The spiral ground has now morphed into a blood-soaked mire. The sky blazes crimson, while dark lightning crashes down. The war drums of the Oni have fallen silent, replaced by wails—not just from the warriors, but from the spiral itself.

  In the center of the arena, Shuten-dōji lifts his head, one eye bloodied, his breath like the steam of hell. His body expands to twice its size, skin thickening into armor-like dark purple metal. The club in his hand pulses like a monstrous heart, and the blood in his colossal chalice vaporizes, forming a dense fog that swirls around him.

  “Becoming the king of the dead isn’t as simple as you think, Fitran. This is a prison for damned souls, and I shall be their eternal ruler.” Shuten-dōji's voice resonated, breaking through the darkness enveloping the arena, creating waves of dread within his opponent's heart.

  Fitran stood there, his figure fragile, yet his spirit unwavering. He gasped for breath, but refused to let his courage falter. The Voidlight in his hand radiated warmth, piercing the veil of darkness and kindling hope. “Eternal king, but who will attend your celebration? As ambition gnaws at life, is silence your only companion?”

  A sneer crept onto his lips, his gaze sweeping through the surroundings. “You’re just a collection of souls, trapped in a night devoid of meaning.”

  Shuten-dōji—Ultimate Oni King Technique: “Kurayami Enkai—Banquet of Eternal Night.”

  Shuten-dōji lifted his cup toward the swirling sky, crimson liquid cascading and forming ancient runes on the ground. Each rune emitted a mysterious black light, as if replaying the tragic tale of the endless Oni war. The battlefield morphed into a sea of death: every drop of blood spilled over the years rose as tormented souls, swirling in anticipation of their king.

  Shuten-dōji gulped down the last of his blood with grim determination and growled, “All kings, all heroes, all the cowards I’ve slain—today, I summon you! Bear witness to the end of the Oni’s honor!”

  Fitran stood beside him, sharp eyes observing the chaos, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. “Hear that, lost souls? A king should never be touched by the failed. The Mortal One knows only the emptiness we forged ourselves.”

  The spirits of Oni screamed in a cacophony of ancient tongues, their voices weaving a haunting symphony of madness that echoed in the air. Shuten-dōji drove his club into the ground with a bone-rattling thud, sending tremors that seemed to split the atmosphere itself. “Let fear be the shadow that follows me, and let rage be our weapon,” he bellowed, his fury entwining with unyielding strength, conjuring a tempest that tore through the very fabric of reality.

  Fitran stood across from him, his voice igniting like a firebrand, “You’ve truly sacrificed everything for this title of the undead king? This underworld feels so desolate that you have to summon even the dead just to dance? Why not face death with more dignity?”

  Shuten-dōji, with a wide grin and a resounding voice, proclaimed defiantly, “I am the king of this battlefield, entwined with both ecstasy and damnation. If I must sink, I will ensure that all my foes drown alongside me! Our legacy awaits to be carved in blood! Starting from mine to yours!”

  Fitran grasped Voidlight tightly with both hands, his resolve unwavering, “Then let’s plunge into the depths together, Oni. Remember, the best divers always emerge from the fiercest waves.”

  Technique: Kurayami Enkai—Banquet Massacre

  The spirits of the Oni lunged at Fitran, each assault piling more weight upon his weary body. Every brush against him felt like a siphon, draining his blood and soul, resonating in a silent language long buried. As his knees sank into the bloodied mire, the whispers of those ghosts seeped into his ears, telling tales of betrayal and slaughter that seemed never-ending.

  “Surrender, human. Our king shall never die!”

  “We devoured cities, we burned palaces, we unsheathed swords against hundreds of knights who were far mightier than you. All alone here? Die, and let us make a lesson of you!”

  Fitran's laughter echoed, a sardonic grin revealing blood-stained teeth. “Afraid of death? Don’t make me smile with disdain, Oni. I’ve danced countless times on the edge of existence. But if there’s one thing you should remember: what truly dies isn’t what vanishes from sight, but what fades from memory. And I refuse to become a forgotten tale!”

  Shuten-dōji swung his colossal club, crashing it into Fitran with a force that shook the earth, creating a bloody crater where the souls of the fallen seemed to be drawn into a vortex of darkness. Yet, amid the beckoning fog, Fitran rose once more, his body trembling but his gaze unwavering with calm resolve. He meticulously plotted his next strike, each thought a dagger of determination within his mind.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Fitran—Ultimate Spiral Technique: “Voidlight Genesis—Erasure of Kings.”

