Jura Neekis and Jellal Fernandes had been separated onto a high, narrow spire of dead, gray rock. Below them, a deep chasm was littered with the fossilized skeletons of ancient, colossal creatures.
Massive ribs, the size of houses, arched out of the decayed earth, forming a chaotic, nightmarish battlefield. The air was cold, dead, and stank of ozone and dust.
"An unfortunate landing," Jura rumbled, his voice as deep and steady as the earth itself. He stood, his arms crossed, a pillar of calm in the chaos. His robes were untouched.
"No," Jellal said, his own gaze sweeping the chasm. He was already in his 'Meteor'-enhanced state, a faint golden aura shimmering around him. "This was intentional. This terrain is designed to limit ground-based movement and funnel us."
"So, where is the jailer?"
"Hee hee hee..."
The sound was not a laugh; it was a high-pitched, childish giggle that scraped against their nerves. It came from everywhere and nowhere.
"Look at you... two big, strong, scared little toys."
A figure dropped from the shadows of a massive fossilized skull, landing lightly on the canyon floor. He was small, almost childlike, with a cheerful, innocent face and wide, curious eyes. He was dressed in the dark robes of Oracion Seis. This was Malak, 'The Sadist.'
He was "playing" with a small rock, tossing it in his hand. "I was told I'd get the fun ones. And I did! A Saint, and a King. Oh, this is going to be so much fun."
"Malak," Jellal said, his voice a low warning. "Your reputation precedes you. Soul-Forge Magic."
"You know me?" Malak beamed, genuinely delighted. "Then you know the rules! If I touch you... you're mine."
To demonstrate, Malak casually touched the massive, fossilized rib cage he was standing near.
The effect was immediate and horrifying.
The ancient, dead stone... screamed.
It wasn't a sound; it was a psychic shockwave of pure agony that blasted Jellal and Jura. The fossil warped. The bone twisted and softened, not into dust, but into a grotesque, fleshy, weeping stone. It contorted into a massive, screaming face, the rock-flesh bubbling and crying tears of liquid granite.
"It... it has a soul?" Jura murmured, his composure finally cracking, his face pale with revulsion.
"Everything has a soul, old man!" Malak giggled, clapping his hands. "Some are just... boring. I like to make them more interesting!"
Malak was trying to get close to them, his eyes gleaming with a predator's joy. "Now... who wants to be my new masterpiece?"
Jellal and Jura didn't need to speak. Their plan was formed in a single, shared glance: do not let him touch you.
"I will take the air. You control the ground," Jellal commanded.
"Agreed."
"Meteor!" Jellal became a golden comet, streaking off the spire and diving at Malak, his body wreathed in Heavenly Body Magic. He wasn't trying to hit him; he was testing his defenses.
"Ooh, sparkly!" Malak chirped. He didn't just dodge. His legs elongated, stretching like taffy, his speed becoming unnaturally fast as he bounded from fossil to fossil, evading Jellal's light-beams.
"My turn, my turn!" Malak cackled, now on the opposite side of the chasm.
"He's fast," Jellal noted, landing.
"But he is on my earth," Jura stated. He raised his hand. "Iron Rock Wall!"
Four massive, iron-laced pillars of rock erupted from the ground, boxing Malak in.
"A box?" Malak pouted. He just... touched the wall.
SCREEEEEEAM!
The rock-flesh corruption was instant. The wall of pure, solid earth transfigured into a writhing, pulsing mass of fleshy hands and weeping stone-eyes. The hands lunged, grabbing at Jura.
"He's corrupting your magic!" Jellal warned.
Jura grunted, his power flaring. "Supreme King Rock Crush!" He didn't just dispel his wall; he pulverized it, crushing the corrupted flesh-rock into fine powder.
"This is a problem," Jura said, his face grim. "My earth... he can turn it against me."
"So we don't give him anything to touch," Jellal said.
But Malak was already on the move. He had seen the weakness. He was targeting the earth-mage first. He used his own soul to reshape his body, his fingers elongating into black, chitinous claws. He was fast, skittering across the battlefield like an insect.
"You're it!" he shrieked, lunging at Jura.
"Iron Rock Fist!" Jura didn't attack Malak. He punched the ground at his own feet. A shockwave of earth and rock exploded outward, forcing Malak to leap back.
But the "Sadist" was relentless. He was a close-range nightmare. He dodged, he weaved, he giggled, his only goal to get one touch.
When Malak got close to one of them, the other one attacked before he could touch them.
"Pleiades!" Jellal roared from above, six beams of heavenly light slamming into the ground where Malak was about to land.
Malak was forced to transfigure his own back, sprouting temporary, grotesque wings of flesh to twist in mid-air. He healed from the glancing blows instantly, but he was getting... annoyed.
"Stop... running!" he pouted. "It's no fun if you don't let me play!"
"He's healing," Jellal noted, landing beside Jura.
"His regeneration is high," Jura agreed. "But it is not infinite. He is consuming his own magic to do it."
"Like that, they wore him down."
The fight became a brutal, gritty dance of attrition. Jellal became a golden hornet, a constant, high-speed distraction, his 'Meteor' form streaking across the chasm. He wasn't trying to land a killing blow; he was herding Malak, forcing him into kill-zones.
