Ainz staggered back, breathless—not because he needed air, but because something inside him was shifting.
Blood dripped from his side.
His HP was dropping.
Not from a direct hit.
But gradually.
Too gradually.
Suzuki Satoru: I haven't taken another hit… so why am I still losing health?
He checked his status. No debuff. No poison. No DOT effect.
And yet, he could feel it—his body, this form, was burning from within.
And at the same time…
His spells surged.
Faster. Sharper. Stronger.
Every cast came more naturally. Each invocation reverberated with deeper force. His mana was being consumed—but also intensified, like it was being refined.
He looked down at his hand.
Veins of crimson light pulsed faintly beneath the pale skin—power coiling where lifeblood should be.
This skin… no, this body… it's changing.
He tried to rationalize it.
It's just a cosmetic.
But memory stirred.
From long ago.
From a time before balance patches, before the meta locked in.
From the lore files of the "Bloodlord of Elegance" cosmetic set.
"The Bloodlord was no god, nor demon, but a noble born of forgotten sorcery. His body was beautiful and flawless—but at a price. He bled instead of aged. His strength grew with every drop he lost. A vessel of elegance… and erosion."
A minor flavor entry.
No stats. Just lore.
He had almost laughed when he read it years ago. "Tragic vampire prince—how edgy."
But now?
Now it felt real.
Too real.
His HP ticked down another sliver.
But he cast again—[Gravity Maelstrom].
This time it erupted far wider than it should have. Shalltear flinched under its pressure.
He didn't use Maximize Magic.
He didn't need to.
The spell amplified on its own.
Suzuki Satoru: The longer I fight… the weaker this body becomes. But the spells… they get stronger. It's a hidden mechanic. Lore-triggered scaling. Blood for power.
He clenched his fist.
There was no heartbeat. No warmth. No breath.
But something inside him was moving—awakening.
A pulse not of life, but of force.
Ainz raised his head.
Crimson eyes aglow. Blood on his robe. Mana thick in the air.
"I see now," he murmured, voice low. "This body… was never meant to endure. It was meant to destroy."
He opened his hand.
Magic surged like a second heartbeat.
"I am not just Ainz Ooal Gown."
He stepped forward.
"I am the Crimson Sovereign."
Now it is the climax.
*****************
The battlefield lay torn and trembling, cracked by overwhelming power. Smoke coiled through the air, clinging like ghostly tendrils. Ash and shattered magic drifted downward like cursed snowflakes.
Above the wreckage, Ainz Ooal Gown hovered in silence. His black robes fluttered in the war-born wind, stained faintly with blood. Below him, Shalltear and her Einherjar clone rose from the cratered earth. The clone moved first—silent, lifeless, but brimming with deadly intent. Shalltear followed, her steps graceful yet unnerving, eyes colder now, laughter buried beneath a dead calm.
"No more words?" she asked, her voice soft and unsettling. "Then let's finish this, Ainz-sama."
The clone lunged first, a red blur. Shalltear followed a beat later.
Ainz's fingers moved swiftly, precisely.
[Twin Maximize Magic: Abyssal Binding – Astral Severance]."
Chains of void erupted from the ground, ensnaring the clone mid-flight. A second spell followed, slicing across its form with surgical force.
Yet the clone endured. Trapped, but far from defeated.
It's adapting, Suzuki Satoru realized. This isn't just a copy. It's learning, adjusting. Becoming more lethal.
He blinked away just as Shalltear appeared before him, lance in hand. Her clone mirrored the motion, striking from below.
Two deadly vectors. One moment to act.
"[Shield of Obsidian Eclipse]."
A wall of shadow surged into place, catching both attacks. The barrier held—but not without strain. Cracks formed. A thin gash split across Ainz's cheek.
Blood.
Real.
Cold.
They're not getting stronger, he thought grimly. I'm getting weaker.
He cast again.
"[Dark Infernal Spear]."
The crimson-tinged spell surged from his hand, but something was different. As it formed, a new hue bled into it—deeper than blood, darker than shadow. A subtle aura—crimson and regal—clung to the casting.
That wasn't normal.
The spell struck harder than before, its impact shattering the terrain.
At the same time, he noticed his HP drop.
No enemy had touched him. No debuff lingered. But his life force was ebbing away.
The spell grew stronger… but it drained him.
A thin crimson shimmer still lingered on his fingers.
Was the skin enhancing his magic at the cost of vitality?
It wasn't just cosmetic anymore. It seemed the skin was gradually becoming one with him.
Despite the damage, his mana reserves remained remarkably stable.
Thanks to my current gear… he mused. Everything I'm wearing—robes, rings, accessories—they're optimized for mana regeneration and efficiency. My physical defense is nearly nonexistent, but I still have more than half my mana left.
He caught a sharp glance from Shalltear mid-fight. Her expression flickered.
Her eyes tracked the trail of blood on his jaw, then darted toward his status.
"Your HP… it's bleeding out," she murmured. This time her voice wasn't taunting—it was edged with disbelief. "Why? Ainz-sama… you're not healing…"
She took a wary step back.
