlefield.
The Goddess laughed softly, an echo of delight that didn't belong in a warzone.
"Finally," she murmured, "something interesting."
He glanced upward, the faintest trace of annoyance crossing his face.
"You enjoy this too much."
She floated upside-down in mid-air, eyes gleaming. "Wouldn't you, after eternity of silence?"
"Watch closely, then," he said, drawing the blade. "This will be loud."
He blurred forward.
The ground detonated.
Sound itself bent away.
The Limitless Beast swung—a mountain of motion.
He caught its claw, bones fracturing in his palm, and twisted.
The limb tore free in a burst of black fire.
Another limb sprouted instantly.
He cut again.
It healed again.
Each time it copied, it grew faster, stronger, more intricate.
Its armor now pulsed with the rhythm of his heartbeat.
The Goddess's laughter danced through the storm.
"Look at it, Yuu—it's becoming your shadow."
He answered without looking up.
"Then I'll burn the light."
Heat gathered behind his ribs—memories fusing, pain distilling.
Celestial Edge flared inside him; Resonance hummed like a heartbeat beside it.
Between them, something new began to form.
The pain was surgical.
Every fracture, every scar, every death folded inward, hammered by will.
When the light subsided, a third weapon hovered above his hand—black-edged, crimson-handled, alive with the hum of ruin.
The Goddess's eyes widened slightly, then softened into a smirk.
"You've made a weapon out of your scars."
He gripped it, veins of light crawling up his arm.
"Remnant Fang," he named it, voice quiet as prayer.
The three blades resonated together—Eclipse Arsenal awakened.
The Beast screeched, its body splitting into fractal reflections of itself.
Hundreds of overlapping forms, each mimicking a different moment of his battle style.
Yuu met them head-on.
One sword for each breath:
Celestial Edge for light.
Resonance for harmony.
Remnant Fang for pain.
Every strike tore the fabric of space.
Every step erased a shadow.
The Goddess watched from her ring of light, chin resting on her hand, eyes glinting with playful reverence.
She whispered, "If he survives this, I might just steal him from his wives."
Yuu heard her; the faintest twitch of irritation crossed his mouth.
"Focus, Goddess."
She laughed—a sound that made the stars blink. "Oh, I am."
The Limitless Beast screamed.
Its armor split; a molten core pulsed at its center.
Yuu felt his body collapsing, blood evaporating in the heat.
He crossed his blades, whispering words only will could understand:
"Eclipse Arsenal—Gate Two."
Light erupted.
The battlefield imploded.
The Beast's body fragmented into shards of time and vanished.
Silence came first—heavy, absolute, the silence that follows after gods stop breathing.
Fragments of the shattered plain drifted like slow ash through pale light.
Yuu knelt at the center, both blades still buried in what was left of the creature's heart.
Steam rose from his skin, thin and silver. Each breath sounded borrowed.
He pulled the swords free.
They clanged once against the stone before dissolving into dust of light, leaving only faint scars across his palms.
The air tasted of burnt iron and victory that hurt to hold.
Above him the Goddess descended, her bare feet not quite touching the ground.
Her robe of constellations folded inward as if the stars themselves leaned close to watch.
"Ascension Shell is eating you," she said quietly.
Her tone was no longer divine judgment but almost…curious. Like a scholar staring at a spark inside a storm.
"I'll survive," he answered. His voice was hoarse, steady.
She arched a brow, lips curving. "You keep saying that."
Yuu pushed himself upright. His spine cracked, his ribs shifted beneath new scars that glowed faintly with the pattern of runes.
"I'll keep saying it," he said, "until I don't need to."
For a heartbeat her eyes softened. Then the teasing mask slid back into place.
"You have three blades now," she said. "How very dramatic. Mortals usually stop at one."
He looked at her, expression unreadable.
"No. I have only one weapon."
"Oh?" she asked, leaning forward, that playful light returning. "And what is that?"
He turned toward the widening void where the Beast had died. The light from the wound still burned beneath the horizon.
"My will."
She circled him, hands behind her back, a slow orbit of curiosity.
"Will," she repeated, tasting the word. "The same thing that drives mortals to build towers and then jump from them. You make it sound sacred."
"It's the only thing that doesn't break."
She stopped beside him, gaze sliding over the scars cut across his arms. "You say that while falling apart."
"I'm still standing," he said.
Her laughter rippled through the ruins, soft but wild.
"True. And you do stand rather well for someone who should have dissolved by now."
She leaned closer, voice lowering.
"Tell me, Yuu Yuhin, do mortals still dream when they touch divinity?"
He didn't answer.
He simply stepped past her and retrieved what remained of his cloak from the dust.
She followed, hovering backward through the air as if unwilling to leave his orbit.
Back in what remained of the divine house—half a hall, half open sky—he sat by a cold brazier.
The Goddess perched on the table opposite, cross-legged, elbows on her knees, chin resting on one palm.
"You're very dull after a battle," she teased. "Most warriors boast, pray, or sleep. You just…sit."
"I'm alive," he said. "That's enough noise."
She grinned. "You really should let me test whether mortals still blush."
When he didn't look up, she sighed theatrically. "No reaction. Maybe next time I'll sneak into your bed just to watch you try meditation in your sleep."
He met her gaze, eyes flat. "Try, and you'll lose your divine hand."
Her laughter filled the room. "See? There is a spark in there."
Then, quieter: "You should thank me for entertainment. Eternity is tedious."
He reached for a cracked goblet of water, took a slow sip, and set it down.
"If I become your pastime, then eternity's already lost."
For a moment she looked almost thoughtful. "Perhaps that's why I like you. You talk to me as if I were human."
The warmth vanished from his eyes. "You wanted someone who wouldn't kneel. Don't mistake that for affection."
Her smile returned—sharp, satisfied. "Ah, there it is. My favorite tone: disdain wrapped in honesty."
Night—or what passed for it—settled across the broken dimension.
Stars hung close enough to touch, flickering through the cracks in space like embers drifting down.
Yuu stood at the edge of the field where the Limitless Beast had fallen.
Each breath came slower now; the white light in his veins dimmed to silver.
The Goddess joined him, her footsteps silent. For once, she said nothing.
Together they watched the last fragments of the Beast's core crumble into dust.
He spoke first. "How many more?"
"Enough," she said. "Each one will remind you what you are."
He nodded once. "Then I'll keep walking."
She tilted her head, voice a murmur. "Do you even know where you're walking anymore?"
His answer was quiet, carved from certainty that didn't need direction.
"Forward."
She smiled again, faint and unreadable, then turned away, disappearing into her circle of light.
Her laughter lingered after she was gone—half amusement, half relief.
For the first time in centuries, a god had found something unpredictable.
Yuu remained alone.
The ground beneath him still pulsed faintly, the echo of the Ascension Shell alive under his skin.
He looked down at his scarred hands, flexed them once, and whispered to the silence:
"My will isn't what moves me forward. It is forward."
He sheathed nothing—because the blades now lived inside him—and began to walk toward the edge of the broken horizon.
The ash followed in slow applause.