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Chapter Text

Iteration 000: Terminus

              Lindon opened his eyes to what seemed to be a plain circular room of stone, but his Sage senses knew better. These walls were reinforced with layers of containment that would require at least a four-star Titan, though likely much higher, considering where they were.

              This is Terminus, isn’t it? Dross whirled into existence at the question.

              [I mean, yeah. Why are you surprised? It was explicitly written in the contract.]           

              What contract? Lindon’s job so far had consisted almost entirely of combat against Silverlords and Fiends. Ziel dealt with most of the paperwork, and Lindon only helped with processing. He hadn’t signed anything since he joined the Reapers.

              [Exactly, that contract. It was listed under Training and Education. You liked the idea of being surprised with random fights in the middle of your day for some reason.]

              Now that he mentioned it, Lindon did vaguely remember seeing something like that when reading through the Terms and Conditions. But why bring back the Terminus Death Matches? The memories of its participants were erased anyways, so what was the educational value in this?

              [Educational match,] sounded a familiar-sounding Presence. Eithan’s. The voice was more official than its usual bored-sounding monotone, vaguely reminding him of Naru Gwei. At the thought, a few gears clicked into place within Lindon’s mind.

              [Wei Shi Lindon Arelius of the Reaper Division, you will fight to the death. All damages will be reversed. Interactive records of the match will be preserved and accessible in the Grave’s Archives.]

              Lindon pondered this information for a moment. This was a different format from the Entertainment matches that Terminus had been used for in the past, though entirely in line with Eithan’s typical training. This was just like his duel against Jai Long. Just like the Uncrowned King Tournament. He was even dressed appropriately, in the base layer he wore under his standard Reaper armor. Eithan probably didn’t want him to rely on its defenses. Though if that was the goal, why was he left his Dreadgod weapons?

              [You face Garou,] said Eithan’s Presence, and impressions surged into Lindon’s head as he armed himself. A lean silhouette encased in an image of the universe. A disciple of the third-ranked defender of the planet, hailed as a genius. Gifted powers by a chaotic being that could pass for a Class One Fiend, now a symbol of fear. His martial arts prowess would likely surpass Lindon’s own, and his ability to duplicate others' powers could be dangerous.

              Lindon looked forward to the opportunity. Maybe he’d save his Dreadgod weapons for later after all.

              Garou blinked in confusion behind his mask of stars. He swore he should’ve destroyed everything in that exchange with Saitama. Yet here he was, inside a tower of stone without a scratch on it. Had he unwittingly teleported? Did Blast do something?

              [Entertainment match,] sounded a foreign voice, and Garou whirled around to see…nothing. [Garou, Avatar of God, you will fight to the death. All consequences will be reversed.] The meaning behind those words shook him. This was the word of someone beyond even God. And it was about to give him the fight of his life. Maybe being taken from his match against Saitama would be worthwhile after all, even if his memories would be erased.

              [You face Wei Shi Lindon Arelius.] In the towering man with void-black eyes, Garou saw himself. A prodigy in the martial arts, fighting against the world, slaying kings and demons alike to reach the top. A worthy opponent. Garou would enjoy trying this man’s techniques out himself.

              [Ready,] announced the Presence, and Lindon readied the Burning Cloak, Dross whirling a rudimentary combat report into place. Garou’s fighting style was difficult to model, and Lindon didn’t know when he’d start using his own techniques against him. Dross estimated an accuracy of about 60%, and Lindon planned on restricting himself to not using his Dreadgod gear until he had more information.

              [Begin.] Lindon blasted out of the door, deflecting Garou’s opening jab with his Dreadgod arm. As he Consumed a wisp of his will, Garou’s other hand shot out, a sphere of pure gravitational force scraping by his cheek. Lindon was about to retaliate with a punch of his own when Garou ducked, bringing his knee up into Lindon’s ribs and shooting him into the air.

              The Bloodforged Iron Body was repairing Lindon's cracked bones already, so Lindon took advantage of the extra distance he had been given, shooting a single blast of dragon’s breath that covered half the stage. Garou disappeared in that instant, teleporting behind Lindon’s head and throwing fists infused with what felt like a force-aspected Enforcer technique. Lindon raised his arm to block, and the resulting explosion of light and destruction cracked space and lit up the Iteration like the death of a star.

