Doom Slayer stood still, silent.
He hesitated—not in fear, but in readiness. A final breath. A moment to tighten every muscle, brace every nerve. The real battle was about to begin.
And then—
Everything shook.
The battlefield groaned and cracked as if the very world rejected what was rising. Stone ruptured. Fault lines split across the land. The entire terrain fractured into massive floating isles, torn from the crust and suspended in the air like drifting tombstones. They weren't falling. They were rising—lifted, one by one, by a single motion of UltSans' finger.
There was no lava anymore. No floor. Only jagged, drifting landmasses floating in endless space—platforms Doom Slayer could leap across, just enough to dodge, move, and close the distance.
Then came the first strike.
A titanic rainbow beam, wide as a canyon and brighter than the sun, exploded from UltSans' right hand, carving through the sky and annihilating half the floating terrain. Doom Slayer watched closely—UltSans wasn't aiming to hit him directly. He was erasing everything unnecessary.
He was editing the battlefield.
Purging the clutter.
Leaving only what Doom Slayer needed to move.
What he deserved to move on.
For a while, there was quiet. No motion. No threats.
But Doom Slayer didn't relax.
Because he felt it before it started.
The storm.
It came instantly.
A wave of white-hot bones shot out from every angle—followed by swarms of blasters, glowing and humming with pressure, firing in erratic, overlapping pulses. Flames coiled in behind them. Chaos erupted.
Doom Slayer didn't flinch.
He raised the BFG-9000.
One shot.
BOOM.
A green blast vaporized everything in its path—bones, blasters, even pieces of the floating terrain caught in the edge of the wave. The impact cleared a straight line through the chaos, but UltSans was still distant, unmoved.
Doom Slayer dashed forward—again, and again, and again. High-speed bursts of motion across floating platforms, leaping gaps, shoulder-sliding under incoming beams. But no matter how fast he moved, it felt like he wasn't closing the gap.
Still—he pressed on.
Bones burst from below. He shot them out of the air. Blasters locked onto his position—he sidestepped, fired rockets in return. Fire spiraled toward him—he dashed through, narrowly escaping the burn.
Every attack had rhythm.Every rhythm had a pattern.
Doom Slayer was learning it all in real-time.
Each dash, each shot, each movement was coordinated. Not just survival—domination. He moved through the madness with purpose, carving a path of resistance through overwhelming firepower.
UltSans kept attacking—Bones.Blasters.Fire and flames.Occasional rainbow beams, fired slowly and only from the right hand or mouth.
But it was all the same.
No escalation.
Doom Slayer analyzed him mid-battle—UltSans was massive, but slow. Powerful, but predictable. His form had ascended, but his attacks… hadn't. And Doom Slayer was already adapting.
Each time UltSans readied a beam, Doom Slayer saw it before it happened. The shift of the hand. The tilt of the head. The way the flames in his wings dimmed for just a moment.
That was all he needed.
He began to tear through everything.
Heavy guns roared—Rocket Launcher blasts shattered incoming bone waves. The Heavy Cannon's precision shots dropped distant blasters before they could even lock on. The Chaingun's rotating shield deployed, blocking flame bursts and bone salvos as Doom Slayer advanced.
The Plasma Rifle wasn't just for offense—he used its energy shield like a mobile barrier, absorbing smaller hits while pushing forward under constant pressure.
When the blasters closed in, Doom Slayer pulled the Unmaykr.Beams of searing red cut through rows of projectiles.Bones shattered mid-flight.
Flames? Dodged.
Gaps in the terrain? Jumped.
Every movement now was optimized—hardmode rhythm, no wasted motion.
He switched to the Ballista—fired into the air, clearing multiple waves of projectiles above.
Then the Combat Shotgun—used not just for fodder, but to blast through bones in tight quarters, clearing narrow platforms during close-call jumps.
The fight wasn't about dealing damage—because Doom Slayer couldn't yet hurt UltSans.
But he could survive.
And he did it perfectly.
He dodged when he had to.Shot when it counted.Countered the bones with raw firepower.Evaded the flames like dancing through a pattern he'd memorized.Blocked what needed blocking, parried with fire.
He moved like a machine—but one running too hot.Every shot he fired. Every dodge. Every breath.Measured. Brutal. Unstoppable.
UltSans was far beyond powerful. But in this form, he had become something different.
Not a god.
A fortress.
And Doom Slayer had already breached the walls.
