Chapter 32: The Thousand-Petal Countdown

Voltra sat on his stone throne, bathed in the crimson light from the ruined sky above. His expression was calm, almost serene, as if waiting for something inevitable. The air around him was thick with an unnatural stillness, the world paused in a moment of suffocating tension. In his hands, he held a bouquet of blood-red flowers, their petals soft and delicate against the brutality of the world. One by one, he tore off the petals, letting them flutter to the ground like forgotten prayers.

"One... two... three..." Voltra's voice was soft, almost childlike, a stark contrast to the chaos around him. "Hundred... thousand..."

Each petal fell like a beat in the march of time, each count a step toward something unseen but inevitable. The field stretched before him, a barren expanse of scorched earth, desolate and lifeless. No monsters prowled. No chaos stirred. Only the silence of a world broken beyond repair, where nothing but shadows and ash remained.

Behind Voltra, hidden in the darkened shadow of his throne, Misa hung crucified on a stone cross. Her once white wedding dress, now torn and soiled, clung to her battered form. Blood streaked down her arms and legs, mixing with the dirt and grime. Her face, pale and drained of life, hung low, unconscious but not dead. Yet, even in her broken state, there was a spark of something within her — a fragile ember of hope that refused to be extinguished, flickering in the dark like a lone candle in a storm.

Voltra's eyes lingered on her for a moment before he let the last petal fall, the final fragment of his quiet ritual. He smiled to himself, a twisted joy in his expression. As the wind carried the petals away, the sound of footsteps interrupted the stillness.

Two figures emerged on the horizon.

"Ah… finally," Voltra murmured, a gleam of dark satisfaction in his eyes. "You're here."

Moros and Hanz, clad in battle-worn armor, walked toward him, their faces grim and determined, like two warriors who had already seen the worst of the world and now sought only to bring an end to it. But Voltra's voice held no anger, only mockery, like the cruel amusement of a predator toying with its prey.

"Nice to meet you again," Voltra said, rising from his throne. His smile widened into a grin that twisted his features. "Are you ready for the final act?"

Moros froze when his gaze fell upon Misa, her broken body nailed to the cross. The sight pierced him like a thousand daggers. His breath caught in his chest, and his eyes filled with a storm of rage, grief, and helplessness.

"You... bastard!" Moros' voice broke with raw emotion, the fury and pain spilling over as he stepped forward, his hands trembling. "What have you done to her!?"

Without a second's hesitation, he raised his gloved hand, and a blast of dark energy shot toward Voltra, erupting with force and fury. Voltra moved with inhuman grace, dodging the attack, but not fast enough. The blast grazed his chin, drawing a thin line of blood that smeared across his face. He barely acknowledged the injury, his grin only growing wider.

"Interesting," Voltra said, his voice a mocking praise. "You managed to hurt me. Impressive..."

Before Voltra could finish his taunt, Hanz appeared beside him, faster than the eye could follow.

"Take this, you monster!" Hanz shouted, his voice filled with vengeance. He drove his blade deep into Voltra's chest, pushing with all his might.

For a brief moment, there was silence. The blade stood buried in Voltra's chest, but he barely flinched. His eyes, cold and calculating, fixed on Hanz.

Voltra's hand shot out like a serpent, gripping Hanz's face in a vice-like hold. "Know your place, mortal," he hissed, his voice a venomous whisper.

In one brutal motion, Voltra tore Hanz's lower jaw from his face, the sound of tearing flesh sickening. Hanz's scream was monstrous — a gurgling, unearthly sound that echoed in the dead air. He fell to his knees, clutching at the ragged wound where his jaw had been, blood pouring from his mouth, soaking his armor. His breath came in ragged gasps, as he struggled to stay conscious.

"Stop screaming," Voltra muttered, annoyed, as he grabbed Hanz's hands and tore them away from his own face. Hanz was powerless to defend himself, his body shaking with the shock and agony of the injury.

With a casual shove, Voltra sent Hanz flying to the ground, his body crumpling like a broken doll.

"Pathetic," Voltra sneered, his voice dripping with contempt.

Moros rushed to catch Hanz's body as it tumbled toward him. His hands shook as he checked for life — Hanz was still breathing, but barely. Blood dripped from his ruined face, and his eyes were glazed with pain.

"I'll save you... after," Moros whispered through clenched teeth, gently lowering Hanz to the ground. His gaze shifted back to Voltra, fury burning like a firestorm in his chest.

"I'll save Misa."