And Jura... Jura was the hammer. He stopped using constructs. He stopped using walls. He turned the entire canyon floor into a weapon.
"Supreme King Rock Crush!" he'd roar, and the entire fossil-bed would explode, sending a tidal wave of razor-sharp, petrified bone and stone at Malak.
Malak would be forced to use his Soul-Forge magic to block, transfiguring the debris-wave into a shield of screaming, fleshy gore, which would cost him magic.
Then, as he was defending...
"Grand Chariot!" Jellal would call from above, seven pillars of light slamming down, vaporizing the fleshy shield and searing Malak's body.
Malak shrieked, his childish glee turning to petulant rage. He was healing, but the burns were deep. He was being worn down.
"STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!" he screamed.
He decided to end the "game."
"Self-Substantiation: Double!"
With a wet, tearing sound, Malak split his soul. A perfect, grinning, childlike clone of himself tore itself free from his back.
"Two of them!" Jura grunted.
"I will take the real one," Jellal said, his gaze fixed on the original, who was panting heavily. "You take the clone. Do not let it touch you!"
"Heh," Jura said, his battle-spirit finally igniting. "I am a Wizard Saint. I will not be defeated by a doll."
Jura charged the clone, "Iron Rock Knuckle!"
The clone giggled and met his fist. "Tag!"
It tried to touch Jura, but the Saint was too experienced. His fist was coated in a dense layer of iron magic. He shattered the clone's arm.
But the clone just giggled, its arm re-forming instantly. "Hee hee! It doesn't hurt! I'm just a piece of his soul! But if I touch you..."
Meanwhile, Jellal was in a high-speed duel with the real Malak. "Meteor" clashed with "Soul-Forge," light against flesh. Malak was fast, but Jellal was faster. Malak was healing, but Jellal's light was pure.
"You're not fun anymore!" Malak shrieked, seeing his clone was failing to land a hit on the immovable Jura. "You're both... cheating! I'm going to break you!"
He made a mistake. He focused his full attention on Jellal, forming a massive, dark "Soul-Spear" to take down the "sparkly one."
Jura saw his opening.
He wasn't fighting the clone anymore. He was behind Malak.
"The wrath of the earth... is my own," Jura rumbled, his hands glowing.
Malak spun, his eyes wide. "No—!"
"Iron Rock Spikes: Absolute!"
Jura didn't just summon spikes. He transfigured the entire plateau. A 100-foot-wide forest of solid iron-rock spears erupted from the ground, impaling Malak from every conceivable angle.
"GAAAAAAH!"
Malak was pinned, skewered in a dozen places. His regeneration magic was fighting, his flesh bubbling and trying to consume the rock, but it was too much.
Jellal landed, his body pulsing with a golden, terrifying power. "It's over."
"NO! IT'S NOT! I'M ETERNAL! YOU'RE JUST... TOYS!" Malak roared, his body beginning to swell, his soul-magic going critical. "IF I'M GOING TO BE BROKEN... I'LL TAKE YOU WITH ME! I'LL TRANSFIGURE THIS WHOLE CANYON!"
A wave of pure, corrupting despair pulsed from his body.
"He's going to self-destruct!" Jellal yelled. "Jura! We have to vaporize him! Now!"
They readied their ultimate moves to take him down.
Jura, his magic almost depleted, took a deep, final breath. He focused all his remaining power, not into iron, but into the earth itself.
"This is the judgment of a Saint. The power of the mountain! Three Pillar Gods: Naraka!"
Three colossal, rune-covered pillars of pure, compressed, unbendable rock slammed up from the earth's core, crushing Malak's impaled form between them, locking him in an eternal, triangular prison.
The Sadist screamed, his self-destruction sequence halted, his magic compressed and trapped.
Jellal was already in the sky. He had been casting ever since Malak was pinned. The clouds above the chasm were gone, replaced by a swirling, golden vortex of celestial energy. A dark, massive shape was visible, descending through the atmosphere.
"I will grant you the absolution you never gave your victims," Jellal said, his voice cold as the void. "Be judged, Oracion Seis. True Heavenly Body Magic... SEMA!"
The meteor hit.
There was no sound. Just a blinding, silent flash of white light that vaporized the air, the fossils, and the very concept of "up" and "down." The Sema—a true, cataclysmic celestial body—slammed into Jura's "Naraka" prison.
The impact was absolute. The grinding, screaming, agonizing roar of Malak was extinguished in a single, purifying instant.
When the light faded, the entire chasm was gone. All that remained was a massive, smoking, perfectly circular crater, the edges lined with glowing, molten glass.
Jellal and Jura landed on the rim, panting, their magic reserves completely empty.
They had been forced to use two S-Class, world-ending ultimate moves to destroy one of the Oracion Seis.
Jellal looked at Jura. The Wizard Saint was clutching his arm—the one that had been grazed by the corrupted shield earlier. The skin was a pale, deathly gray, a spiritual gangrene that his magic couldn't heal.
"You are... injured," Jellal noted.
"It is nothing," Jura grunted, though his face was pale with pain. "It will heal itself."
They looked at the crater, then back in the direction of the villa.
"One down," Jellal said.
"Five to go," Jura finished.
They began the long, slow walk back, the reality of this war having truly set in.