  Fitran drove the Voidlight into the heart of the spiral. In an instant, the dark light exploded, unleashing a wave of sinister energy that gripped the universe in its ominous embrace. The arena trembled, swaying under the terrifying roar, while the souls of the Oni were ensnared in an everlasting grip of shadows. "Hide in extinction," he said, a cynical smile twisting his cold features, "for the immortality you crave is nothing more than an illusion." The light devoured their spirits like a whirlpool, summoning cries that echoed and rattled the spiral sky. Blood dust floated in the air, while the heavens split open, revealing a pale glow from the bottom of the world.

  Fitran advanced slowly, each step accompanied by heavy breaths that mirrored exhaustion laced with fury, pressing down with every heartbeat. "Do you desire to be eternal, crowned in curses?" he whispered, his voice striving to pierce the soul trapped in that darkness. "I can grant you immortality, but in emptiness. No name will be remembered, no stories will be told—only void that lasts forever. As silent as you are." In that moment, he felt darkness surging rapidly within him, blazing as if challenging him. “This is the end of all ancient myths, tales that reckon the past as if it were a moon devoid of light.”

  Shuten-dōji let out a howl, his voice distorted by destruction, fighting against the inevitable dance of death that loomed before him. "Fitran! You can’t erase anything beyond mere flesh and bone," he thought, caught in the fading remnants of his power. His body, now beginning to unravel, saw the souls of the Oni being drawn into the void, their helplessness becoming increasingly palpable. "Remember, you descendants of kings, how you are ensnared by the fate of your own choosing," Fitran replied, his voice trembling with a bitter edge. "Now, you’re nothing more than a shadow of what once was."

  Shuten-dōji—his voice wavered one last time, a blend of fury and regret as he struggled to articulate his thoughts, despite the fear gripping all his strength. "You… are more cruel than the gods, spiraled creature. I… once a king… I—" But all those preconceptions shattered as his voice faded, the massive Oni's body splintered into a mist of blood, vanishing into the abyss that Fitran had crafted, accompanied by a melancholic wail whispering the dark history of forsaken kings.

  The drum of Oni fell silent, as if the entire universe paused to witness the collapse of their myth. The spiral realm lay still; only Fitran remained amidst the ruins, his body battered from the battle, his steps unsteady, yet his name now etched forever as the destroyer of the last underworld king. "Only fragments ignite the tale," he murmured, his voice nearly swallowed by the stillness. "The void erases all pride," he continued, gazing emptily toward the horizon, his eyes sharp, brimming with plans yet to unfold. He understood the consequences of his choices would come, and that realization sent a bullet of adrenaline racing through him.

  He lifted his gaze to the spiral sky now riddled with cracks of pale light, his breath heavy like shadows crystallizing around him. "What will remain when this is all said and done?" he wondered, his mind swirling, probing deeper into the abyss of his thoughts. In the palpable silence, he whispered to himself, "One king falls. One spiral shatters. But how many wills must be buried for the world to be reborn?" His words echoed, like a spell waiting to be fulfilled, a cruel game poised to continue.

  At the edge of the spiral, the next realm lay in wait. "Only the chosen few can survive here," Fitran whispered, his voice emerging from the depths of the quiet night, imbuing his words with a resonant threat. "This legend is no mere tale. It’s a curse, passed down through the ages, and today, that curse draws closer to us," he continued, fixing his gaze on the dark ripples trembling in the air, as if sensing a force slumbering within the crevices of time. He couldn't contain the thirst for knowledge, feeling it surge through his veins, urging him to delve deeper.

  "Imagine if every soul left behind could be seized and transformed into a deadly weapon. We could reshape history, erect dominion upon the ruins, crafting this world to our own desires," he declared, his eyes glinting with a mysterious light that conveyed something unsettling. Above, thick gray clouds amassed, seemingly responding to the wicked plans igniting within his heart.

  With deft movements, Fitran swirled his hand, conjuring a deep black light that elegantly spun around him. With a tender gesture, he wove an illusion of darkness—a subtle shadow that whispered tales of the horrifying Oni, creatures trapped between this realm and the next, birthed from fire and blood, suffering in their silence.

  “Every step I take is a gamble,” Fitran declared, his voice crackling with a tension that felt suffocating. With practiced finesse, he conjured a barrier that shimmered like a sprinkle of stardust, yet beneath that beauty lay a threat far graver. “Maturity isn’t measured by age; it’s defined by the courage to confront one’s fate,” he continued, evoking the dark myths that shrouded every lost soul wandering through the shadows.

  “I’m not seeking anyone’s acceptance, only power,” Fitran said, a cynical smile playing on his lips, his eyes burning with resolve. “Anyone who dares to obstruct my path will taste the bitterness of emptiness when their hopes crumble. They fail to understand that I’m here to reshape this reality with these very hands.”

  He advanced, shadows dancing around him as if responding to the wicked cries from the depths of his heart. With each heartbeat echoing, Fitran felt an unfathomable strength welled within him, ready to navigate a world that may never wish to acknowledge his name.