"This isn't part of your usual strategy. What's happening to your body?"
Ainz remained silent.
Shalltear soared upward. Her blood aura thickened, but something shifted in her expression—not madness, but instinct. She could feel it: Ainz was changing.
Though still under the influence of the World Item, her combat senses screamed warning. She had no command over the emotions tangled in her heart—but her body moved on reflex, responding to the dangerous force that radiated from her master.
She began chanting.
One spell, then another. A cascade of magic surged around her—a blinding whirlwind of tiered enchantments.
"[Maximize Magic: Negative Burst]."
"[Triple Magic: Explosive Blood Spear – Curse Bind – Spear of Regret]."
Her attacks came faster. More refined. She pushed her build to the limit.
Ainz raised a hand in response.
"[Twin Maximize Magic: Reversal Chain – Void Pulse]."
The spells clashed mid-air, igniting the field in destructive chaos.
As the dust cleared, Shalltear floated back, breathing heavy—not from fatigue, but confusion.
"Your spells… they're stronger. Every time."
She looked at him with something twisted between fear and awe.
"Why is your power increasing while your body breaks down?"
Ainz didn't reply. He cast again.
"[Triplet Magic: Hellfire Lance – Astral Bind – Mana Crush]."
Again, his HP fell.
But the aura—the aura around the spell—it pulsed like a heartbeat.
Only… he had no heartbeat.
He looked down at his gloved hand, blood trailing from his palm. And yet, his casting had never been more fluid. More absolute.
The longer I fight, the more I give… the stronger the magic becomes, he thought.
But for how long can I sustain this?
The skin was no longer a skin. It had become something greater. A conduit.
And Ainz, the Crimson Sovereign, was beginning to understand: the price of divine power was not merely mana.
It was the essence of self.
My class was meant to represent death, he realized slowly, watching blood drip from his hand to the ruined ground below. Undeath. Emptiness. A vessel without breath.
But this power… this strange, crimson force… it's the opposite
He looked down at the red trailing from his arm.
Blood. Heat. Sacrifice.
This is the power of life itself.
He hovered there, robes torn, blood trailing in the air—and yet, more dangerous than ever.
Shalltear took a step back. Not because of fear, but because something deep in her instincts sounded an alarm.
And for the first time since the duel began—
She hesitated.
*************************
Shalltear's form blurred once more, vanishing into a streak of red light as her spear lunged forth. It wasn't wild or taunting—this time, her movements were precise. Methodical. She no longer underestimated him.
She couldn't afford to.
Ainz raised his hand again.
"[Twin Magic: Mirror Shell – Time Latch]."
A translucent barrier formed, fractalized like broken glass, absorbing the blow with a shudder. Her second strike was already mid-swing, but the [Time Latch] triggered. The spear's momentum froze midair.
He blinked.
Behind her now.
"[Triplet Magic: Gravity Well – Mana Sever – Null Field.]"
The battlefield ruptured under her feet, dragging her downward. A pulse of energy throbbed through her armor, cutting off passive mana restoration. The third spell erased low-tier enhancements around them.
Still, she did not fall.
Ainz exhaled—not from need, but reflex.
His mana bar ticked down again, but slower this time. His equipment did its work—his mana regen set sustained him through the casting, but his HP bar? Another sliver lost.
It didn't hurt, not in the usual sense. But something inside… dimmed.
This form is not meant for endurance, he thought again. But it adapts. The blood loss—it sharpens the blade. Each spell cuts deeper.
He remembered the line in the lore—not just "strength through loss," but elegance through erosion.
That part felt more relevant now than ever.
Shalltear began casting again. Not one spell—but four.
"[Maximize Magic: Life Leech Spear.]"
"[Twin Cast: Curse of the Abyss – Blood Thorns.]"
"[Chain Magic: Blood Frenzy – Mental Fog – Erasure Fang.]"
The spells layered like threads of crimson and violet, weaving toward him with flawless timing.
Ainz didn't dodge.
"[Arcane Breakpoint.]"
A spell shield surged—one he hadn't used in decades. It blocked the first, shattered on the second, and the third struck home—his shoulder ruptured. Red streaked down his arm.
The robe, fused now more than ever to his form, shimmered faintly.
Then—he felt it.
A stirring deep within.
Not pain. Not fatigue.
But a pull—from within the hollowness of his undead shell, where no heart beat and no warmth remained. Yet, something coiled there now. Something cold, not born of death, but shaped by it.
And through that cold…
Blood.
Blood that wasn't his. Blood that shouldn't be his. Blood that coursed silently through skin that had once been just cosmetic. A vessel of nobility, of ancient sorrow, now wrapping itself around him more tightly than any artifact ever had.
His fingers clenched.
And then, without command—
A word slipped from his lips.
"…Apocalypse."
He hadn't meant to say it.
No spell input. No cast phrase from Yggdrasil.
Just a word.
Cold. Crimson. Absolute.
The air ruptured.
