"Intriguing, isn't it?" A diminutive figure, standing at a mere 50 centimeters in stature, pipes up with a voice that carries an air of mischief and cunning. His fingers brush against the ground as if tethered to the very essence of the portal he's manipulating. His presence is an oddity, a juxtaposition of power and smallness that disrupts the onlookers' equilibrium. A sardonic smile curls upon his lips as he addresses the gathered crowd, a mocking glint in his eyes.
"Well, well, well, look at what we've stumbled upon—quite the spectacle," he quips, his voice laden with a mix of amusement and disdain. His gaze fixates on the scene before him, where the aftermath of the confrontation with Project5 is apparent. A sense of victory dances in the air, as though he's relishing in the downfall of the mighty.
A youthful figure, exuding an air of refinement and confidence, steps forward to voice his incredulity. A single strand of emerald hair casually drapes across his right eye, a streak of color amidst a sea of seriousness. He withdraws a wooden lighter from his right pocket, its presence alone radiating an aura of danger. With an air of purpose, he ignites the lighter, sparks dancing in his gaze, and he speaks with a simmering intensity.
"The pinnacle of our creations—the paragon among us the five projects—defeated?" he muses, his voice dripping with skepticism. The words hang in the air, laden with disbelief and the weight of unspoken implications. His gaze remains locked on the scene unfolding before him, his body tense as if poised for action.
"Master they look pretty warmed out now..." He continues, tilting his head as he pockets his left hand, "Why not end them now?" A palpable tension lingers, anticipation humming in the air as a weariness begins to creep into the senses of Reina and the others. The unexpected, the unfathomable, feels imminent, a sensation gnawing at their consciousness. All possibilities seem viable, except for Nobu. His gaze is an inferno of undying fury, his eyes a ceaseless vortex of rage threatening to consume all in its path.
Amidst this turmoil, an overwhelming roar reverberates—a symphony of wrathful defiance that emanates from the colossal, green behemoth towering behind Warhammer. Its voice, a thunderous response to Nobu's unrelenting cries, ripples through the atmosphere like an earthquake of rage.
The tension in the air is as palpable as the weight of destiny itself. The clash of wills between two forces, each possessing their own motives and desires, hangs suspended like a tempestuous storm on the precipice of unleashing its fury. As Warhammer's voice resonates, his words a proclamation that holds the power of command, the very atmosphere seems to constrict under its weight.
"No, Alex," the resonant timbre of Warhammer's voice interjects, a firm counterpoint to the heated impatience that Alex has expressed, "I'm afraid we need him alive, according to a certain dude's plan..." The utterance, simple in words yet resounding with authority, draws forth an even fiercer growl from Nobu, his primal fury echoing in the air like a call to arms. The intensity of his response reverberates through the environment, as though the very air itself has been charged with his unrestrained wrath.
A wry twist of his lips and a dismissive roll of his eyes convey Alex's discontent, his annoyance palpable as he surrenders the igniting device back to its pocketed home. His sardonic response, a testament to his rebellious spirit, stands in stark contrast to the gravity of the moment. "Okay, fine!" he concedes, his voice laced with a begrudging acquiescence. "Do it 'his' way! What a killjoy!"
As the interplay between the figures unfolds, Warhammer's presence seems to intensify. A sudden and ethereal transformation surges forth, materializing as a spectral arm that emerges from his being. The arm, a manifestation of power, bears a purpose far beyond the corporeal. Its intent is clear as Warhammer's voice takes on an air of ominous finality, "You're still useful," he intones, his words a harbinger of impending action. With a sinister flourish, a chain of hauntingly iridescent purplish energy unfurls from the spectral hand, a visual testament to its power over the captive form before them. Its embrace is methodical, inexorable, as it reaches forth to ensnare the magnificent body of Project5, its grip both unyielding and inexorable.
"No, I'm afraid we don't want that!" a clarion of defiance shatters the tumultuous air as Reina's resolute cry pierces through the chaos. Swift as a tempest's advance, he and his steadfast pals, Nobu and Raiden, surge toward Warhammer, their weapons gleaming with a promise of an imminent clash.
Raiden channels the essence of electricity itself, a conduit for swiftness beyond the realm of ordinary perception. With audacious courage, he hurtles forth, a specter of rapidity materializing right in the monster's colossal shadow. His twin daggers gleam with a portentous gleam, poised to carve through the enigmatic adversary's defenses. In a whimsical yet determined flourish, his tongue extends in playful focus, an embodiment of his tenacity.
