The Sky Over Musutafu Stadium was no longer blue.
Where once stood a grand arena of sport, now only devastation remained. The winds howled like ghosts, carrying ash and the tang of scorched earth across the ruined cityscape. At the center of it all, a massive sphere of wreckage—hundreds of tons of twisted debris, reinforced steel, and fractured concrete—floated unnaturally in mid-air, bound by Enrai's gravity magic.
Lightning crackled in the crimson sky above.
And within that orb, half-crushed and snarling, was Apocalypse—its body pierced and mangled by wreckage, limbs broken, still trying to thrash free.
Floating calmly beneath the swirling mass, General Radahn, known in this world as Enrai, hovered with one arm raised. In his hand, he held a weapon few had ever laid eyes on—a legendary relic from the Lands Between:
The Bolt of Gransax.
A spear forged from a divine draconic bolt that had once wounded a god itself. Its use was dangerous. It could sunder mountains and split skies—but this world, this fragile, whimpering Earth, was not the Lands Between. It would not survive a full release of its wrath.
"Just enough-" Radahn murmured to himself, eyes locked on the sphere. "Anything more… would tear this world in half."
He raised the spear skyward.
A crimson bolt of divine lightning screamed down from the heavens, striking the Bolt of Gransax in a thunderous flash that cracked the sky like glass. The spear hummed with ancient power. Lightning crawled over its gilded frame.
Radahn's grip tightened. Then, with a slow exhale, he hurled it.
The bolt screamed upward like a falling star in reverse, piercing the air with a sonic boom. A heartbeat later—
BOOOOOOOOOOM!!!
The impact was like a nuclear detonation.
A crimson sun burst in the heavens, blotting out the light. A hemisphere of pure annihilation expanded across the stadium's remains, vaporizing everything in a 800-meter radius. Buildings disintegrated. Roads melted. Trees were incinerated to shadow-scorched stumps. What wasn't already evacuated… ceased to exist.
Even from miles away, people ducked, shielded their eyes, and looked up in horror.
At the epicentre: a crater, 300 meters wide, 3 meters deep, still steaming from residual energy. Its edges shimmered with purple static and red arcs of lightning. It looked less like a battlefield and more like a wound in the very earth.
Radahn slowly descended to the crater's edge. Smoke coiled around him like serpents. His expression was unreadable.
His eyes narrowed.
In the center of the crater, amidst melted rebar and shattered earth, something moved.
The blackened, skeletal frame of Apocalypse twitched.
Its chest heaved.
It stood.
Skin half gone. Bones exposed. Flesh torn. And yet… alive.
But something had changed.
Its previously fully crimson eyes were now warped—black sclera with a glowing, cold-blue pupil. Energy surged around it, its body overloading, arcs of unstable power coursing over its frame.
Radahn's eyes widened slightly.
"That attack… should have annihilated you."
Suddenly—
ZRAAAAAAAAM!
Apocalypse fired a beam of condensed glintstone energy, but it shimmered with crimson draconic lightning—a mockery of Radahn's own divine powers. The fusion of ancient Elden magic and twisted science lit up the sky.
Radahn dodged to the left—but froze.
His body was held in place by a purple aura—not his own.
It was Apocalypse's.
Radahn growled. "You've… copied my magic?"
Apocalypse Couldn't copy Elden magic just with his quirks due to different world laws but because of the glinstone fragments fusion in his brain , he somewhat understood the magic Circuits and he had another quirk: energy absorption.
It clicked.
Apocalypse had absorbed not just quirks, but traces of Elden magic circuits.
Though imperfect… it had learned. Copied. Adapted.
But at a cost.
The creature's unstable body shivered violently, cracks of raw energy leaking from within. Its own power was destroying it.
"A few minutes-" Radahn muttered. "That's all you have before your body tears itself apart."
Another beam screamed toward him—this one struck his veil, the magical cloak disguising his true form. It rippled… and cracked.
Radahn grunted.
The magic faltered.
His skin, once the marbled jade-white of Radagon, now darkened into a bronzed tan. His height surged to 7'4", muscles expanding, frame widening, his true might beginning to show.
His disguise was ending.
"I won't have this form for long…"
Apocalypse roared and unleashed multiple beams from its mouth and eye sockets, all brimming with twisted energy. A kaleidoscope of death.
Radahn vanished in a blink—teleporting behind Apocalypse.
He landed behind the abomination, gripped its head, and shoved it forward—using its own body as a plug. The blasts discharged within, unable to escape. The result—
An internal explosion.
Its jaw, throat, and chest erupted—but already the healing began.
Even Radahn took a step back. "…Impressive."
He looked at the charred frame.
"You've earned it."
He opened his inventory.
"Since my arrival in this world-" he said solemnly,
"you are the only one to survive this long. I recognize your strength."
He reached in—and pulled out one of his two colossal Greatswords.
The Starscourge Greatsword.
Black, metallic, and massive—etched with runes that shimmered like starlight. The earth itself trembled as he held it. Dust rose. Gravity warped. His golden eyes ignited.
Apocalypse watched.
And—nodded.
A warrior's acknowledgment.
A final clash.
They launched at each other.
Radahn struck first.
His blade, swung with planetary force, tore through Apocalypse's abdomen, a blow meant to split Gods.
Apocalypse, in response, unleashed its final reserves—a dark blue detonation with purple hue, all its quirks, energy, and stolen magic compacted into one suicidal release.
The explosion rivalled the Bolt of Gransax.
Light consumed the field.
Even from distant cities, people saw the flash.
When it cleared—
Silence.
Only ash drifted through the wind.
Apocalypse now lay in a husk-like form—skeletal, its limbs withered, torso shattered, eyes gone. Its once hulking body now reduced to brittle remains.
But it still lived.
Barely.
It turned its crumbling skull toward Radahn.
And, in a rasp barely louder than the wind—
"...i-it was… an honour… to fight you… G-General Radahn… the Conqueror of Stars…"
Radahn stood over it, massive, golden-eyed, unmoved.
For a moment—he said nothing.
Then:
"Likewise. You fought like a beast, but died like a warrior. I will remember this."
A gust blew past.
Apocalypse, now turning to dust, uttered its final plea:
"Please… save this world… G-General…"
Its body crumbled. Ash carried it away.
Only Radahn remained.
And he did not speak.
But deep in that hollow space where gods feel—he understood the weight of the promise as he too came from a worn-torn world.
Now , he knew his purpose of coming in this world to fulfil what he couldn't in his world.