In the dim twilight, the sands of Luluhawa Island bore the heavy marks of battle—now stained with blood, now scattered with shards of newly forged glass. Each imprint told a tale of the one-sided combat that unfolded relentlessly between Tōga, the Dragon Slayer, and Blackbeard, a pirate transformed by dark magic into a force of nearly insurmountable strength. Tōga, who had once held his own in countless skirmishes, found himself reduced nearly to a plaything at the hands of his adversary, each of his blows seeming to barely graze Blackbeard, while each counterstrike he suffered felt as if the weight of an entire town—no, a mountain—crashed down upon him.

As the battle wore on, it devolved into something far grimmer than a mere contest of strength; it became a harrowing ordeal of survival. Tōga's every effort to gain the upper hand was effortlessly thwarted by Blackbeard, whose power seemed boundless, fed by a sinister, age-accelerating magic. The disparity between them grew with each passing moment, widening the gulf that separated predator from prey.

Exhaustion clung to Tōga like a second skin, his mana draining rapidly into the ravenous sands that drank his vitality eagerly. The brutal realization that continued aggression—or even passive endurance—would only hasten his demise weighed heavily upon his spirit. Yet, amid the looming shadow of defeat, a stubborn spark of resolve flickered still within him. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Tōga pushed his battered body upright, his left arm hanging uselessly by his side, dislocated in the fervor of combat.

Across the makeshift arena, Blackbeard stood watching, his countenance eerily devoid of emotion. The accelerated aging wrought by his forbidden magic had stripped away not just his youth but seemingly any semblance of human feeling. His eyes, once vibrant with malice or triumph, now mirrored the void of his soul—an abyss from which no compassion could escape.

Tōga, steadying himself against the merciless wind that whipped across the battlefield, knew that his next move might well be his last. The night air, thick with the tang of salt and iron, seemed to press against him with the weight of impending finality. Yet, in this dire moment, the essence of who he was—a fighter, a protector, a Dragon Slayer—surged forth.

Summoning the remnants of his strength and mana, Tōga prepared for one final stand. His voice, hoarse but unyielding, broke the heavy silence. "This isn’t over yet, Blackbeard," he declared, his tone imbued with a defiance that belied his physical frailty. "As long as I stand, I fight."

With the resolve of a battle tested warrior who had faced death unflinching time and again, Tōga readied himself, his stance a testament to his enduring spirit. The impending clash, borne on the winds of fate, would determine much more than the victor—it would define the very essence of what it meant to persevere against insurmountable odds.

Amid the relentless rave of battle on the sands of Luluhawa Island, Blackbeard's voice cut through the chaos with a cold sneer. "Good. Resist more. It’ll feel that much more unbearable when I defeat you." Energy pulsated around him, a visible manifestation of his ominous power. With a swift motion cloaked in near-invisibility, he propelled himself toward Tōga at a breathtaking speed, his fist aimed with lethal intent.

Tōga's reaction was pure instinct—a desperate swerve that narrowly evaded a catastrophic blow, feeling the rush of air as Blackbeard's fist passed mere millimeters from his face. The mage stumbled backward, his heart pounding against his ribcage, as Blackbeard advanced with a relentless barrage of punches, each one a promise of destruction.

In that critical moment, Tōga's survival instincts melded with the ancient power coursing through his veins. His skin began to harden, taking on the appearance of black and crimson scales, while his eyes narrowed into serpentine slits, reflecting a draconic heritage awakened in full. With a roar that seemed to shake the very air around him, Tōga unleashed his Dragon Force, a transformation revered and feared for its sheer intensity and raw power.

"Brilliant! Keep fighting against inevitability!" Blackbeard roared back, his voice a mixture of delight and challenge as he observed Tōga's transformation. The spectacle of the Dragon Slayer's last-resort power ignited a fiercer competitiveness in the pirate leader.

Despite Tōga’s newfound strength and the draconian resilience that came with his transformation, the tide of battle remained cruelly unchanged. Blackbeard's attacks, each more ferocious than the last, continued to wear down the Dragon Slayer. Tōga’s enhanced state allowed him to endure longer, pushing back with a ferocity that matched the pirate's own, but each exchange took a heavier toll on him than the last.

The sands around them were no longer just an stadium but a witness to a struggle of epic proportions. As Tōga’s mana reserves surged, giving him brief moments of upper hand, the grim reality set in—his adversary seemed inexhaustible, his strength seemingly bolstered by some unseen, inexorable force.

Even as Tōga delivered powerful counterstrikes that would have felled any ordinary foe, Blackbeard absorbed the impacts, his grin widening with each blow he received. The fight drew out longer under the moonlit sky, a test of wills and power where every strike, every maneuver brought Tōga closer to his limits.

Despite the Dragon Slayer’s heroic efforts and the awe-inspiring spectacle of his Dragon Force, the chilling truth that Blackbeard still held the advantage became apparent. With each passing moment, the pirate chipped away at Tōga's defenses, a relentless force against the battered shields of the Rune Knight’s dwindling strength.

As the battle wore on, Tōga realized that to turn the tide, he would need more than raw power and instinct. He needed a strategy, a new approach to outmaneuver an opponent who seemed to predict and counter his every move. The challenge was no longer just physical; it was a mental chess game where the next move could very well determine his fate.

As Blackbeard prepared to deliver his final, devastating blow, a sudden interruption surged from the sea. A brilliant beam of light erupted from the ocean, cleaving the night sky in two with its intensity, heralding an unexpected turn in the battle’s tide. From the depths, Strigr emerged, but not as the creature any of them remembered.

Her scales had undergone a miraculous transformation, no longer the deep blue of the ocean's heart but now shimmering in a kaleidoscope of colors splashed across a gilded canvas. Her ears, soft and cloud-like before, now sharpened and swept back against her head, outlined by sparkling gems that glinted under the moonlight. This was not merely a change in appearance but an evolution, a maturation into her final, majestic form.

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Wc: 1122