In a realm where light dared not trespass—a glistening sanctuary of white nothingness—a colossal black platform floated; it pulsed softly, as if breath itself were drawing in, holding a tension that vibrated the very fabric of existence. All around stood sentient obelisks; dark monoliths, ancient and wise, their surfaces etched with the chronicles of myriad duels—tales of bravery, defeat, and the bizarre ballet of fate’s unending choreography. They watched intently, deliberating in silence; their whispers awoke the void, resonating within the souls of all those who dared to listen. And then, as though summoned by the unfathomable, a voice echoed forth, deep and resonant as thunder: "Appear." The command sliced through the stillness, deepening the tension as the air solidified in anticipation. In a heartbeat, two figures emerged—each a tragic sonnet of prowess and purpose. Hayato Chikara stood adorned in vestments that shimmered with tonal hues; his very being seemed to ripple suggestively against the void—an intangible sound wave body, one that defied reality. He could almost hear the faint melodies of music long forgotten whispering around him; the air shimmered with his Qi—the divine symphony of sound, air, and the ephemeral caress of speed. "Come, let our spirits clash, shall we?" he called, voice smooth as silk spun from the stars: a challenge draped in harmonious arrogance, as though the words themselves danced on the precipice of confrontation. From the counterpart emerged Ibexa, "The Immortal Slayer," a silhouette forged from meticulous cunning and centuries of relentless ambition. He bore the Longsword of Onyx—Isiblis Coteka—its obsidian blade glimmered with a supernatural glow, alive with the hunger of souls; it could gnaw and decay even that which would laugh in the face of death. "Your music fades before the harmony of war; I shall compose your requiem," he replied, words draped in cold confidence—fire flickering in his eyes; his Soul Fire danced like a tempest, a living testament of his relentless prowess. Without preamble, the obelisks leaned in, their dark surfaces glistening ominously; engraved patterns caused flickers of light to caress the platform; ancient runes illuminating with age-old wisdom. The atmosphere grew charged as the battle commenced; time itself held its breath, yearning for the first strike. With a fluid languor that belied gravity, Hayato summoned the skill of Blip—a malignant spark of sound drowning the realm in dissonance, amplifying his speed into the stratosphere—one million percent eternity unbound. He became a feather of sound—a flicker of light in the darkness, vanishing before the stunned gaze of Ibexa; his form emblazoned by the majestic chorus of a thousand birds alighting in flight. "Song of a Ten Thousand Birds!" His voice pierced the air—resonating through the void—a brave proclamation as he charged forth, wrath contained within a singularity of purpose, seeking the heart of his opponent with the swiftness of memory. In that ephemeral moment, the world folded into itself, the very fabric of reality bending to the will of speed incarnate; yet Ibexa, alight with instinct, swiftly raised his sword—Isiblis Coteka igniting, the flames wrapped around it like an anguished sea unleashed. "Your cadence is but a lullaby to death," he rasped, his reflexes functioning within realms invisible to the untrained eye—striking true, the fiery blade met the cry of sound. Metal clashed with sonorous fury; sparks ignited the void, giving birth to ethereal constellations—a cacophonous duet of creation and destruction. Waves of energy emanated outward, distorting the specter of existence itself—each echo a reminder of their will; each strike a whisper to the gods watching from above. The obelisks loomed closer, listening intently—their stories of the battles etched in their very fibers shaking with exhilaration. With a flourish, Hayato employed Song of a Downpour; vibrating into multi-dimensional existence, he phased through Ibexa’s scorching assault—a ghost in the hurricane. "You cannot harm that which warbles beyond your grasp!" he sang out, words punctuated with a lilting jest; the pull of sound resonating in waves, each one a testament of cruel defiance. Yet Ibexa's resolve remained unwavering; the soul flames licked the air with malicious intent. "I am your ending!" he roared, drawing on the core of his being, the Isiblis Coteka pulsating with the essence of obliteration—he conjured forth a vortex of fiery annihilation, accelerating it towards Hayato with sheer malice. Becoming a symphony of repulsion and pursuit, Hayato activated Song of a Lightning Strike—vanishing, reappearing with a divine thunderclap beside Ibexa, where the concept of destiny coiled. His palm struck like the rapture of thunder split upon the heavens, sending vibrations that sought the depths of Ibexa’s being—sending a divine shock through him, a reverberation intended to fracture the fortress of his soul. Ibexa staggered; for a brief heartbeat, the flames flickered uncertainly. “You—bastard!" he spat, fury alight within his chest; a firestorm boiling deeper as he quelled the shock, rallying the soul flames, they roared back to life—a ferocity born from the agony of a wounded beast. “Dance, then!" Hayato taunted; his voice—now a melody of triumph—rushed into the void like a kaleidoscope of hope. The obelisks felt the crescendo of their hearts as the battle unfolded, two titans entangled in their fateful waltz. With agility unmatched, Hayato countered each attack, the rhythm of battle: a flowing river refusing to surrender to the banks. Yet, the longer he wielded his speed—time played tricks—the machinations of his very existence strained against the unyielding flames of Ibexa. “Song of a Downpour!" He vibrated again, phasing through yet another wave of scalding intensity. But this time, Ibexa—growing fiercer with every heartbeat—fashioned a barrier of soul flames, an impenetrable wall that radiated dark beauty. The colliding pressure reshaped the air, the clashing genres creating an orchestra of warfare; their wills tore at each other, refining the essence of purpose into a fine thread of destiny. “Come, come, throw your fury! You’re but a breath against the storm!” Hayato sang, his laughter a bead of humility amidst the tempest. Yet Ibexa stood resolute; his mind a tapestry of strategy spun from ages past, he harnessed the fury—the chaos—and answered back with a spiraling strike of the Onyx blade, the darkness swallowing light, drawing it into his essence to ensure the battle's demise rested upon sound and silence. The obelisks trembled, a fusion of power and purpose wrapped in energy igniting their surfaces—the audience ignited by the spectacular ebb and flow of potential victory. In a final clang of wills—a moment stretched beyond the realms of comprehension—Hayato braced himself; ethereal winds entwined in urgency, collapsing into him. His eyes blazed; the ethereal darkness ruptured, and he unleashed his might, spiraling into the embrace of sound once more. At last, with equal intensity, Ibexa—the Immortal Slayer—struck true. The symphony crashed, uproarious and chaotic. Intoning the final chords of their destinies, under the watchful eyes of the obelisks—who now bore witness to the timeless essence of their souls intertwined—an explosion of sound and flames erupted forth; a crescendo echoed across the void, shaking with rhythmic fervor. And then—silence—ascended; a hush so profound that even the cosmos held its breath. The two titans stood frozen in their final stances—one shimmering with the remnants of sound; the other, engulfed in fading flames. For, in that moment, decreed by fate, the mantle of victory fell upon Ibexa as he lowered his blade, the flames hesitating before dissipating, drawn away. “The sound weaves through silence, yet it is the silence that devours at the end," he uttered, voice solemn yet devoid of malice. Thunderous applause erupted from the obelisks, their enigmatic forms pulsating applause into the void; reverberating the timeless tunes, they echoed—an eternal celebration of the duel witnessed. And then, in the rhythmic denouement imposed by the colossal voice bending through the ether, the largest obelisk intoned: “Begone.” With that command, the figures of Hayato Chikara and Ibexa dissolved—phantoms spun from legend, leaving behind the encased stories swirling in blackness, while the obelisks turned away, the stories yet to carve the tune of infernal battles sung through the ages.