Voltra clapped his hands in mock applause, his laughter ringing out in the silence. "Come then, Moros. Let's have some fun!"

The two titans clashed with a force that shook the very ground beneath them.

Voltra moved with the speed and grace of a storm, each strike carrying the force of a thousand blows. His attacks were relentless, overwhelming, a blur of motion. Moros met him head-on, the dark power within his glove surging with every strike. With each collision, the air cracked with pressure, and the earth trembled beneath them. It was a battle of gods, two titans locked in combat, where each blow felt like the end of everything.

Voltra's laughter echoed in the chaos. "Show me everything you've got!" he shouted, his voice filled with wild excitement.

Moros' glove pulsated with dark energy, corruption spreading across his arm, inch by inch. The more it consumed him, the stronger, faster, and more monstrous he became. He moved with an unnatural ferocity, his body twisting with power as the black matter merged with him.

"Great! Yes, Moros!" Voltra shouted, delighting in the destruction, as he landed a brutal punch to Moros' stomach.

Moros staggered but didn't falter. He gritted his teeth, his eyes blazing with a cold fury. "Shut up already!" he spat, his voice thick with pain and rage.

With a savage roar, he drove his head into Voltra's face, the force sending both men crashing backward. Blood spattered from Voltra's nose, yet his grin never faltered.

But before they could continue, a shadow moved behind them.

"Now it's my time," Sandro's voice cut through the chaos. He emerged from the darkness, eyes gleaming with greed as he pulled a vial of black matter from his pocket. He eyed Moros' glove with obsession, his hands trembling.

"All this power will be mine..." he whispered, his voice dripping with lust for control.

Sandro moved swiftly, reaching for Moros' glove, but fate had other plans.

As his fingers brushed against the black matter, it reacted violently. The dark energy, like a living thing, surged out and merged with Moros' glove, sending a pulse of black lightning through the air.

Sandro was thrown backward, crashing into the ruins with a sickening thud. His body lay motionless, a broken figure in the debris.

Moros staggered to his feet, feeling the overwhelming surge of power. He stared at his hands, his arms now completely consumed by the black matter. It pulsed with unnatural energy, filling him with a dark strength he had never known.

"What... is this?" he murmured, his voice tinged with awe. "I feel... power..."

In an instant, he raised his arm and, with a single motion, destroyed a nearby building, reducing it to rubble.

Voltra's laughter filled the air again, louder, more unhinged.

"Now we're talking!" Voltra bellowed, his eyes alight with mad joy. "This is the fight I wanted!"

He transformed one of his arms into a massive blade, gleaming with sharp edges. "Let's continue!" he shouted, charging forward.

Moros mirrored the transformation, his glove shifting into long, blackened claws that gleamed with deadly intent. The two clashed in a brutal, savage swordfight, their weapons a blur of violence. Sparks flew as their blades collided, each strike an explosion of force.

Finally, with a desperate, final move, Moros transformed his gloves into deadly claws and drove them through Voltra's chest. With a sickening tear, he ripped Voltra's heart from his body, the warmth of blood spilling onto the ground.

Voltra's body fell to the earth with a thud, his grin fading into an expression of shock. The fight was over.

Moros stood victorious, panting heavily, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His eyes scanned the battlefield, searching for something. Someone.

Then, he looked up.

His heart stopped.

Misa.

Her figure stood before him, her white dress shimmering despite the bloodstains, her eyes filled with an indescribable sorrow and love. Moros' breath caught in his chest, and his hands shook as he reached for her.

"Misa?" he whispered, disbelief coloring his voice. "Why… are you here?"

He rushed toward her, his heart full of hope. But as he reached her, a sudden realization struck.

No, no. This wasn't possible. She had been crucified. She couldn't—

A surge of horror spread through Moros as he looked at her. Her form was fading, shimmering like mist in his arms. He froze, his heart breaking as he finally understood what had happened.

He had killed her.

The stray ray of energy, unleashed during their fight, had struck Misa. She had been collateral damage in his rage, and now she was slipping away from him forever.

"No…" Moros whispered, his voice cracking. "No, please…"

Tears streamed down his face as Misa smiled faintly, her bloody lips curving upward one last time.

"I hope…" she whispered, her voice barely audible, "...you will be happy… even without me."

And with that, she was gone.

Moros stood alone in the desolate field, the weight of his actions crashing down on him. He had won the battle, but the war within his heart was far from over.

The darkness of the world seemed to close in around him, and the tears continued to fall.