Beelzebub staggered upright, his body a ruin of blood and broken flesh. His chest heaved, each breath rattling like a furnace, and his eyes burned with a fury that seemed to ignite the air around him. His voice was low, guttural, dripping with menace.
"You believe you could kill me… you forget yourself, Azazel."
The words were not shouted but hissed, venomous, like a curse. His body began to twist and swell, bones cracking audibly as his frame expanded. Azazel's gaze remained fixed, unflinching, though his jaw tightened at the grotesque metamorphosis unfolding before him.
From Beelzebub's back sprouted wings — not angelic, but the translucent, twitching wings of a fly, buzzing with a sickening hum. His skin blackened, becoming leathery and slick, glistening like tar under the dim light. His eyes split into compound facets, glowing red, each one reflecting Azazel's form in fractured distortion. Dozens of hair-like protrusions erupted across his body, writhing as if alive.
The transformation was hideous, a mockery of flesh. When it was complete, Beelzebub towered fifteen feet tall, a grotesque titan of decay. He let out a roar that shook the battlefield, a sound that was less a scream than a swarm's collective shriek.
"Do you still believe you have a chance, Azazel?" His voice was rough, jagged, like stone grinding against stone.
Azazel did not answer. His silence was colder than any insult. He charged, blade raised, his movements sharp and deliberate. Beelzebub swung one massive arm, muscles bulging grotesquely. Azazel slipped aside, his blade flashing, severing the limb cleanly.
But the victory was hollow. The detached arm dissolved into a writhing swarm of flies, black clouds that buzzed and shrieked as they filled the air. Azazel's face twisted in disgust, his composure cracking for the first time. He pressed forward, but the stench of rot and the crawling tide of insects clung to him.
"You are in over your head, angel!" Beelzebub roared, his voice venomous, retched, echoing like a plague.
Azazel leapt high, descending with a slash that split Beelzebub's torso. The wound gaped, but instead of blood, a torrent of flies poured forth, engulfing Azazel. The swarm wrapped around him, biting, clawing, draining his strength, and hurled him back.
Azazel's voice was muffled within the storm. "Sword Art Magic — Slash Parade!"
His blade blurred, cutting with impossible speed. Each swing shredded swathes of insects, sparks of steel flashing in the dark cloud. The swarm fell apart under his relentless precision, until the air cleared and Azazel staggered, nearly collapsing. He planted his sword into the ground, using it to steady himself.
Beelzebub's laughter was guttural, triumphant. "Watch yourself. You may have tons of magic, but losing that much to my flies… it leaves you lightheaded, weak." His body reformed, the gaping wound sealing, flesh knitting back together as if mocking Azazel's effort.
Azazel smirked faintly, though his eyes betrayed exhaustion. "The being who devours his opponents' magic… the gluttonous Beelzebub, Lord of Flies."
Beelzebub sneered. "I thought you said you would not give me any further conversation."
Azazel's voice was low, bitter. "It seems I am too alike with Lucifer. Pride makes me overestimate my own power."
"Unlike Lucifer," Beelzebub spat, "you lack the strength to back your pride."
Azazel's wings unfurled — colossal, dark, feathers dripping shadow. His aura surged, oppressive, suffocating. "See, here is where you misunderstand me. I never said I cannot beat you. I meant only that now… I will start trying."
The two titans charged, the ground trembling beneath their clash.
Meanwhile, elsewhere on the battlefield, Eddard's body convulsed violently. He threw Belphegor aside, but his own form betrayed him. His cries of pain tore through the air, mingled with the sickening sounds of bones snapping, muscles tearing, and organs twisting. His anatomy was being rewritten.
Belphegor slid back, his expression shifting from arrogance to horror. Not fear for himself, but genuine horror at what he was witnessing.
His magic is dropping drastically. He'll die at this rate. What in the seven hells is happening here? Belphegor thought, his eyes wide.
Brown fur sprouted across Eddard's body, spreading like wildfire. His jaw cracked, contorting outward until a snout formed. His cries devolved into snarls, guttural growls that reverberated like thunder. His frame expanded, muscles bulging, bones stretching.
At last, Eddard was gone. In his place stood a beast — a Lycan, seven feet tall, its eyes burning with primal rage.
The creature rose slowly, its growl low, rumbling like an earthquake. Belphegor steadied himself, sweat dripping down his temple. The beast roared, a sound that shook the marrow of bones, and charged.
Running on all fours, its speed was monstrous. It pounced, colliding with Belphegor. The prince braced, pushing back, but their strength was equal. The beast seized him, hurling him aside like a ragdoll.
Before Belphegor could recover, the Lycan leapt, sinking its fangs into his arm. Flesh tore, blood sprayed. Belphegor screamed, hammering blows into the beast's skull, each strike cracking bone. The Lycan clawed at his ribcage, ripping flesh, exposing bone.
Belphegor's grunts grew desperate. He hammered again and again until the beast released his arm, stunned. Seizing the moment, Belphegor flipped the monster, pinning it, and unleashed a barrage of strikes.
His heart raced. His breath came ragged. What is this feeling? Why is my heart beating so fast? Why do I feel jittery? Is this… fear? Am I fearing for my life?
He roared, hammering blows, until the beast caught his arms. Their eyes locked. Belphegor saw not a sentient creature, but raw, untainted fury — a force of nature.
"You shouldn't be allowed to continue," Belphegor growled, struggling.
The Lycan pulled him close, sinking its teeth into his shoulder. Belphegor screamed, thrashing. He freed one hand, clawing at the beast's face, tearing flesh. Blood poured, but the monster did not relent.
Belphegor hammered its skull, each strike desperate, until the beast faltered. He tore free, staggering back, creating distance.
His chest heaved, blood dripping from wounds. "What the hell is this thing?" he muttered, barely upright.
The Lycan rose again, shaking its head, snarling, growling, its eyes glowing with feral hatred.
Belphegor's voice was low, trembling with rage. "To think a monster like you exists. How despicable of the world to birth such a creature."
The beast roared, charging. Belphegor roared back, his body trembling with adrenaline, and they collided once more, fury against fury.