Apocalypse Baby

Malik's body reformed piece by piece, molten sinew pulling taut over smoldering bone. His limbs quivered, breath coming in heaves, every gasp sounding like a furnace fighting to stay lit. His heart pounded in his ears—not from exertion, but from something far worse.

Doubt.

Across from him, Alex stood with arms folded and gaze impassive, studying him not as a rival—but as a subject. Like Malik was just another step in an equation he'd already solved. There was no battle-lust in his expression, no thrill of the fight. Just cold calculation. Detached superiority.

That, more than any injury, stung.

Malik clenched his jaw. His pride shrieked in silence.

The clones Alex had used earlier—they hadn't just danced around for misdirection. While Malik had been too busy breathing fire and swinging dominance, those clones had placed Abyss Flare marks all across his body. Every point Alex had just detonated had been planted deliberately during the chaos.

It hadn't been just a distraction.

It had been strategy.

Tact.

Malik always thought he had more of it. He believed himself the mind and might of this realm, the tyrant king of his domain.

But here he was.

On his knees.

And Alex was only getting started.

A smirk tugged at Alex's lips.

Then—he raised one hand.

"You asked me when I'd stop holding back," he said, voice smooth as judgment. "Here's your answer."

The air responded instantly, as if the world itself anticipated the shift.

Golden runes bloomed from Alex's palm, curling outward like divine vines. They spun and multiplied, fractals of holy symmetry expanding with each pulse of power. The ground quaked—not from rage, but reverence.

A deep resonance echoed outward.

Then—

Alex spoke the words:

"Regnum Dominion."

A command. A declaration. A verdict.

And the world obeyed.

A blinding light swept across the battlefield, erasing shadows. The Infernal Throne—the twisted landscape Malik had forged from flame and hell—began to collapse. Lava froze mid-flow. Black stone cracked like glass. Time glyphs hovered midair, cogs and celestial hourglasses rotating in elegant silence.

The sky warped.

What had once been crimson fire was now starlit gold—like twilight glimpsed through the eyes of a god. Celestial symbols spiraled above, their motion synchronized to Alex's heartbeat. The ground shimmered with radiant etchings, each one a piece of his soul made manifest.

Half the arena was no longer Malik's.

Alex's domain was eating it alive.

Where the two realms met, chaos birthed itself in bursts of beauty and terror. Firestorms clashed with timestreams. Crimson clashed with gold. Reality trembled at the intersection.

It looked like apocalypse.

Or perhaps ascension.

Malik didn't speak.

He couldn't.

Alex had a domain all along. He'd held it back. Not because he couldn't use it—but because he hadn't needed to.

The weight of that truth crashed into Malik's chest harder than any spectral blade.

Alex stepped forward.

His figure now wrapped in radiant flame—chakra-like energy spiraling around him in golden waves. Every step echoed like a bell tolling the end. His aura had shifted. No longer man. No longer warrior.

Demi-god.

"You're finished," Alex said, voice calm. Certain. Unshakable.

Then—he vanished.

Not blinked.

Vanished.

Malik's instincts screamed—but not fast enough. A blade carved into his side before he could process the movement. He spun, tried to strike back, but another cut landed across his ribs before he could turn.

Alex was behind him. Then beside. Then gone.

He was moving faster than thought. Faster than domain-enhanced flame. Malik tried to surge upward, burst fire from his heels to regain altitude, but his limbs felt—sluggish. Like swimming through syrup. Even fire resisted him now.

This was the power of Regnum Dominion.

It wasn't just pressing against his domain.

It was rewriting it.

Alex landed softly, silent, as if gravity bent around him. Malik grunted, forcing his flames to lick at his wounds to speed regeneration, but the process was slower. He could *feel* it.

The cost.

His Infernal Throne was draining him dry. Mana poured from him like sand through torn cloth. And Alex's attacks—they weren't just physical. They were coded with fatal essence, spikes that made each regeneration cycle exponentially harder.

If not for the stat buffs from his own domain, he'd be on the ground.

Instead, he stood—but barely.

And Alex just watched.

Pity in his eyes.

"You're unraveling," Alex said.

The words dug deep.

Malik snarled.

With a roar, he hurled himself upward, trying to reset the pace—blasting flame beneath his feet. But Alex didn't flinch. He simply lifted two fingers skyward.

[Spectral Barrage].

Twelve golden blades snapped into existence—floating like divine executioners around him. Each pulsed with a celestial hum, amplified by his domain.

He flicked his hand.

And they fired.

WHIP-WHIP-WHIP-WHIP!

Malik twisted midair, conjuring blast shields of fire—but the blades curved. They adapted. Three struck his back. Another impaled his shoulder. He dropped like a falling star, crashing downward.

But Alex was already waiting.

Right beneath him.

He inhaled.

And unleashed [Echo of Annihilation].

A pulse tore upward—silent, unseen, but absolute. Reality warped for an instant. Malik's body jerked, suspended midfall, just as the remaining spectral blades curved back and impaled him from behind.

He crashed down like judgment, carving a smoking crater into what remained of the Infernal Throne.

Silence.

Smoke drifted. Ash fell.

Alex stood at the rim of the crater, golden light swirling around him, unbothered. Regal.

He didn't speak. Just watched.

Below, Malik stirred.

Blood oozed from his mouth. His eyes were unfocused, glazed with disbelief.

And yet—

He laughed.

A ragged, broken sound.

He raised a trembling hand to his chest. And there—something glowed.

Not red.

Not black.

But white.

Blinding. Wrong. Raw.

Alex's eyes narrowed. "What now?"

"You think you've won?" Malik's voice was brittle, venomous. "No. No, no, no. I won't lose. Not like this."

His body jerked.

A sound like shattering glass echoed across the battlefield—his soul fracturing. His core cracking.

Then—

It happened.

Malik's aura erupted, surging outward in a shockwave that warped the very air. It wasn't fire. It wasn't shadow.

It was something else.

White-hot. Radiant. Violent.

The pulse washed over Alex, who stood his ground, eyes steady, waiting.

From the center of the blast, Malik rose.

His body no longer looked mortal.

His skin glowed with molten veins, and his horns had lengthened, twisted with divine wrath. His muscles rippled with unnatural flame. Pain laced his transformation—but he didn't care.

This was it.

His final gambit.

His ultimate form.

He grinned

through clenched teeth, body trembling under the weight of power he wasn't meant to hold.

"Behold," he whispered.

[Demon's Ultimatum]