A circle of runes spiraled beneath him—none from any known tier or classification. The ground didn't crack. It disintegrated. The clouds didn't part. They froze, turning a deep maroon before crumbling into dust.
From the center of the field, magic bloomed—not in light, but in silence.
A pressure swept out across the battlefield, one that made Shalltear recoil mid-charge, her instincts screeching even beneath the World Item's control. Even her clone halted, as if something primordial warned it not to move.
Above them, Ainz hovered, silent as the eye of the storm.
Not casting.
Becoming.
The magic wasn't from his spell list.
It was born from the cold blood threading through the Raizel-like flesh he wore.
Born from the perfect union of undeath… and life.
"'Apocalypse'..." Ainz murmured again, quieter this time, almost reverently. "Not an end… but a culmination."
He didn't know what the spell would do.
But in that moment, for the first time since he arrived in this world…
He felt alive, yet no warmness but cold.
Ainz hovered in the stillness after [Apocalypse], the world beneath him scorched to blackened glass. The wind had stopped. The sky hung torn. Magic residue fizzled and whispered across the air like dying embers.
And then—Movement.
A pulse of light flickered near Shalltear's body.
The crimson knight, broken and silent for too long, stirred.
From the ashes, she rose. Cracks laced her armor. Her cape had been incinerated. She swayed on her feet like a puppet with half-cut strings.
But she stood.
Ainz's eyes narrowed behind his mask.
A faint glow shimmered around her—the unmistakable signature of a resurrection effect. Not a spell. Not an aura. A triggered item.
And he recognized it instantly.
Suzuki Satoru: Oh. Of course.
He let out a long, quiet sigh and muttered under his breath,"…Really, Peroroncino? You gave her that one?"
He exhaled through gritted teeth.
"What happened to 'save rare loot for PvP finals'? But no, you had to give your waifu the ultra-rare emergency full-restore. Why not just wrap her in bubble wrap and call it a day?"
He groaned softly."At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if she pulls out a second one labeled 'In case of adorable death, break crystal.'"
A moment passed.
Then he shook his head—torn between annoyance and a strange, lingering fondness.
Suzuki Satoru: He really did love her. Right to the end of the server. Tch... you ridiculous, sentimental idiot.
Below, Shalltear slowly straightened herself.
The aura of the resurrection faded. Her stance sharpened, shoulders squared.
"You almost erased me," she said, voice rasping but clear. "That spell... it felt like the end."
She raised her cracked lance once more.
"I don't know what's happening to you, Ainz-sama. But even so… I will face you."
Ainz didn't speak. He raised his own hand in reply, crimson light coiling from his palm like a heartbeat of spellcraft.
The battle wasn't over.
And this time, it would be the last round.
*********************
Far beneath the Great Tomb of Nazarick, the dim light of the Hall of the Guardians flickered with nervous energy. At the center, the [Mirror of Remote Viewing] crackled violently—distorted by the unstable magical forces it struggled to transmit.
The Guardians had gathered in full.
Albedo stood front and center, eyes locked on the shifting image of the battlefield. Her usually composed expression was broken by disbelief."He's… bleeding?"
Aura gasped, clutching Mare's sleeve. "That's blood! That's Ainz-sama's blood!"
Mare trembled. "B-But he's undead… That's impossible! Isn't it?"
Cocytus's grip tightened around his halberd. "To see the Supreme One injured… It is… unthinkable."
"Wait—" Demiurge leaned forward, squinting. "No... look. His magic output—it's growing. With every cast."
On the screen, Ainz's next spell—[Apocalypse]—shattered the battlefield. The Guardians collectively stepped back as the magical feedback rattled through the chamber.
"He's getting stronger?" Sebas muttered, brow furrowed. "How is that possible when he's… dying?"
"He isn't dying," Pandora's Actor said, though his tone betrayed his own confusion. "He's… transforming. Becoming something else."
Then Shalltear used the resurrection item.
Albedo's breath hitched, her crimson eyes narrowing."A gift… from Peroroncino-sama," she whispered. Her voice trembled—not in anger, but in conflicted awe. "Even in absence, the Supreme Beings continue to protect us."
Her gaze stayed fixed on Ainz's form in the mirror, blood trailing from his robes, power surging from his hands.
"If it weren't for that relic… she might have fallen."
Pandora's Actor rubbed his chin. "None of us knew he was using a different form… We assumed this was a new evolution. Some divine phase. An ascension."
"Could it be…?" Demiurge murmured, recalling the regal elegance of Ainz's Raizel-like visage. "What if this is an evolution? Not a system-based change—but a mythic one? Triggered by choice, lore, and legacy?"
Mare blinked. "Y-You mean Ainz-sama is… rewriting the rules?"
"Ainz-sama always walks a path beyond our understanding," Cocytus rumbled.
Albedo's voice was soft now, reverent. "Even when wounded… even when bleeding… his power grows. That pain... must be the cost of divinity."
As the mirror showed Ainz raising his hand once more, magic swirling around him in crimson tides, a hush fell over the chamber.
None of the Guardians looked away.
None of them doubted.
Whatever he had become…
They would follow him to the end.