Yet, even within the realm of the ephemeral, where Raiden's form borders on insubstantial, the colossal entity—lion-like and formidable—proves its dominion over perception. A mere heartbeat halts Raiden's surge, an imperious stillness against the backdrop of his lightning-wreathed dash. The behemoth's titanic paw descends with implacable force, rendering the audacity of Raiden's charge into a tableau of vulnerability. A gasp of mingled pain and incredulity slips past Raiden's lips, his gaze betraying both turmoil and disbelief. "Holy moly..." he mutters, the weight of reality pressing down as the creature's monstrous maw gapes in malevolent grandeur, a macabre threshold that unveils the abyss within, "Well this thing is no ordinary lion I guess."
Amid the frenetic dance of combat, Reina's fervent attempt to bridge the gap between him and the chain ensnarling Project5 is abruptly stifled. A veneer of astonishment paints his features, eyes widening in incredulity as the very ground seems to hungrily consume his legs. "W... What...?" Reina's mental voice echoes, a symphony of confusion and disbelief reverberating within. With a seasoned instinct, he triggers his perfect vision, His gaze sweeping the battlefield in an instant, each adversary's essence laid bare before him. "But... None of them possesses earth magic..." his thoughts murmur, a puzzle piece that refuses to fit into the grand tapestry of the battle.
An imperious laugh, dripping with an amalgamation of malice and authority, cleaves through his contemplation. The diminutive yet formidable figure, swathed in obscurity, exhibits not a moment's hesitation. Its feet, almost ethereal within Reina's view, forcefully stamp themselves onto his visage. A surreal tableau of metamorphosis unfolds – the figure's legs extending with unsettling elasticity, an enigmatic transmutation that defies the very fabric of reality. In the span of an eye's blink, Reina is thrust downward, pressed against the unyielding earth as the small thing's eerie power asserts its dominance.
But the figure's cruel spectacle didn't culminate there. His voice, a serpentine symphony, pierces the turbulent air, wrenching Reina's focus. "Noirné's power left you dumbfounded, didn't it?" The proclamation hangs heavy, its utterance a declaration pregnant with dark gratification. The figure, minuscule yet potent, manifests before Reina – an epitome of malevolence given flesh. Noirné's gaze, polished onyx set ablaze, ensnares Reina's bewildered eyes, a frisson of unease cascading down his spine.
"Well, well, well..." Noirné's words drip like poison, his voice an elixir of sinister delight. "You, child, merit not the wisdom bestowed by Master Warhammer. Noirné can say this much!" Each word is a resounding chord, resonating with arrogance and supremacy, a testament to Noirné's dominion over his dark gift, and a damning judgment on Reina's worth.
Amidst the swirling tempest of confrontation, Nobu's gaze locks onto Alex, a decisive challenge glittering in his eyes. Without a moment's hesitation, he launches himself into action, a symphony of power and determination. With an agility that borders on the supernatural, he executes a flawless backflip, channeling the essence of "All For One" through his sinews. His body is a vessel of unrelenting energy as his heel connects with stunning force against Alex's skull, an impact so potent that it drives Alex face-first into the dirt, a symbol of his defeat.
"Warhammer!" Nobu's bellow echoes across the battlefield, a primal proclamation that resonates with a deep-seated power. His very pupils dissolve into nothingness, replaced by irises of haunting purple that glow with an otherworldly intensity. And then, from the very essence of Warhammer's spectral form emerges yet another chain of domination, an unseen extension of control that ensnares the enraged Nobu, each link pulsating with authority.
As Nobu fights to break free, to defy the shackles that seek to tame him, Alex gradually raises himself from the earth, his hand gingerly pressed against the spot where Nobu's potent strike had landed. "I believe you could've defended yourself against such an overt assault, could you not?" Warhammer's voice resonates with sagely calmness, his gaze steady upon the rising Alex.
"I know... OW..." Alex's voice is tinged with both resignation and a subtle sting of pain, his annoyance evident even as he smirks with a hint of arrogance. "Thought you told me not to make a scene though..." A mischievous glint dances within his green eyes as he continues, "But now I really want to kill this dude you know!" His breath is ragged, each exhales a testament to his tenacity, his burning resolve. "Too bad I can't do so!"
Alex's eyes remain fixed upon Nobu, an almost palpable bloodlust emanating from his gaze. Thoughts whirl within his mind, dissecting the encounter with analytical precision, "It wasn't a matter of defense," he muses inwardly, a mental discourse unfurling as he stares down his rival with unsettling intensity, "No ordinary perception could have apprehended him. His speed... I wasn't able to sense him or see him. Even though it was just freaky raw speed, it's comparable to a magically infused body like Raiden's."
