Nick Fury's voice cracked with despair. From his vantage point, he could clearly see a fresh fissure tearing across the steel floor where vines and flowers had rooted themselves.
Through that split, delicate machinery and buried devices snapped apart, crushed without mercy.
To Fury, it was like watching stacks of money burn. They were already running short on funds, and every destroyed piece of equipment was another nail in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s budget coffin.
But no one was paying him any attention.
Every pair of eyes on the battlefield was fixed on the clash between two titans.
Even Thor and Loki's forces had stopped their fighting, weapons lowered. For now, their rivalries didn't matter—the outcome of this single battle would decide everything.
Because in this war, only two fighters could truly determine the result: the Wolf God and Arakawa Zenkichi.
The others knew it. Whether they won their smaller skirmishes meant nothing if their champion fell. And so they held their ground, conserving strength, watching with narrowed eyes as the confrontation unfolded.
The air seemed to hum with tension.
The Wolf God's roar split the air, his voice laced with fury as the massive vine surged toward him. His chest expanded, and then came a second sound—deep, resonant, and piercing—a sonic blast that rippled through the air like a physical shockwave.
The vibration slammed into the vine's coils, shattering its momentum.
It wasn't just the plant that suffered. The sonic wave rolled outward, striking everyone nearby. Agents, soldiers, even warriors on Loki's side dropped to their knees. A few collapsed entirely, clutching their ears, foam flecking their lips.
Only two figures remained standing—the combatants themselves.
Zenkichi's gaze hardened. "A useful method," he said coldly, "but you don't even care about your own allies."
"As long as I can kill you, I'll pay any price."
The Wolf God's voice carried an unshakable killing intent. In the brief exchange they'd already had, he'd recognized Zenkichi's strength—an equal to his own. That made him dangerous. Too dangerous to let live.
If such a man walked away today, the Wolf God knew he'd never sleep in peace.
In his mind, there were only two paths: never cross such an enemy… or destroy them completely.
Zenkichi's lips curved into a faint, mocking smile. "You wouldn't be the first to say that," he replied. "And like the others, you'll end up dead."
He didn't wait for an answer.
His irises shifted instantly, strange concentric patterns swirling into existence—rings that seemed to hold the weight of eternity, eyes that could shatter the will of lesser beings.
"Eight-Arm Shura Technique!"
The transformation was immediate. His long hair bled into a deep crimson, flowing behind him like a banner of war. Bone began to rise from his skin, hardening into an unyielding armor. His frame expanded, muscles surging with new strength.
He was no longer merely human in appearance—he had taken on the form of a war god from the depths of hell, his towering figure radiating power and menace.
Every step he took forward made the air grow heavier.
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