The battlefield quaked as if the very earth itself recoiled from the duel unfolding at its heart. Every clash between Hiroko, the Shadow King, and Ymir, the Giant of Iron, sent shockwaves that tore through the soil and split the sky. To the soldiers, shinobi, and beasts locked in combat across the plain, it no longer seemed like two men fighting—it was a god and a titan, locked in a contest that would decide the fate of the field.
"Whatever happens," shouted a Jōnin, his voice cracking as he tried to steady the younger shinobi around him, "do not go near them! You'll be crushed by the pressure alone!"
The warning was unnecessary. None dared approach. Even from a distance, the sheer force radiating from the combatants made their lungs feel like they were being compressed, their bones rattling from the resonance of power.
The other warriors focused on their immediate battles, but their eyes kept being drawn—helplessly, inevitably—to the storm at the battlefield's center. Every time Hiroko's shadows tore across the ground, and every time Ymir's iron blade ripped through the air, the clash pulled their attention like gravity.
The war had already been brutal, but once those two entered the fray, it descended into true carnage. Beast and man alike struggled to hold their ground. It wasn't just a fight anymore—it was calamity incarnate.
Yet amidst the chaos, sparks of hope flared. For the soldiers of Hiroko's side, seeing their leader unleash his full might inspired them to fight harder. "If even he risks everything," one shinobi whispered as he tightened his grip on his blade, "then I have no excuse to falter." That quiet spark spread like wildfire. Men and women screamed their war cries, rushing into combat with renewed ferocity.
But inspiration came with tragedy. A few of the most reckless—ninja eager to aid Hiroko—dashed toward his duel with Ymir, only to be shredded into crimson mist. They hadn't even touched the combatants. They had simply been too close to the hurricane of force generated by Ymir's strikes and the oppressive waves of shadow chakra that radiated from Hiroko. Their sacrifice was a grim reminder: this was a battlefield far beyond mortal reach.
The Shadow King's Trump Card
Hiroko's eyes burned like obsidian fire as he realized Ymir would not fall easily. For all his speed, clones, and elemental mastery, the Giant of Iron adapted to his tactics with frightening precision. Each exchange left Hiroko more convinced—this opponent was not to be underestimated.
Very well. Then he would show him the power that set the Shadow King apart from all others.
"Witness it," Hiroko growled, his voice echoing with the weight of his clan's legacy. "The Shadow King's Domain!"
Darkness erupted outward in a tidal wave, swallowing the battlefield's center. What had been open plains was now an ocean of blackness, a circle of shadow stretching farther than the eye could see. From the outside, it appeared like a great blot of night painted onto the world. From within, only Hiroko and Ymir remained visible, locked together in a private arena forged of shadow.
The air inside thickened. Energy surged unnaturally, pressing against every being caught within its radius. The domain cut off all outside interference; reinforcements, no matter how powerful, could not intrude. Here, Hiroko was sovereign. His strength, speed, and durability expanded beyond natural limits, and the shadows themselves bent to his will.
Spectators could only stand at the edges of the darkness, powerless to intervene.
And then, as if mocking their helplessness, three figures slammed into the battlefield with the impact of falling meteors. Vulkan, Shiro, and Kirishima landed amidst the chaos, their arrival shaking the already fractured ground.
"Tch," Vulkan spat, glaring at Ymir's titanic frame. "You're one tough bastard, aren't ya? Good. I'll enjoy beating you into scrap."
Shiro and Kirishima, however, wasted no time trading words. Without so much as a glance, they charged toward Cyclone and Inazuma, the two beast lords that still raged across the battlefield.
Cyclone unleashed a volley of ice spears, while Inazuma hurled bolts of pure thunder. Their attacks merged midair, fusing into a storm of crackling frost and lightning—a fusion technique that shook even Ymir's ancient instincts. He spared a single glance toward it, eyes narrowing.
It was only half a second. Yet Hiroko noticed.
And that half-second was enough to ignite the Shadow King's fury.
"You dare ignore me?!" His voice thundered across the battlefield, reverberating within the domain itself. "Very well. You leave me no choice but to crush you completely!"
Shadows erupted around him, darker and heavier than before. His chakra thickened until it seemed to stain the very air. Strange red motes danced in the gloom, painting the darkness with a faint bloody glow.
Hiroko Ascends
The Shadow King's form warped. His armor thickened into jagged plates of void-black metal. Veins of crimson pulsed beneath the surface, as though his very body was stitched together with blood and night. His silhouette elongated, wings of shadow flickering at his back, his presence echoing the terrible beauty of a fallen angel.
The battlefield trembled.
And then he was gone.
In a blur of motion faster than lightning, Hiroko vanished, reappearing behind Ymir. His blade struck like a storm of black meteors, each slash carving rifts of shadow across the air. He teleported relentlessly, striking from every direction, hurling waves of fire, frost, and lightning between his cuts, while gravity seals crushed the ground beneath Ymir's feet.
It was overwhelming. Most men would have crumbled under the first wave.
But Ymir only smiled.
The Giant of Iron weathered the storm, his armor ringing beneath the barrage, his body staggered but unbroken. His golden eyes glowed brighter, not dimmer. He had trained in darkness, fought in caverns where light never reached, hunted foes whose movements were hidden by fog and silence. This was not unfamiliar.
Ymir closed his eyes, letting instinct rule. He felt the faintest shifts in the air. The subtle intake of breath before Hiroko struck. The displacement of wind as shadows flickered. The pull of gravity before a talisman snapped.
His sword rose—not in panic, but in certainty.
Steel clashed against shadow, sparks igniting in the dark.
The Giant's Counter
Ymir exhaled slowly, then whispered an incantation. His steps became lighter, faster—unnatural for a being his size.
[Shadowless Heaven-Shattering Demon Footwork]
The air bent around him. His massive form moved with impossible grace, his steps erasing his presence from the battlefield. For a moment, it seemed as if the giant cast no shadow at all, as if even the domain itself struggled to contain him.
When Hiroko struck again, Ymir's blade met his own. The shockwave shattered the ground, sending fissures racing outward. Cracks spiderwebbed across the edges of the domain.
Hiroko staggered back, eyes wide beneath his helm. The giant had grown faster. Not only faster, but predictive—meeting blows that should have been impossible to track.
A slow grin spread across Hiroko's face. "Good… that's more like it. Do not back down, monster. I haven't had my fill yet."
Their weapons clashed again, harder, faster, louder. The domain quivered under the force, as if on the verge of collapse. Each strike became a drumbeat of destruction, each exchange a hymn of violence sung to the heavens.
The duel had transcended battle. It was no longer a fight between shinobi and giant—it was a storm, an apocalypse, a story carved into the bones of the world.
And as the two titans roared, the armies watching from the fringes felt their courage ignite once more.
If gods and titans could bleed, then so could they.
And so the war raged on.