"Warhammer," Alex's voice breaks the stillness once more, his gaze remaining unwaveringly fixed upon the seething Nobu, "you need to understand... This kid isn't something to trifle with. Why not eliminate him while you still have the chance, before he..."
But his words are abruptly devoured by an unexpected force, as if the very essence of Nobu's intent has congealed into an overpowering vortex of dread, obliterating Alex's bravado with a raw onslaught of fear the moment he turned his gaze to him. Alex's arrogance, once his shield, now crumbles beneath the weight of Nobu's unnerving interest, leaving him defenseless against the primal surge of terror that grips his heart. His mouth hangs agape, his steps faltered and unsteady, his legs threatening to betray him by collapsing beneath him. A retreat ensued, steps stumbling backward until his quaking legs betray him entirely, causing him to crumple to the ground.
Despite his desperate desire to avert his gaze from the seemingly static Nobu, an unseen force holds him captive, as if an invisible hand is guiding his sight, relentlessly compelling him to maintain eye contact, "A... A... W... Wha..." Alex's once-commanding voice fractures, his attempts to form coherent words collapsing beneath the weight of his fear. Struggling to rise, his trembling limbs refuse to heed his will, rendering him powerless.
In the midst of this chaotic unraveling, Warhammer swiftly identifies the source of the nightmarish spectacle. With an air of sage calmness, he tightens his hold on Nobu, pulling the chained figure nearer to him as he narrows his hollow eyes. As the proximity grows, the hold of fear releases its grip on Alex, allowing him to wrest his gaze from the transfixing Nobu. A low growl escapes Nobu's lips, the culmination of his smoldering frustration now directed toward Warhammer.
"So, you're already able to use curses," Warhammer muses aloud, his tone even and measured, while Alex's labored breathing slowly steadies as he gingerly rises from the ground. His hand clutches his chest, his eyes a mix of pain and vulnerability, stark reminders of the consequences of underestimating the enigma that is Nobu, "You... You really need to kill him after all, Warhammer!" Alex screams his lungs out, stunning all the witnessers with his still-shaking eyes, "Nobu is no good news to any of us, even for that Zetsu and the rest of the bastards that you're blindly teaming up with!"
"In truth, he is quite remarkable, Kamaitachi's vessel," Warhammer confirms with an air of certainty, his tone resonating with an undertone of acknowledgment. With an effortless motion, he casts Nobu aside, sending the young fighter tumbling through the air until he lands beside Osamu, Sayuri, and Kira. Despite the distance, Nobu's presence seems to linger, a quiet testament to the potency of his energy.
"However swift your progress may be," Warhammer continues, his voice a resonant echo that hangs in the air like a portent, "even your hastened growth cannot bridge the gap between us. Even bereft of my physical form, you are no match for my domination."
His gaze, an uncanny amalgamation of ancient wisdom and unsettling power, bares into Nobu, an unsettling and haunting connection that pierces through the battlefield's chaos, "Remember this well, Kamaitachi's vessel," Warhammer's words are measured, each syllable a thread in the tapestry of their looming conflict. "The settling of our vendetta shall be etched in the annals of time with your blood, whether you embrace it willingly or not."
"Noirné," Warhammer's command resonates once more, drawing Noirné's immediate attention as he springs forward to stand before the ethereal entity. With a deferential bow, he acknowledges his master's call, his diminutive stature contrasting with the gravity of the moment. "Yes, Master," Noirné responds, his voice reverberating with a mix of loyalty and readiness, "Noirné awaits your instructions with unwavering attention."
As Warhammer's eyes turn toward Reina, his command makes Noirné unfreeze the ensnared fighter, releasing him from the clutches of the spell. "Get us out of this place," Warhammer commands, his gaze briefly falling upon Kira, who kneels next to Nobu, a shaken figure amongst the turmoil, "Oh, Kira..." A subtle intrusion of emotions is cast upon the boy, emotions unwanted yet impossible to resist. Kira's trembling gaze lifts to meet Warhammer's, a collision of fear and uncertainty.
"You were among the most fascinating of my marionettes," Warhammer's voice is both a statement and a foreboding pronouncement, a melody that resonates through the very air. As he speaks, a rift materializes, and a demonic hand emerges, its palm focused on Kira. The boy's head shakes frantically, a preemptive protest against the looming reality he senses, a truth too bitter to bear.