              Lindon switched cores, catching Garou’s follow-up block with an Empty Palm and erupting a Hollow Domain. Garou’s eyes widened, and Lindon felt startled confusion as he Consumed further. He likely hadn’t had his power taken from him before. Lindon followed up with a kick in the side, fracturing armored ribs and sending him spinning. Garou reappeared through a portal above him, already mid-kick, but Lindon just retaliated with the Soul Cloak, grabbing the leg to pull Garou towards him for another round of Consuming.

              As the Presence said, this was an educational match. Lindon didn’t want to miss a thing.

              So, it truly caught him by surprise when the next punch fractured his ribs.

              Lindon’s grip tightened with the pain as his Iron Body started knitting him back together, but Garou had clearly sensed a moment of weakness. His next jab was to Lindon’s neck, and this one he had to block. Lindon brought up his hand, but Garou’s clawed fingers slipped through space, jabbing him in the throat. Lindon coughed, Void authority breaking the portal so he could pin down the second arm, but Garou slid his entire lower body through another portal, locking legs around Lindon’s neck and twisting him off, finally escaping the grip of the Dreadgod.

              As soon as Lindon was out, he unleashed the Void Dragon’s Dance he’d been building up for the past two seconds. That is, the entirety of the fight.

              [Honestly, I’m a bit surprised you pulled that off,] Dross commented as Lindon got to his feet. [Well, it was mostly me, but I’ll give you some credit. Not bad, keeping him pinned. My model is at about 90% now by the way, but I don’t know if you need it anym-]

              Garou shot out of the smoke so quickly Lindon could have sworn he teleported, but the vacuum of air trailing behind him said something different. With eyes so human they looked boring, Garou’s barrage of punches smashed Lindon into one of the starting towers with an impact that would have reduced a Monarch to a broken mess. As it was, Lindon’s sternum had been fractured.

              [That’s it, I’m bringing the big guns,] Dross decided, and the Silent King’s Crown whirled into place behind Lindon as he sidestepped Garou’s leaping knee strike. Illusions spread out in a blink, and Lindon’s Bleeding Phoenix Mantle started to form, healing his windpipe.

              Garou’s punches burst through portals and broke every illusion at once. The one sent at the real Lindon knocked him off-balance towards another portal whirling towards him.

              [Is he trying to trap us?] Lindon shot another Empty Palm in Garou’s direction, ignoring the portals as they shattered on him. Nobody under a two-star Fox could transport him without his consent, and Lindon could break out easily enough even if Garou had pulled it off.

              Garou seemed to burst through the Forged palm just as easily. [His strength right now isn't enhanced? That’s insane. I thought the guy he’s copying this from would cap out at Herald but…wow.] Lindon couldn’t spare the attention to marvel at this, because he was switching back to the Burning Cloak to match Garou’s explosive speed.

              Even then, he was on the back foot. Hand-to-hand was never his strong suit, and Garou kept getting through his openings. The Weeping Dragon’s scales were chipping off, and his Iron Body was starting to lag despite the Mantle’s passive boost. And somehow, Garou was still countering occasional attacks from the sword formation, which Lindon suspected was the only reason he was still keeping up so well while inside melee range.

              Finally, Lindon caught an opportunity. Garou kicked a sword through a portal, but the leg swung too far. With a thought, Lindon’s Mantle came alive, bloody talons reaching out and trapping the leg, causing Garou to stagger and giving Lindon time to pull the Wandering Titan’s Shields from his soulspace as he backed away. Garou had already removed half the secondary blades from the battle at this point, either through his portals or through sheer force, and was fending the rest off with one arm as the Bleeding Phoenix’s Mantle latched onto his torso.

              It was then that a familiar blue-white technique burst out, and the mass of crawling blood screeched in Lindon’s mind as it returned to his shoulders. As the dome of sky blue dissipated, Lindon stared into eyes that mirrored his own.

              Alright Dross, now’s the time. With a whoop, Dross spun out a project that Lindon had looked forward to since he was an Iron.

              [Information Requested: How to beat yourself up.]

              There’s a self-deprecation joke here somewhere, but I won’t waste your time with it right now.

