It was in that moment when Sein lost himself — when anger consumed him whole, plunging him into utter misery and darkness.
He was no longer human. If he could be called anything else, then perhaps he was the one who forged a pact with an unfathomable being — one said to rival even the gods. Yes… it was the Devil. The very same that dwells within the clouds. And now, alas, it has offered Sein power — power to overcome every hardship. The Sein we knew is gone; what stands before us is a man overtaken by the Devil's will.
And now, he wreaks havoc.
"Wh-What is this aura? It's giving me goosebumps. No way… is that… a Devil?"
Dash regains his composure, trembling.
"Look! Look, the Devil reveals himself at last! What a splendid turn of fate — such a guest to grace my wretched hall. Tell me, O dreadful marvel, to what occasion do I owe this visitation? Ah, forgive my uncouth state! You arrive unannounced — my attire is plain, my face unwashed, and I reek of labor's weary scent!" He releases a brittle laugh, the mask of civility trembling upon a visage that betrays his shaken soul.
Regardless — Sein is no longer Sein. His body remains the same, yet his soul is shrouded in ravenous darkness. He looks… different. A mask, grotesque and demonic, now clings to his face — unlike any ever seen before. A blackish cloud coils around him, obscuring his flesh entirely. His eyes glow white — that eerie, ivory whiteness, untarnished and divine.
From his back stretch what appear to be threads — like the raw, plucked sinews of a featherless bird. His forearms bear the twin fangs he once used to battle Dash. Yet they are changed — curved now, like crescent moons bending under unseen weight. Chains snake from the hilts and burrow into his arms as though they were veins. If one were to look closely, they would see: these chains are part of him.
Each hilt bears half a devil's frozen, snarling face — hollow eyes, and a blade emerging from its mouth, as if the creature were vomiting pure rage forged into steel. It is a weapon worthy of the name "Steel of Rage." A blade that steals lives — and mirrors Sein's wrath. When placed together, the twin blades unite the devil's halves into one terrifying visage — a ghastly scene straight from Gehenna itself.
Everything about him heralds the advent of the Devil.
Dash stands torn apart — unsure if what he's seeing is reality or illusion. Fear grips him; despair weighs him down. The line separating our world from the unknown is thinner than silk, and all who've tried to cut through it have met the same fate — demise.
Now Dash wonders… will he share that miserable fate, even without daring to gaze into that forbidden world?
He knows — that malformed creature grinning yonder is the very same person who, moments ago, urged him to fight like a madman or flee like a wise one. Deep down, he knows: he couldn't stand against Mr. Alaric, the man who could summon meteors and angels of suffering with a mere gesture. So what chance did he have against this?
Ah, but now he knows — he must run. Run, before that smiling nightmare draws near. For he knows without a doubt — that thing is a hound of hell, stronger even than Mr. Alaric himself.
"If he's the third strongest man alive, then that creature… must be the strongest of them all. On earth — and in hell."
Dash's thoughts blur into panic.
"I… I… ha…ve… to… r…u…n…" His body won't obey. His will and flesh have fallen out of sync. Even as his mind screams to flee, his body has already surrendered to its inevitable end.
And that creature — that Devil — shows no mercy.
Meanwhile, Mr. Alaric, son of Maria, stands tall as the noon sun. His calmness feels unnatural — the calm of a man too familiar with devils, too accustomed to brushing shoulders with death. His composure is born of experience — of tasting both agony and ecstasy while teasing the tail of the dragon. Those mythical, sky-born serpents that breathe flame and ice alike — unseen in this age, yet haunting our myths.
"Oy, boy," Alaric calls out, voice steady, "I suppose your divine trial will be adjourned for now. Step aside and await your verdict. Enjoy the rest of your last moments in peace — till I purge Sein of this devilish taint. Lady Fortuna protects you today, lad! Make haste!"
Dash, however, is still Dash — not yet acquainted with horror of this scale.
"Mo…ve… wher…e? Are… you… mockin'… me? We're… done for…" He stammers, barely conscious.
The Devil stands motionless — that same eerie grin plastered on his face. His blades drag along the ground, heavy as tungsten, his back bent under their weight.
Then — in a blink faster than light swallowing itself — the Devil's face rises, twisting sharply toward Dash. In the next equivalent instant, the blades swing — releasing a violent, razor wind that slices through the very air, tearing atoms apart.
He's targeting Dash.
But before the strike lands, Mr. Alaric lunges forward, seizing Dash like a child and leaping away. When he lands, the Devil stumbles after them — walking with the awkwardness of a drunkard, or a newborn learning to stand. His arms hang heavy, always dragged toward the ground.
"Enough of this charade," Alaric mutters, his voice a calm storm. "You are truly the Devil made flesh… Very well. The hour has come to unleash my power!—"
He is the son of Maria—of course, neither daemons nor dragons holds the power to strike fear in his heart. His eyes sharpen — unwavering, unshaken. Ready for whatever hell is about to unfold. "I would wish it to be the easy way, yet it be a mere wish! After all."
Unbeknownst to most, Mr. Alaric bears a name few dare speak aloud: The Lord of Ominous Fate. His destiny has dealt him a curious measure — bitter in its sweetness, and exquisite in its suffering. Through countless years, he has carved his path across the towering mountains of hardship, until he earned a seat among the powers that govern balance itself. His strength, unlike any other in all the world, was forged in the art of facing death with unrivaled delight, yet not once did he murmur complaint. He is the living masterpiece of an omnipotent existence, called God.
Acknowledging the hands that nourished him and tended to his needs, he deemed it his sacred duty to repay their care. Night after night, while the world slumbered in dreams, he trained with relentless devotion.
He ran a hundred kilometers each day across merciless terrain. He lifted a hundred kilograms without pause for three unyielding hours. He performed a thousand high vertical jumps against resistance. He scaled a thousand-meter wall—each night pushing his body to the edge of annihilation. Beyond mere physicality, he meditated in silence for hours, fasted for days, endured the crushing weight of isolation, and faced agonizing choices, all to forge unbreakable focus, discipline, and spiritual might.
Until, at last, he reached the Ultimum Maximum—the absolute, final pinnacle. Yet even this was no summons to cease. Though the human vessel is fragile, limited, and easily broken, Alaric's resolve did not waver; the journey of mastery knows no rest.
Next time on Soul Blade Brawl Z: The Crash of Legends— "History 102"