Merc Assault's smile widened even further, somehow becoming even more terrible. "Oh, this is going to be fun. Show me what you've learned, little demon. Show me if the torture I inflicted actually made you stronger, or if you're still just a broken thing pretending to be whole."

Then they both moved simultaneously, crossing the distance between them at speeds that made their forms blur into streaks of motion.

Their weapons met in the center of the throne room with a crack like thunder that shattered every window in the chamber. The impact sent shockwaves rippling outward in visible distortions of air that knocked over furniture and cracked pillars. Both fighters were thrown backward by the force of the collision, but they recovered instantly and launched themselves at each other again with even greater fury.

Satou came in high with a vertical slash aimed at Merc Assault's skull, putting all his berserker-enhanced strength behind it. The assassin twisted aside with serpentine grace that shouldn't be possible for a bipedal creature, one clawed hand lashing out toward Satou's exposed ribs with fingers extended like spears.

[Phantom Form] made Satou intangible just long enough for the strike to pass through harmlessly, air whistling where his solid body had been a fraction of a second before. He re-solidified immediately and spun, his blade coming around in a horizontal arc that would have bisected the assassin if it connected.

Merc Assault ducked under it with impossible flexibility, then countered with a palm strike wreathed in nightmare-energy aimed directly at Satou's chest. Satou blocked with his blade, the [Void Fang] consuming the nightmare-magic on contact and causing it to dissipate into harmless particles.

They separated briefly, circled each other like predators, then engaged again in a flurry of strikes too fast for normal eyes to follow properly.

Blade against claws. Nightmare magic against existence-erasing power. Berserker rage against calculated cruelty refined over centuries.

The throne room became a war zone as they fought with escalating intensity. Pillars shattered from missed strikes that hit with enough force to pulverize stone. The throne itself was cut in half when both fighters crashed through it, their weapons locked together. The floor developed deep gouges from the sheer force of their movements, cracks spreading like spider webs.

Merc Assault was laughing throughout the entire exchange, actually laughing with genuine enjoyment as he fought. "Yes! This is what I wanted! The broken thing I tried to create is fighting back with everything it has! Tell me, Satou, do you still see her dying when you close your eyes? Do you still hear her screaming your name as the flames consume her? As the water fills her lungs? As the blades pierce her flesh?"

Satou's only response was to attack with renewed fury that pushed past even his previous intensity, his blade a blur of deadly motion. [Shadow Blade] created dozens of phantom weapons that struck from every angle simultaneously, a technique that would overwhelm most defenders.

Merc Assault had to activate his own defensive abilities in response, nightmare-constructs forming barriers that blocked most of the strikes. But not all of them. One phantom blade got through his defenses and carved a deep gash across his shoulder, dark blood spraying in an arc.

But not all of them. One phantom blade got through and carved a deep gash across Merc Assault's shoulder. Dark blood sprayed, and the assassin hissed in pain.

"First blood to you," Merc Assault acknowledged, touching the wound with his fingers and examining the blood with interest. "You've gotten stronger since our last encounter in the nightmare realm. The torture didn't break you—it tempered you like steel in a forge. How delightful. This will make breaking you properly all the more satisfying."

He launched himself at Satou with renewed aggression that matched the berserker fury, his claws extending to impossible lengths and striking like spears meant to impale. Satou deflected them with his blade, but the force of the impacts was staggering even with his enhanced strength. Each blocked strike sent shockwaves up his arms that would have shattered a normal person's bones, and he had to give ground to avoid being overwhelmed by the sheer volume of attacks.

For several minutes that felt like hours, they fought at a stalemate. Neither could gain a decisive advantage despite both fighters operating at levels that would have killed lesser beings. Satou's berserker strength and [Void Fang]'s existence-erasing power were matched against Merc Assault's centuries of experience and mastery of nightmare magic accumulated over a lifetime of killing.

Then Satou began to adapt as his combat instincts refined themselves.

His [Nightmare Sight] was showing him Merc Assault's intentions more clearly now that they'd been fighting for a while and patterns were emerging. He could see the tells that preceded each technique, the rhythms of combat that even a master couldn't fully eliminate after centuries of habit. The slight shift of weight before a claw strike. The gathering of nightmare energy before a magical attack. The almost imperceptible tensing of muscles before a dodge.

And with each exchange, Satou was learning like a sponge absorbing water. His berserker state didn't eliminate tactical thinking—it just reduced it to pure combat instinct operating at maximum efficiency. And his instincts were screaming at him about how to exploit the openings he was starting to see.

Merc Assault came in with a familiar combination that he'd used three times already—feint high with the right claw, strike low with the left, follow immediately with a nightmare-construct attack from an unexpected angle. Satou had seen it enough times now to predict it perfectly.

This time, instead of defending against the feint like he had before, he ignored it completely. He stepped into Merc Assault's guard, accepting a glancing blow to his shoulder that drew blood but didn't slow him down significantly. His blade came up in a rising slash that caught Merc Assault across the chest, [Void Fang] carving through the assassin's shadow-woven robes and the flesh beneath with surgical precision.

Merc Assault stumbled backward, genuine surprise flashing through those terrible eyes for the first time. "You—"

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