"Regrettably, your utility has waned," Warhammer's tone shifts, a ruthless determination underlying his words. Suddenly, Kira's body moves, drawn toward Warhammer as if by an unseen force. A radiant purple hue blossoms across his chest, mirroring the entity's sinister aura. "Destruction Magic: Annihilation," Warhammer intones, and with the utterance, Kira's form undergoes a harrowing transformation. His chest expands, his clothes rending under the burgeoning pressure. From within him, a sphere emerges, cradled by Warhammer's waiting hand, its emergence with the hand is a symbol of Kira's termination, a testament to the cruelty of power.
The boy's chest is now a gaping void, a yawning abyss from which his life seems to be consumed, his form deteriorating at an alarming pace. The once-vibrant figure is now a canvas of cracks and ashen decay, his body yielding to a relentless force that defies the very essence of life. As Nobu's eyes meet Kira's, concern and fear converge within his gaze. A tremor dances in his voice as he whispers Kira's name, his palms cradling the frail form before it succumbs to gravity.
"K... Kira?" Nobu's voice quivers with a mix of desperation and disbelief, his question hanging in the air, unanswered. With every second that passes, Kira's state worsens, his body becoming a canvas of impending demise. A heavyweight settles upon Nobu's chest, the shadow of impending loss clawing at his heart. His gaze shifts to the gaping void in Kira's chest, an unspeakable horror that conveys the reality of the situation – a reality he has hoped never to confront again.
The scene before him triggers a torrent of memories, a cascade of moments both painful and raw. "Kira... Dying... Again..." Nobu's words are barely more than a whisper, his voice heavy with anguish, his eyes mirroring the void that has consumed his friend. The memories of Dust Village and the bitter lessons learned there replay in his mind, each painful recollection echoing within his thoughts.
A resolve, dark and unyielding, ignites within Nobu's gaze, his eyes a vortex of both fury and determination. "I did it once, and I won't hesitate to do it again," his thoughts resonate, a vow forged from the ashes of past tragedies. His vision, once vibrant and human, seems to morph into an abyssal expanse, an embodiment of his unbridled resentment and fervor, "If it means creating another Dust Village, let it be..." The very earth beneath them trembles, his emotions translating into seismic waves that ripple through the battlefield.
As the witnesses' life essence begins to drain, a palpable tension grips the air. Nobu stands as the epicenter, a vessel of both power and agony, his eyes reflecting the whirlpool of energy that flows around him. "Nobu's consuming life essence again, isn't he?" Reina's words break through the collective realization, his voice tinged with trepidation as he feels his own existence hanging by a fragile thread. Fearlessly, he surges to his feet, his katana gripped tightly in his hand as he races toward Nobu, a figure determined to face the abyss itself.
"Gentle Wave!" Reina's voice pierces the tumultuous air, a scream of urgency that carries the force of his action. With swift precision, he strikes Nobu's head with the hilt of his katana, a calculated blow that renders the boy unconscious, effectively quelling the ominous maelstrom of energy that has threatened to spiral out of control. "You losing control isn't what we need at this moment," Reina admonishes, his words a grounding reality check amidst the chaos. He raises his gaze, his ears attuned to the low, menacing laughter that emanates from Warhammer.
"That is the Arcane Warlord, indeed," the spirit affirms, a declaration of recognition that hangs in the air like a somber verdict. As the portal unfurls upon the ground, it becomes a voracious maw, gradually swallowing Warhammer and his minions, a gateway to their departure, "Reina," Warhammer's voice resonates, a strange blend of gratitude and calculated purpose, "your arcane energy, gifted to us within the Grim Temple, shall serve our pursuit of reclamation. It shall propel me toward the restoration of my corporeal form."
"Now, until we meet again... Sacred Soldiers!" A fleeting acknowledgment, and then the adversaries vanish just as they had materialized hours prior, leaving behind a battlefield fraught with the weight of their malevolent presence. The team, reeling from the confrontation, now bears a burden heavier than the depths of the inferno.
Nobu lays unconscious, his formidable energy suppressed for the moment. Kira, pale and enfeebled, struggles to remain upright, his body betraying him as his knee kisses the ground and his hand grasps for support. Raiden, finally liberated from the beast's clutches, coughs painfully with his hands over his neck, with Osamu running to him to offer a steadying presence beside him. Sayuri kneels beside Kira, her gaze a mirror of pure concern, a testament to her kind-hearted nature.
And then there is Reina, his gaze inexorably drawn toward Kaeya's lifeless form. His teeth bite down on his lower lip, a reflection of his inner turmoil and the fury that swells within him. "So... Weak..." His voice is a mere murmur, an admission that carries the weight of self-censure. His grip on his katana tightens, his knuckles white against the hilt, "So weak... We're still weak..." The words, spoken with a mix of frustration and determination, hang in the air like a vow forged in the crucible of battle, "I am still so dreadfully weak..."