              Garou took a deep breath as the blue haze around him dissipated. He really didn’t think he’d be pushed this hard. Even with the baldy’s strength on top of Blast’s and his own, his opponent was keeping him at bay with his arsenal of weapons and a vast range of abilities that at least matched his own in destructive potential. He was prepared to adopt this warrior's power out of intrigue, not necessity. And yet...

              Garou laughed, facing his opponent. “Not bad! But it ends now. I can copy you endlessly. You’ve been on the back foot all fight, but now I’ve surpassed you for real! You have no chance against the real embodiment of evil.”

              The already-dim sky darkened to pure black, and Lindon’s energy surged.

              “I don’t care,” he said.

              Garou roared with exhilaration, blasting forwards with Gravity Knuckles now enhanced by both the Burning Cloak and Saitama’s raw physical strength. His adversary met him in the middle, wreathed in flames of black and white. As their hands collided, Garou felt his energy start to dip, Lindon Consuming the echo of his power.

              Garou Consumed right back.

              The two broke apart, neither gaining much strength, and Garou fired a Dimension Cannon, strengthened by some force that seemed to make or break the rules of the universe, something he had yet to understand. As Lindon punched through it, Garou teleported behind him with a spinning kick, knocking away one of the floating tortoise shells in an instant and cracking Lindon’s crystalline scales when he brought an arm up to block.

              For another instant that spanned hours in their eyes, the two warred. Illusions were shattered as soon as they were Forged. Space folded, dissolved, and healed with every movement. Armor from both chipped and shattered, claws and swords bending under pressure that Terminus hadn’t felt in a century.

              Finally, Garou spotted an opening, flying straight through an illusion to grab another shield. As he Consumed its energy, he stretched his other arm forward to pierce the crack in Lindon’s armor.

              But behind the shield, instead of meeting his adversary, Garou only met another clone, which dissolved to reveal: the last of the flying golden swords. But this one seemed different. It was…sparking?

              Abruptly, as if a veil was thrown off, a sensation of doom crashed onto Garou’s spirit, and the blade shone like a supernova. Something had to have been concealed before, a feeling as inevitable as this couldn’t possibly materialize that quickly.

              Somewhere inside Garou’s newly gained powers, an echo of the Void whispered to him.

              Garou’s eyes widening, opening another gate to escape, but it dissolved half-formed. Preparing to fly away, Garou noticed another sensation he had overlooked: a large, cold hand clamped around his neck.

              “Release me!” Garou shouted with an authority he didn’t know he had.

              “No,” came the response.

              Garou started to panic, staring down the point of his executioner’s blade. “Stop!”

              In that same moment, Lindon’s hand tightened, and Garou’s command disappeared unheard.

              Just like his screams.

              Garou raised his hands in front of him, dark flames flickering into the silhouette of a dragon’s talons, but it was too late. A solid column of blue-gold lightning thundered into the world, shaking the universe with its command for him to die. Garou shrieked into the storm, but his God-given armor melted off, swiftly followed by his arms. Then the rest of his skin. Garou hit the ground as a burnt husk, gasping for air that would not come. He could feel the energy inside him trying to knit him back together, but it was simultaneously pouring out of him like a bucket with a hole driven through it.

              Somewhere in his shattered psyche, Garou caught one word before the world faded to nothingness.

              “Gratitude.”

Chapter Text

Yerin looked around the stone tower with mild interest, periodically pulling on the Way as she did. It was close, just as close as when she was in the Grave. Rare, but pretty expected for a death match arena of the Abidan.

Yerin had walked in on Lindon rewatching his fight with the star-skinned man a month earlier, and she was jealous that she hadn’t gotten a fight yet. Since stabilizing the Iterations after the Collapse, Yerin had been trying to stay sharp. Sparring with Lindon and Mercy was fun, but it got old at some point. She wanted a new challenge.

[Educational match,] sounded the residential Presence, and Yerin gave a slight grin, standing straight. [Yerin Arelius of the Reaper Division, you will fight to the death. All damages will be reversed. Interactive records of the match will be preserved and accessible in the Grave’s Archives.]

Yerin stretched her goldsigns as she listened. This dialogue was expected, but her opponent wasn’t. [You face Dabura.]

