"An invitation from 'Death' itself."
As Nero says this, Asmodeus makes its move.
"Stay out of this, Spawn of Sparda!"
With a feral snarl, it lunges at Nero, its clawed limbs slashing through the air, leaving bloody streaks in their wake.
Asmodeus wants to scream at him—why the relentless pursuit? It hasn't caused that much chaos in the human world! If you really dig into it, over the century of its scheming, it's only killed maybe twenty people in the last decade or so. Compare that to other demon lords—whose hands are drenched in way more blood!
And when you get down to it, if Sparda hadn't been so ruthless, crippling Asmodeus when it confessed its love, would it have gone through all this convoluted nonsense to seize Nanna's power?
Isn't it the Sparda family that owes it? What right do they have to stop it now?
But Nero's clueless about this messy love story. And even if he knew, he'd probably just scoff at Asmodeus: "Love Sparda? Please, you just wanted a piece of my grandpa!"
"And so we hear the wails of misery, struck by cries of despair—"
Nero stands firm against the wind, silver hair whipping, red eyes blazing. He chants words of judgment, commanding phantom swords that swirl around him, clashing with Asmodeus's claws.
Blue blood spurts from the demon's claws, splattering into the air, mingling with the crimson claw marks. Asmodeus can't help but regret showing up in person for this chance—maybe that was a mistake.
It's always known the human world is Sparda's turf and just how terrifyingly powerful and volatile the demon general was. To sneak its plans under his nose, Asmodeus sealed its own power, keeping itself in the weakened state Sparda left it in. That frail form also made it easier to lower human guards, luring sacrifices for its scheme.
It was only after Sparda vanished—decades without a trace, not even his son noticing anything amiss—that Asmodeus finally grew bold, speeding up its plans.
And just when things were hitting the critical point, a new Sparda descendant shows up.
No big deal, right? Asmodeus thought it had everything locked down, no surprises—
"I tread a place without light, a restless sea tormented by endless storms!"
But no plan is foolproof.
Sure, Asmodeus devoured Nanna's power along with Shoko Toyokawa and Mutsu Wakaba, but their consciousnesses haven't fully faded. It only suppressed them temporarily by exploiting their weaknesses.
And it's not just Shoko and Mutsu. Hatsuha, Kairin, and Myamu, swallowed by Nanna, are stirring too. With these new players, their nearly extinguished wills are starting to rise again.
So, naturally, Asmodeus needs time. Time to grind their spirits into nothing. Time to fully claim Nanna's power.
Even with that power in its grasp, Asmodeus doesn't dare use it recklessly. One slip, and Shoko could hijack it, leaving Asmodeus dead and bitter.
For now, despite controlling an entire dreamworld, it's just a magic pool to dip into. Facing Nero's diagonal slash aimed at its neck, Asmodeus has no choice but to fight hand-to-hand.
It carves six crisscrossing claw marks, then whips its rubbery, forked tail like a lash, bypassing the blade to snare Nero's waist.
A tentacle belt? Hard pass.
Nero's blade clashes with the claw marks, then he pulls back, dodging the tail. His left hand brushes the blade, and like a magic trick, it vanishes into his palm.
"The tempests of Hell never cease!"
The vanished blade pierces space, emerging behind Asmodeus, stirring a chaotic vortex. Nero keeps chanting, "Countless souls drift in the gale—"
Asmodeus gets caught in the turbulence, its flesh torn by the blade-like force, blood gushing. But fueled by surging magic, the wounds heal as if time rewound, its shredded body knitting back together.
Its claws extend, sharp tips jutting half a meter from its palms, slashing at Nero from both sides.
Nero draws his blade from the void, slicing through like a phantom, clashing and parting with Asmodeus's nails. Moments later, those claws snap under the air's resistance.
Nero's voice cuts through, calm and steady: "They crash against jagged cliffs, wailing, cursing the might of the divine!"
Asmodeus screeches, its attacks landing no hits since the fight began. Realizing it's losing, it finally taps into its original power. With a piercing wail, the ground's white flowers shred under sonic waves, petals swept into a visible shockwave—a sonic bomb.
The shrill noise drills into Nero's ears, forcing him to halt, clutching his forehead. After a moment, he locks eyes with Asmodeus. The demon stands amid swirling petals, caressing its cheek, arms wrapped around its waist, eyes dripping with seduction.
Nero's gaze locks, entranced, as he takes a step forward, drawn to the provocative demon.
Then, a sharp pain snaps him out of it.
Nero touches his cheek, staring at the blood on his fingertips, dazed. It's a cut from his own phantom sword, joined by matching wounds on his calf and palm.
His eyes sharpen, fully awake.
"…Why?" Asmodeus snarls through gritted teeth.
It felt it—Nero was almost completely under its control.
Nero licks the faint sting in his palm, grinning.
"Knowing your tricks, you think I wouldn't come prepared?"
Those phantom swords were his failsafe, set to strike him if he lost focus.
Swallowing the metallic taste of blood, Nero raises the Yama Blade once more.