The battle dragged on.
Wave after wave. Bones shattered. Blasters fell. Firestorms dodged. Platforms cracked under Doom Slayer's boots as he tore through the chaos with relentless precision.
But something changed.
Subtle. At first.
Far across the broken sky, UltSans began to sweat—or so it seemed. Thin, glistening droplets rolled down his skeletal frame… until they didn't. The shine grew. The texture changed.
He wasn't sweating.
He was melting.
Slowly, subtly, his body was destabilizing under its own power, raw magical pressure liquefying the edges of his form. His skull glowed faintly at the seams. Magic leaked from his eye sockets like colored smoke.
Doom Slayer noticed—but didn't stop. He kept fighting. Kept firing.
Repetitive. Tactical. Efficient.
Until it wasn't.
A shift.
Doom Slayer spotted it—UltSans' right hand moved again. Instinct took over. He dashed—expecting the telltale build-up to another rainbow beam.
But the shot never came.
Instead, the hand snapped sideways—too fast, too sharp. And space itself bent, as if reality was shoved out of alignment.
The sky glitched.
The platforms lagged.
The air split open with a visual crack, like a screen tearing down the middle.
Then came the malfunction.
All of Doom Slayer's weapons—all of them—flickered. Sparks erupted from the Chaingun. The Ballista warped in his hands then vanished. The BFG sputtered mid-reload and dissolved in static. Even the Unmaykr shorted out with a corrupted flash.
His entire arsenal was gone.
Doom Slayer stood still, fists clenched.
Only one weapon remained.
The Doomblade.
But it wasn't just a sword anymore—it was a risk. A gamble. Every strike had to matter. He didn't know how this phase worked. Not fully. Not yet.
And now, the true chaos began.
UltSans' right hand lowered. His pupils pulsed with a blinding intensity—rainbow light blooming from their depths like stars exploding in slow motion. The air followed their movement. Light twisted. Shadows spun. Everything now bent to the rhythm of his gaze.
Then the attacks came.
Faster. Crueler. Alien.
Bones erupted in waves—white, blue, orange. Doom Slayer reacted too late. A blue bone swept across a platform just as he landed—he dodged mid-air, narrowly avoiding it. An orange bone followed, jabbing forward. He almost froze—but caught the trap: stand still and get hit. Move and the blue would catch him.
This wasn't an attack.
This was a rule set.
And he didn't know the rules.
He jumped, ducked, dived.Blue bone. Dash.Orange bone. Delay.White bone—block with the blade.
The patterns blurred.
The Blasters returned—but they weren't the same. No longer stationary. They flew at high speeds, darting in and out of view. They shot massive rainbow beams that cracked the platforms apart—and they bit.
One slammed into him, jaw unhinging—teeth like shimmering crystal. It snapped down hard. Doom Slayer spun with it, carving the Doomblade upward. He severed the blaster's jaw in mid-air, but it still pushed, trying to carry him, slam him into other attacks.
He cut it loose.
Another tackled him from behind. He rolled forward—only to find flames rising beneath him, summoned from nothing. They danced violently, unpredictable, sliding across platforms, changing direction mid-movement.
There was no warning.
There was no pattern.
Doom Slayer's boots scorched on contact as he barely cleared a pillar of fire. Another wave of bones swept overhead, blue and orange layered like razorwire. A fireball came screaming from the side, then exploded into dozens of smaller ones, blanketing his path in a wall of death.
Still—he moved.
Every reaction was pure instinct now. Tactical memory rewired in real-time.
Bones— shot down with pinpoint Doomblade throws.Blasters— parried, dodged, dismantled with brutal efficiency.Fireballs— dashed through, over, under, or tanked and countered.
Every move was a warzone equation. Every decision had to be perfect.
But the chaos wasn't just outside.
Inside, Doom Slayer's vision was failing.
The red haze of Determination burned brighter. His optics glitched, bleeding color distortion. The glow of UltSans' rainbow pupils infected his HUD. Pings failed. Readouts vanished. The only thing still functioning—his rage.
He couldn't see UltSans' aura anymore.
It was too big.
He couldn't track the soul.
Because there wasn't one.
There were billions.
And they drowned out every input, every sensor, every targeting system.
All he could do was fight.
He didn't know how UltSans' magic worked.He didn't know what would come next.He didn't know what could kill him.
But he knew one thing:
None of this would stop him.