Some kind of demon, who had made his home in a realm of death. He wielded a sword with decent skill, and his razor-sharp claws were imbued with flames of destruction and the intent of a murderer. He was a monster…with authority over death…sword-like body parts…and fire…breath…

Partway through her analysis, Yerin looked up at the tower’s ceiling, to anyone who was listening. “Stone certain you aren’t pulling my leg?”

Dabura rubbed his head confusedly, feeling as though he was missing something. His mind seemed somewhat quieter than usual, as if a great, raging bonfire had died down. Then he noticed.

“Master Babidi?” he asked cautiously. Nobody answered. Somehow, the walls of stone surrounding him had cut him off from his master. The demon king rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, feeling a sense of clarity he hadn’t felt in centuries. Release from the dull, throbbing headache that he didn’t even know he’d had. Dabura planned to track down whoever had offered him this chance to thank them with the courtesy of a monarch.

[Entertainment match,] sounded a new voice, and Dabura’s newfound optimism crumbled. He had just been released from being made to fight for others. [Demon King Dabura, you will fight to the death. All consequences will be reversed. You face Yerin Arelius.]

“King.” Dabura seethed, drawing his sword as he grumbled to himself. “Yet I am relegated to the role of a slave.” And his opponent was just as big a disappointment. A girl, barely into her third decade of life. Yes, she boasted victories in battles that had undoubtably been impressive on her world, but this king had seen stronger.

Though it did seem Dabura’s newfound mental clarity would last. Perhaps he could have some fun here.

[Ready.] Dabura took a breath, heating the room as his ki soared. As soon as this door opened, he’d move to the center of the stage and establish the battlefield as his.

[Begin.]

Dabura shot forwards, cape billowing behind him, and-

What-

The demon raised his sword in a panic, blocking the strike that had materialized from a flash of white light. He’d been so disgusted in the moment that he hadn’t paid attention to his opponent’s abilities. That information flooded back to him now as the strike brought him back to the ground in an impact that, for a moment, drained the color from the world.

Roaring in frustration, Dabura swung his sword up, a wall of fire-imbued ki erupting from the blade in a wave of death. The girl jerked to the side, blades over her shoulders ringing as red-tinged lines shot towards him. The demon king flew backwards, sidestepping each one as he spat into the air. His opponent disappeared again, but millennia of experience fighting Kais let him keep track of her energy, foreign as it was. He spun, the horizontal cut barely blocked by her spider-like appendages. Dabura sneered, grabbing one such appendage and spitting down at the girl’s head. Laughter rang in his head as she instinctively blocked with one hand.

[Oh, that’s bad! That’s really bad! GET OUT GET OUT GE-]

I’m half-buried already, don’t need you picking up a shovel. Yerin triggered the Moonlight Bridge, cutting into Dabura’s cheek on the way out for good measure, and materialized at the top of her starting tower. She cringed as she looked down on her arm. Sure enough,  her entire forearm had already turned to stone, and it was swiftly making its way past her bicep. Without further hesitation, her goldsigns rang, cutting off the limb.

“Didn’t miss that feeling,” muttered Yerin, red fibers bursting from her shoulder as her old arm hit the ground, shattering on impact. A missing arm didn’t matter much when you had seven in reserve, and either way, it would return within seconds.

Surprisingly, Dabura didn’t push his advantage as Yerin retreated. Instead, he slowly raised a finger to the cut on his cheek, glaring at her as he straightened into an attempt to seem indifferent.

Shen would have sold the look better.

“Not bad, girl!” The shout fell silent in the void of Terminus, but Dabura looked triumphant nonetheless. “You may earn your time with the demon king yet.”

“Well don’t I feel like the star of the play,” Yerin retorted, rolling her shoulder as the new arm finished regenerating. “Being a Monarch isn’t as shiny and new as you seem to think. Besides, you seemed not too sure yourself. How’s that cut tasting?”

Dabura laughed, and his aura erupted in full. Yerin’s expression soured. Insufferably arrogant as he was, it wasn’t as though the demon couldn’t back it up. Dreadgods would have run from him, and his will, while less deliberately refined than she was used to, was still that of a centuries-old king. He wouldn’t bow to anyone.

