The battlefield held its breath.
Kuroda’s golden gaze, filled with barely-contained fury, locked onto Watari—no, onto what Watari had become.
Watari didn’t move. He didn’t shift his stance. He didn’t even tighten his grip on Ikazuchi no Kami.
He just… exhaled.
And in that exhale—
The world shattered.
BOOM.
Every single core in the sky—every fragment of Kuroda’s grand ascension—detonated at once.
It wasn’t an explosion of destruction, not in the way Kuroda had envisioned.
No, this was an annihition.
Lightning surged through the battlefield, a violent yet controlled storm of absolute eradication. The very moment the energy touched the cores—they ceased to exist.
Not one.
Not a handful.
All of them.
The night sky, once littered with unstable, surging Tamashkii energy, went silent.
Kuroda’s final safeguard—his failsafe, his backup pn—was gone.
Watari slowly turned.
His gaze met Kuroda’s once more.
And this time—
Kuroda felt it.
A force beyond him.
A power he could never reach.
A storm he could never cim.
Kuroda’s fists trembled. His aura fred violently around him, pulsing in jagged, unstable surges.
This wasn’t the refined, absolute power he had wielded before.
This was rage.
The moment of realization sank in.
The moment he knew—
He could not win.
Kuroda had never been rejected by the Chūkan.
He had simply never been worthy.
And that thought?
That was the thing he could not accept.
The ughter came first.
Low. Dry. Hollow.
Then—it twisted.
A chuckle turned into something more feral, something raw, something broken.
Kuroda tilted his head back, his golden eyes wide, shaking, unfocused.
And then—he roared.
“You—”
His voice cracked with sheer frustration.
“You DARE take this from me?!”
His aura erupted, golden streaks of unstable Tamashkii bursting outward, warping the very air.
“This was MY destiny! MY rightful pce! I did not come this far just to be denied!”
His breathing was ragged.
His hands trembled at his sides.
This was not the calm, superior Kuroda of before.
This was a man whose empire had crumbled beneath him.
His voice dropped, venomous.
“You. You were supposed to be nothing. A failed experiment. A disposable remnant.” His breath hitched. His fingers curled into fists.
“And yet, here you stand. CHOSEN.”
His face twisted into a sneer, his teeth bared like an animal backed into a corner. “All of you… ALL of you!” His gaze snapped toward the others. “You think this changes anything?! You think your ‘bonds’ make you strong?! You think standing together against me—AGAINST A GOD—will amount to anything?!”
Watari remained silent.
Kuroda’s chest heaved. His golden aura fluctuated wildly, flickering in and out of control. And then—his voice dropped to a whisper.
“…I will not accept this.”
The final moment of crity before the storm descended. Watari exhaled, his body still humming with the sheer weight of what he had done. The storm surrounding him settled.
And then—he turned back. To them.
Ren. Yumi. Ryuko. Akira. His friends. The ones who had fought, bled, and suffered to get here.
“…Everyone okay?”
His voice was steady. Controlled. But the concern was real.
Yumi, still clutching Kiyohime, gave him a dry gre. “Look at us. Do we LOOK okay?”
A soft chuckle escaped him. Even now, even standing at the edge of the abyss, they still had this.
Ren rolled his shoulders, wincing slightly. Then—he smirked. “So what, kid?” He adjusted his stance. “Are we doing this?”
Watari’s gaze hardened. He nodded. “Yeah.” His grip on Ikazuchi no Kami tightened. “Let’s end this.”
Ryuko exhaled. His expression eased into something sharper. A knowing smirk.
“I’ll come up with the pn again.”
He cracked his neck, stepping forward. Then—his gaze flickered toward Watari.
“But in return—when this is all over, you have to fight me.”
Watari raised a brow. Then—he let out a soft ugh.
“Deal.”
And just like that—they moved.
Ren – The First Strike
? He calls upon Tsukuyomi’s power to destabilize Kuroda’s body.
? Kuroda’s movements slow, his once-perfect synchronization faltering, unraveling.
Yumi – The Second Strike
? Kiyohime’s fmes roar to life, burning with an intensity unlike before.
? She sshes forward, the fire searing into Kuroda’s body, burning away his regeneration.
Ryuko – The Third Strike
? Erebus surges. Shadows coil around Kuroda’s limbs.
? His movements are locked. Restrained. He cannot escape.
And then—a sound. A hum. Deep. Resounding.
The drumbeat of war. Their eyes flicker toward it.
Akira.
Still standing. Barely. No arms. Body broken. But his stance? Unyielding.
His lips part—his voice raspy, but clear.
“…Release…Raikou.”
BOOM.
The spiritual arm returns. A manifestation of his unbroken will.
It swings.
Kuroda barely registers it before—IMPACT.
The force sends him reeling, his energy flow completely disrupted.
This was it.
The final moment.
The setup was complete.
Kuroda. Weak, bleeding, ughs one st time.
“All of this effort… for what? He was never your real master.”
Ren doesn’t hesitate. He simply raises Tsukuyomi, and—
“No. But he still inspired me to fight. And that…that was your downfall.”
Then—he sshes across Kuroda’s chest, setting up the final blow.
Now—Watari would end it.
Watari stepped forward. Lightning crackled at his feet. His grip tightened around Ikazuchi no Kami.
Kuroda, still staggering, eyes wide with rage, lifted his head.
He tried to speak.
But Watari was already moving.
A fsh of lightning.
A blur of motion.
And then—
The ultimate attack.
A name formed in his mind.
Not from Takemikazuchi. Not from the Chūkan.
From him.
The storm did not rage.
It did not roar.
It did not surge wildly like before.
It struck.
A single, decisive annihition.
“RAIGEKI NO TEN’Yō.”
(Heaven’s Lightning Judgment.)
CUT TO BLACK.
