Kingdom Hearts: Consumed by Darkness

The scorched battlefield trembled with lingering heat. Charred craters littered the ridge as dark mist drifted from the fallen bodies of dozens of Heartless. At the center, Sephiroth stood amid the devastation, Masamune in hand, blade angled downward. Not a speck of blood marked his silver hair or black coat. Only the gentle hum of tension lingered in the air.

Behind him, the battered hulk of Cerberus lay collapsed—a mound of black fur and muscle, each of its three heads unconscious, jaws slack and steaming. Its demonic breath no longer scorched the air. Sephiroth hadn't even drawn a sweat.

That's when the space ahead shimmered. Like ripples over obsidian glass, a distortion opened midair—blue flame crackling out as Hades strolled into view.

"Yoo-hoo! Tall, dark, and terminally broody!"

Sephiroth didn't react. He remained still, blade low but ready.

"Seen my adorable three-headed puppy?" Hades asked with mock concern, clasping his hands theatrically over his chest. "Giant, fluffy, breathes fire, hates doorbells? Been with me since he was a pup."

Sephiroth's gaze remained cold. "You mean the beast I just left broken and twitching in the dirt? Yes. I saw it."

"Oooooh!" Hades recoiled dramatically. "My stars and scars, you monster! My sweet, tiny death-hound? Say it ain't so!"

He doubled over laughing, hands on his knees. "Nah, don't worry. Cerby's tougher than he looks. Give him five minutes and a sniff of brimstone, and he'll be back on all fours, wagging that tail and ready to chew through some stylish boots."

Sephiroth raised his blade slowly. "Then I'll kill it again."

Hades wiped a tear from his eye. "Oh, wow. I love the confidence. You and Angsty McSilent Type always did have that moody charm. But listen, big guy, between you and me?" He leaned forward, grinning. "I ain't about to throw hands with you. Me? The talent? You're a walking blender with a superiority complex."

He clicked his fingers.

Black smoke hissed into the air behind him—and from it stepped figures. Eight of them.

Eight Sephiroths.

Each one forged from shadows and darkness, their yellow eyes glowing with malevolent clarity. Their movements mirrored the original. Long black inky hair. Black coats. Masamune-like blades. Identical fighting stances. Perfect reflections.

"Well, would you look at that?" Hades said with a smirk, stepping aside. "It's like looking into a funhouse mirror, huh? Except these ones don't do the whole brooding poet act."

The Shadow Sephiroths surged forward in synchronized silence.

Hades waved. "Have fun, Slicey McSlicerson! Try not to die too quick—I got bets riding on Round Three!"

Then he vanished in a puff of smoke.

The first shadow struck fast, blade flashing for Sephiroth's throat. He twisted his body sideways with inhuman grace, letting the steel pass inches from his skin—and countered. His blade shot out like lightning, impaling the shadow clean through the chest.

It dissolved into mist. But another came.

And another.

Three shadows descended from above, swords slamming downward like guillotines. Sephiroth vanished, teleporting in a flicker of black feathers behind them. His blade moved once—just once—and two shadows fell in pieces, their forms dissipating into dark smoke.

But they reformed.

As quickly as they were cut down, they reappeared—reshaped by darkness, renewed in malice.

"So," Sephiroth muttered. "That's how it is."

A fourth came from behind—he didn't turn. Masamune extended behind him like a whisper. The strike was effortless.

Five more attacked simultaneously—synchronized strikes from all angles. Masamune's steel became a blur, clashing, parrying, reversing, slicing. The ridge echoed with the sound of clashing blades and void shrieks.

Sephiroth didn't stop moving.

He glided through the battlefield like a wraith, teleporting inches at a time, never rooted to one place. His coat trailed shadows, and his feet barely touched the ground.

"Shadow Flares."

He extended his free hand and unleashed a volley of swirling dark orbs that chased the shadows across the ridge. Explosions of dark flares illuminated the battlefield. The earth cracked under their force.

But the shadows persisted.

They moved like him.

They were him.

One ducked under a slash and used dark Firaga Wall—gargantuan black flame pillars burst from the ground. Another fired Shadow Flares. A third launched skyward and came down with a downward stab so fierce it cracked the stone.

Each time he killed one, another replaced it.

But Sephiroth never lost ground.

He danced.

One slash, then vanish. Reappear mid-air, cut two in half, drop to the ground, reverse step, spin strike. When three lunged together, he drove Masamune into the ground—channeling darkness—and a tremor exploded outward, blasting them away.

He stood in the eye of chaos, utterly composed.

When another tried to strike from behind, he pivoted mid-flip and bisected it with a reverse grip slash—his movement too fluid to follow.

"They think they're me," he murmured, eyes narrowing. "But they lack…"

Another teleport.

"Purpose."

With a casual flick, he launched another Firaga Wall—not defensively, but to cut off the regrouping shadows. He sent Shadow Flares in a wide arc, forcing them apart.

Two flanked again. These were better. More coordinated. But still predictable.

Masamune parried both blades simultaneously, and Sephiroth kicked one hard enough to send it flying into the canyon wall.

It exploded.

But reformed.

"Enough of this."

He slammed Masamune into the earth again, then leapt high into the air. Dozens of meters. He floated mid-air, silver hair catching the wind.

A whisper.

"Super Nova."

He raised his hand, and above him, space shimmered.

Dozens of spinning orbs—miniature stars—manifested in a wide orbit around his form, spiraling chaotically, radiating malevolent energy. Then, in an instant, they descended—meteors falling like divine punishment.

The ridge exploded in fire and pressure.

Dust choked the sky. The mountain trembled.

As the dust cleared, the terrain was changed. Scorched black and cratered.

One by one, the shadows reformed—but slower this time. Flickering. Weakening.

Sephiroth hovered above them like a dark god.

They looked up in silence.

And charged one last time.

He smiled.