[Well, that’s just not true,] Dross noted, pulling up the memories that Yerin had just seen. [You can clearly see he’s been mind-controlled by this bug-guy before. Plus his Fate has him turning into a cookie.]

Again, not useful, Dross. Yerin started up the Flowing Sword, compounding it with the Phoenix Song. Not like you have the Silent King in your back pocket right now, but I’d bet my sword against a rotted stick that you can help with more than a history lesson.

Dross sighed, which Yerin had always thought a strange habit, before a combat report whirled into existence. [Burn out his energy. He’ll be faster than you as soon as he starts taking you seriously, so it will be hard, but nobody from his Iteration can stay at peak strength for more than a few minutes at best. Only thing you absolutely have to avoid is the stone spit, he doesn’t have any other game-enders. I’ll tell you when to put on the pressure.]

Yerin scoffed. “Sharp enough to figure that last bit myself, but thanks. More than you were giving before.”

[You see, usually I like when you thank me, but you still seem annoyed. It’s literally called an educa-]

“Come at me!” Dabura shouted, lifting a hand to cover a third of the arena in golden light. Yerin triggered the Moonlight Bridge again, slashing at Dabura’s neck with another Eithan-esque strike. The demon disappeared, the blade moving harmlessly through the afterimage, and Yerin’s spirit shouted a warning. Goldsigns lashed out behind her, blocking the initial backstab, but Yerin elected to make some distance before another star-killing blast took the place where her head had been.

She arrived below Dabura, throwing Rippling Swords at him with her goldsigns. The demon broke the techniques with his own claws as he stretched out his arms. An armory’s worth of swords and spears rained down on Yerin’s head, and she just barely managed to deftly sidestep to meet Dabura as he reached the ground.

“Someone should have paid more attention,” Yerin muttered as she raised her sword, parrying Dabura’s first snapping cut as she triggered the Endless Sword. A thousand cuts appeared on Dabura in an instant, her goldsigns, the weapons around her, and even Dabura’s own claws prompting sprays of blood from across Dabura’s body.

The demon grunted in frustration, crumpling the weapons into fist-sized cubes of foreign metal instead, imbuing them with his energy and hurling them. Yerin met each of them with one of her seven blades. All but one, which shattered her kneecap for a fraction of a second. That was enough of an opening for Dabura, who aimed his sword at her unbalanced midsection.

Yerin caught the blow between three of her goldsigns, trapping it as she stabbed at Dabura’s head. When the demon jerked back, Yerin brought her elbow down, snapping her opponent’s weapon in two. Dabura threw the hilt at her, but Yerin disappeared into white light again, Flowing Sword strengthening midair as she brought the blade onto the demon’s head. Dabura blurred to her eyes, claws reaching for her eyes, and Yerin caught it on her goldsigns to nick the demon’s ear.

She’d been trying to use hunger to strengthen herself, but Dabura’s energy was too much for the Phoenix Song. The evil permeated every thought, and the fire burned too dangerously for her to allow into her body. She’d seen that immediately, which was why she limited herself to the Flowing Sword.

The Bleeding Phoenix’s blade had no such weaknesses. It took every drop of demon blood that it could, whispering for release. But compared to how Ruby had fought her as a gold, this was nothing.

When Dabura lunged forwards again, Yerin locked back down, flowing into each move to avoid the claws that promised a painful death. As she dodged each strike, a familiar tune finally began to hum. One that she’d been straining to hear since she was an Underlord.

When the girl dared to close her eyes, Dabura became truly furious. This child had been dancing around him. He could have sworn he was faster, yet the cage of limbs left no openings. Any small cut he managed went unnoticed before healing in a surge of red. And each counterblow took much more from him than they should have.

And that wasn’t even mentioning the dual images seeming to manifest in the sky.

Dabura spat again, trying to end the fight, but the girl sidestepped so naturally the demon thought his eyes were failing. He summoned pillars of stone to block perception, but his opponent seemed more at home in them than he was, so he shattered them, collapsing them onto her head. When the girl danced her way out of the debris, Dabura fired another ki blast, but that was split in two with another color-draining slash.

This was bad. Dabura was rapidly running out of ki, and the girl seemed like she could fight for days. From the memories provided to him, that was likely true.

