Chapter 176

Chapter 176: Chapter 176

CRACK!

Ribs shattered. Cassius was sent flying, his body ragdolling through the air like a broken toy.

Satou tried to capitalize on The Reaper’s focus on Cassius, Void Fang already swinging for his exposed back. But The Reaper somehow knew—some adaptation of precognition or battle sense—and without even looking, he leaned aside. Void Fang passed millimeters from his spine, cutting nothing but air.

Then The Reaper spun, his leg coming up in a devastating roundhouse kick aimed at Satou’s head.

Satou blocked with his forearm, dragon scales hardening to take the impact—

The force was insane. Despite his enhanced durability, despite his Void Body, Satou felt his arm nearly break from that single kick. He was sent flying, his body slamming into the ground with enough force to create a crater.

Before he could recover, before he could even process what had happened, The Reaper was there. Above him. His foot came down in an axe kick aimed at Satou’s skull.

Satou rolled desperately, the kick missing by inches but hitting the ground where his head had been. The impact created another crater, stone exploding outward like a bomb had detonated.

"Too slow," The Reaper said, his voice carrying that berserker edge. "In this mode, I don’t think—I react. My body adapts to combat flow automatically, countering threats before my conscious mind even registers them. You can’t surprise me. You can’t catch me off guard. My instincts are adapting to your fighting style in real-time."

He grabbed Satou by the leg before the demon lord could fully recover, and with strength that should have been impossible, swung him like a club into the approaching Cassius. Both of them collided with devastating force, tangling together in a heap of limbs and pain.

The Reaper didn’t give them a moment to recover. He raised both hands, and massive amounts of energy began gathering—the same attack he’d been preparing to use on the Fallen Spires, but more focused. More concentrated.

"Let’s end this," The Reaper said. "I’ve adapted to your abilities. I’ve adapted to your coordination. I’ve adapted to that reality-cutting sword enough that I can avoid its edge. There’s no point dragging this out any longer. You fought well, but—"

He never finished that sentence.

Because Satou and Cassius, even battered and wounded, even facing an opponent who seemed impossible to defeat, noticed something crucial. They’d fought together before—not for long, but enough to develop an instinctive understanding of each other’s capabilities.

And they both recognized the same thing at the same moment.

The Reaper wasn’t giving them time to rest. Wasn’t giving them space to recover. He was pressing them relentlessly, keeping them off-balance, because he knew something they’d just realized.

He couldn’t afford to let them breathe and reorganize their thoughts for a moment and restrategize.

His wounds—the cuts from Void Fang that weren’t healing properly. They were affecting him more than he was letting on. Each one was a point of resistance, slowing his adaptation, creating gaps in his defenses. He was pressing them hard because he needed to end this before those wounds accumulated into something critical.

Which meant they still had a chance.

Satou and Cassius moved.

Not away—toward. Using the last of their mobility skills to close the distance before The Reaper could release his charged attack. Cassius went low, blood magic manifesting as chains designed to bind. Satou went high, Void Fang already swinging.

The Reaper tried to release his attack anyway, tried to catch them both in the blast, but they were too close, moving too fast, their timing too perfect.

His attack discharged into empty air as he was forced to abort and defend. Cassius’s chains wrapped around his legs, and though they lasted only a second before he adapted and broke them, that second was enough.

Void Fang connected.

A clean hit, straight across The Reaper’s chest. Not deep—his instinctive defense had activated, his sword coming up to partially deflect even as the reality-cutting blade carved through his guard. But deep enough.

Blood sprayed. A wound six inches long appeared across The Reaper’s torso, and like all wounds from Void Fang, it didn’t heal.

The Reaper staggered back, one hand going to his chest, coming away red. He looked at the blood, then at Satou, and something changed in his expression.

"Okay," he said, and his voice was different now. More focused. More dangerous. "Okay, you’ve officially hurt me enough that I need to stop holding back completely."

His entire body began to glow—not red anymore, but something else. Something that looked like condensed starlight mixed with blood. Power radiated from him in waves that made the air scream.

"I haven’t had to use this against a demon lord in over a century," The Reaper said "Congratulations. You’ve pushed me this far."

He looked at Satou specifically. "But that means I’m going to stop being careful. Stop pulling my punches. Stop worrying about making this interesting. From this point forward, I’m fighting to kill. Are you ready for that?"

Satou stood, Void Fang held in a ready position, his body battered but his eyes burning with determination. He could feel it—The Reaper’s power escalating, reaching levels that made even his previous displays look like warm-ups.

And Satou realized something.

He couldn’t win this fight as he was now. Even with Cassius helping, even with Void Fang, even with all his abilities and skills, The Reaper was simply too experienced, too adapted, too powerful.

If he wanted to survive this—if he wanted to save Seraphine, save the Fallen Spires, save Cassius—he needed to match The Reaper’s escalation.

He needed to stop holding back too.

Satou’s aura began to change. His eyes glowed brighter—one burning with draconic gold, the other swirling with void-darkness. His scales took on a reddish tinge as his own berserker abilities activated. The air around him became distorted, reality itself struggling to contain what he was becoming.

Satou’s aura erupted like a volcano of pure destructive intent.

His body began to change—not a physical transformation like evolving into a new form, but something deeper. Something primal. His muscles tensed and expanded, veins of crimson energy spreading across his iridescent scales like living circuitry. His eyes, already mismatched with draconic gold and void-darkness, now blazed with an intensity that made looking at them painful.