"Call me Gurranq… or Maliketh. It makes no difference."

The hooded figure's golden eyes burned beneath the shadow.

"You who seek to approach Destined Death…

I will not allow it to be stolen a second time."

With that, he lunged.

Arthur shrugged lightly.

"I thought, considering I brought you so many Deathroots, we could sit down and talk."

He raised the Dark Moon Greatsword.

"Guess negotiations are off the table."

Moonlight surged along the blade.

A cold, bone-piercing frost wrapped around it as the weapon art charged.

By the time Maliketh closed the distance—

Arthur swung.

A crescent wave of dark lunar light flew forward.

It looked simple.

Unassuming.

But Maliketh's instincts screamed danger.

He rolled sideways.

The arc sliced through a pillar behind him.

The column separated cleanly at its base—

Only the frozen crust of ice keeping it from collapsing outright.

Maliketh's expression darkened.

This Tarnished was far stronger than expected.

Arthur smiled.

"Well? Still not going to use Destined Death?"

After the Night of the Black Knives, wracked by guilt, Maliketh had sealed the Rune of Death within himself.

A living prison.

He growled.

"…Not yet."

His claw slammed the ground—

Five crimson-black shockwaves tore across the floor toward Arthur.

Arthur leapt clear.

But Maliketh was relentless.

He ripped up a massive stone and hurled it at Arthur midair.

Arthur adjusted his posture—

Kicked off the top of the stone—

Vaulted behind him.

Without turning, Maliketh slammed the ground again.

Fragments exploded outward in a deadly radial wave.

Arthur was forced to disengage.

Maliketh grabbed more debris and flung it with blinding speed.

Arthur planted his sword into the floor.

A blue barrier formed, deflecting the barrage.

The assault continued.

Claws.

Stones.

Relentless pressure.

Arthur exhaled sharply.

"Enough."

He freed one hand.

The Death Staff appeared.

"Comet Azur."

A deep-blue torrent roared forward like a descending star.

It obliterated claw waves and shattered stone—

Slamming into Maliketh.

The Beast was engulfed.

Driven to the very edge of the hall—

Nearly cast into the open sky beyond.

He rose slowly.

His robes—already tattered—were now nothing more than hanging strips of cloth.

Arthur almost felt secondhand embarrassment.

Maliketh looked down at his left hand.

The stone seal embedded in the back of it glowed faintly red.

The prison of Destined Death.

He murmured:

"…O Death. Become my blade once more."

He drove his dagger into the seal.

Red-black energy tinged with gold surged across his body.

The rags vanished.

In their place—

Black-and-gold armor formed.

Magnificent.

Terrible.

The dagger transformed—

Expanding into a greatsword of black stone.

Red and black power coiled along its edge, flecked with golden sparks.

Destined Death.

At the guard—

A visible notch.

Arthur's eyes narrowed.

The Blasphemous Claw fragment likely came from there.

Maliketh threw back his head and roared.

Arthur couldn't resist.

"So the 'not yet' was just waiting for a wardrobe change?"

"And wasn't Destined Death originally the Gloam-Eyed Queen's? Since when did it become your sword?"

Maliketh did not answer.

He vanished upward—

Crashed down—

Blade descending.

Arthur Apparated away instantly.

The moment Maliketh landed, he plunged the Black Blade into the ground.

Half the temple floor disintegrated under the touch of Destined Death.

Arthur watched calmly.

Even unsealed—

Maliketh still loved smashing rocks.

Some habits never die.

Maliketh turned—

Slashed.

Dozens—

Hundreds—

Of red-black arcs twisted into a spiraling storm that tore toward Arthur.

Arthur did not panic.

He Apparated again—

Vanishing just before the storm consumed the space he had occupied.

The battle had only just begun.

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