The king raised his hand again, spamming ki blasts that were each capable of piercing a sun, but invisible blades chipped away at them within a fraction of a second until they were mere sparks. Before he could withdraw the hand for a counterattack, it came off.

A wash of cold flooded Dabura’s body in that colorless slice of time, staring into the ruby eyes of his opponent. Yes, there was the whispered hatred of an executioner in that gaze, a promised ticket to the end of his life, but that wasn’t the only sensation filling him in that moment.

It was dwarfed by the warmth of his rage.

So Dabura let it out.

The demon king opened his mouth so wide his jaw seemed to unhinge, flames kindling in the back of his throat as he inhaled a hurricane, drawing on every ounce of hellfire and ki left in his body.

This was no normal Evil Flame. This was the culmination of a thousand years of torturous hatred. Three hundred years of power strengthening and mind suffering under Babidi. He doubted even Majin Buu could handle something like this.

At last, he narrowed his lips, and let go.

When Dabura released his dragon’s breath, Yerin triggered the binding in her sword.

Dabura had indeed had Yerin on the back foot for a considerable bit of that, but he’d gotten sloppy. And Yerin was only getting stronger, bolstered by the song her master had danced to for decades. She’d felt it the moment he snapped, and was ready when he finished gathering power for this technique.

That did not make this any less terrifying. The last attack that Yerin had faced down at this intensity was from the Weeping Dragon. When that had lit up the sky, Yerin had felt the certainty of death. She’d gotten much stronger since then, yes, but the moment still woke her up at night.

She knew Lindon had felt the same for her before smithing this sword. The Dreadgod that her weapon was made from was no Titan, but it was versatile.

The instant the flames began to leave Dabura’s mouth, Yerin swung her blade in a horizontal arc, and a mass of crawling red hands surged from the tip. Thousands of them, circling Yerin in a spinning crimson sphere. Yerin felt hundreds die from the heat, but they were reabsorbed by the hunger within the others and replaced instantly.

For what felt like hours, the Bleeding Phoenix’s Forger technique raged. The bloodspawn died quickly, but not quicker than they were born, surging from the blade like a whirlpool put in reverse. The flames weren’t penetrating, but Yerin still felt as if she were being cooked alive.

Eventually, the flames seemed to lull, and that’s when Yerin decided to strike.

Dabura had not expected to see a ball of claws swirling around his opponent when the flames died. Them coming alive and hunting him down like a swarm of piranhas was even less anticipated. They surged out, each increasing tenfold in size as they reached towards him. Dabura shot backwards and away, spamming ki blasts with his one remaining hand in an effort to keep them away. But when one of the claws were dispersed, ten more took its place, and Dabura was soon full-on flying from the swarm.

He was so focused on them, in fact, that he only barely saw a flash in front of him before a kick with the weight of a planet took him in the jaw, throwing him into the mass. Before he knew it, the claws were tearing into his flesh.

Dabura floated in those currents, chunks of himself shredded into nothingness within moments. Talons clawed at his eyes, ribs torn from the cage, teeth pulled from his mouth. A slash opened his cheek entirely, and Dabura’s spit poured from the hole, mixing with his blood as it turned the thirsting claws to dust.

Finally finding the will to move, some semblance of a roar echoed from Dabura’s throat, and he encased himself in a ball of divine steel. The claws sought blood, so Dabura would cut them off from his. They’d break through soon, but a moment was all he needed.

A few seconds later, Dabura evaporated the walls and hands both in a supernova.

Dabura floated down through the ashes, kneeling on the ground as he considering the damage to his body. Somehow, he hadn’t lost any more limbs, though many bones were shattered or torn from his body. His face felt mauled enough that he chose to ignore it for now. He still had one good eye.

He used that eye to stare down the blade pointed at his head.

“Die.”

The child’s authority almost buckled within the instant of meeting the demon, and Dabura chuckled weakly. He was the ruler of hell, and had been for longer than this girl’s homeland had stood. He’d killed immortals and made the greatest monsters in the universe submit. He’d surrounded himself with death and become its master long ago. She could wound him, as she’d abundantly demonstrated already. She could humiliate him, insult his skill. But death? Truly killing him? With an act of will? She was better off just cutting him again.

And so she did. Straight through the neck.