After the destruction of the Yuki-Onna's revelry, the ground beneath Fitran’s feet trembled, forming ripples reminiscent of distant thunder deep within the earth's core. A sharp metallic scent enveloped the air, while the surface of the ground transformed into a gleaming black path infused with gold, as if tainted by metal. In the sky, dark clouds cracked open, swept by relentless lightning tearing through the firmament, enhancing the dire atmosphere. From afar, the sound of drums echoed, breaking the stillness, announcing the awakening of an ancient battlefield from its long slumber. Atop the spiral peak stood a giant with three horns, draped in a heavy cloak, with yellow eyes gleaming as if containing lightning flashes, leaving behind a trail of embers with every step taken.
He is Otakemaru, known as the "Demon of Suzuka."
A half-deity, half-yokai—the war general who commands powers of metal and lightning, feared in the upper world as the slaughterer of Mount Suzuka. Within the spiral of world, he is more than mere legend; he is the embodiment of the ancient battlefield's will, the sovereign of strategy, and a remnant of technology from a long-forgotten past.
Otakemaru watched Fitran from above, his voice heavy and resonant, “So, you are the next hopeful wanderer of the spiral? You have successfully driven away the Snow Woman, and now you dare to confront my battlefield, human?”
Fitran chuckled softly, his voice raspy like the whisper of a cold night breeze, “Your battlefield? To me, it is merely a stage for a greater downfall. When will you realize that every upward glance becomes tragic when shrouded in shadow?”
Otakemaru snarled, his face reflecting a bubbling rage. Fitran continued, “You may possess strength, yet true power in war hinges upon the art of strategy. Let us see how quickly you will regret this decision.”
Fitran looked up, his gaze sharp as it pierced the horizon, remnants of blood and dust from ancient battle still etched upon his face. He smiled cynically, “Be they yokai or deities, all shall fall into a spiral that stretches long. Do you wish to play the game of strategy, or merely wait for your name to be etched in flames? There is nothing more ludicrous than wisdom left unutilized.”
Otakemaru growled, the earth trembling beneath him, lightning struck, creating a whirlwind of energy around him. “You speak grandly amid a pile of corpses. Here, every stone is the gravestone of my foes. Every flash of lightning bears the names of those who failed to cross. What do you possess, other than a sword and a mouth full of sins?”
“Ah, but every sin leads us to a resurrection stronger than before,” Fitran replied, his voice trembling softly, flowing like the cool night wind. “I come bearing a will that cannot be frozen or stolen, my friend. That will dares to confront, and you know, resistance does not always end in defeat. I wonder, how strong are your footholds upon your lofty battlefield, Otakemaru? Or are you merely a legend overshadowed by the ruins of your own making? What does it feel like to be at the peak, while the fear of downfall lurks with every step?”
Otakemaru laughed with a resounding voice, echoing against the spiral walls, creating vibrations, “You enjoy toying with the concept of will. Yet, at the height of war, that will means nothing. Here, there is but one law that prevails: whoever stands the tallest, they alone shape history. Are you prepared to fall, traveler of the spiral?”
“Fall may be a term unfamiliar to you. But every time you lift your body, look at the depth of your tracks in the darkness,” responded Fitran, his eyes shining with cunning, “You might believe that a high position distances me from suffering. But who is most vulnerable—my soul trapped at the summit?”
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Fitran lowered his gaze, a cunning smile carved on his face, his voice flowing softly yet filled with dangerous whispers, “I have fallen more often than you have slain. Ironically, it is that very experience that leaves me unafraid of heights—or depths. My wrist is the dividing line between my fragile soul and the world, ready to unravel your pain with a mere flick of my hand.”
A subtle gesture, a shadowy strike rushed forth, slicing through the space and embracing the surrounding silence. “Remember, this is merely a game, Otakemaru. Be wary not to become ensnared in the power of the name you wield.”
The spiral clouds above transformed into a threatening storm vortex. The battlefield shifted, metal emerging from the earth, forming sharp pillars that towered like fortresses from ancient times. Ancient mechanical traps sprang to life, cogs and gears moving out from their crevices, sealing the area while unleashing intimidating blue sparks to every corner. “You may have designed a court for basketball, yet here I stand with a pair of shoes ready to explore the darkness,” Fitran strategized, his eyes keenly observing each tremor of the pillars that quaked above him.
Otakemaru raised his hand, and it seemed as if lightning danced between his fingers, creating a brilliant shimmer. “You know, Fitran Fate,” he said in a condescending tone, “I have destroyed a thousand armies with just one movement. Are you truly confident you can stand here without the gnawing fear?”
“Is that nothing more than empty talk?” Fitran shot back, his gaze sharp and his voice as cold as ice. “I demolish hope more profoundly than you dismantle soldiers.” He took a deep breath, determined to showcase his power. “Let us prove who among us has the more terrifying legacy if that is your choice.”
Fitran, with unwavering courage, asserted, “I did not come bearing an army. However, I bring forth the nightmares of a world you do not know, Otakemaru. Ready for strategies? Let us see who falls first on this battlefield. Remember, this is not merely about physical strength but who possesses the greater cunning in this game.”
Otakemaru smirked cynically, one of his horns gleaming with lightning's radiance, “Well said. The world that once was is no more—here, only those with eternal names are permitted to stand. I am Otakemaru, the Demon of Suzuka, the ruler of thunder, the predator of kings, and the mastermind of a shattered world. Now, who are you, wanderer trapped in an endless spiral?”
“I am the spirit that fills the emptiness of your soul, Otakemaru. Every footprint of history you leave behind is but a forgotten carcass, submerged beneath a whirlpool of words. Let us see who is worthy of singing the end of this tale,” Fitran replied, his eyes sparkling with deep-seated hatred. “You are nothing more than a drop of rain in the barren field of my consciousness.”
Fitran crossed his sword before him, his voice suddenly turning cold, as if intertwined with the sharp night breeze, “Fitran Fate. The last name that may echo in your mind before this world comes to a halt. Every second you desire to end this merely leads you to emptiness. Do you dare to bear the consequences?”
Otakemaru erupted in laughter, his booming voice seemingly reverberating amidst the ruins of time, “Prove it, spiral man! This realm knows no mercy! But I relish a challenge; what if I obliterate your name before you can erase me?”
Blue lightning struck the swirling sky, while metal wheels spun wildly, transforming the area into a fortress of dread. The battle between two eternal wills commenced. Fitran raised his Voidlight, his eyes gleaming with razor-sharp analysis and bubbling madness; “Observing your moves, it is evident you are already defeated, Otakemaru. A single misstep, and your grand name will vanish forever into the shadows.”
Dark clouds swirled ominously on the horizon, heralding the impending chaos of battle. “Your lightning may crackle with fervor, but your focus will wane while I move like the enigma of the night,” declared Fitran, a sly smile gracing every corner of his face. This contest was a blend of manipulation, ancient technology, and spiraling ambition that had only just begun, with the names written across the battlefield poised for erasure by those daring enough to reshape history.
