34. Rematch

The tension between the two warriors was palpable as they circled each other outside the Star Corridor, their every movement deliberate, their focus unyielding. 

Veilhem's tattered cape fluttered in the slight breeze, its edges frayed like a battle-worn banner. His Zweihänder, an iconic weapon that had seen countless battles, bore the marks of its long-lost history through the chipped edges, a dull sheen, and streaks of rust that whispered tales of victory and survival. 

It was not exaggerated to call it a heap of iron now. Yet even in its battered state, the greatsword exuded menace, like a beast still sharp despite even in its old age.

Across from him, Toji stood relaxed, his Soul Splitting Blade resting casually over his shoulder. His posture seemed almost dismissive, but the glint in his eyes told another story. 

The man carried himself with the ease of someone who thrived in chaos, his movements fluid, unhurried, like a predator enjoying the hunt.

The air between them thickened with tension, their gazes locked, each man scrutinizing the other for an opening. Without warning, both surged forward in a blur of motion, nowhere to be found from their starting positions. It was as if they had vanished in an instant.

Veilhem led with a powerful diagonal swing of his Zweihänder, the blade slicing through the air with a menacing whoosh. Toji sidestepped at the last second, narrowly avoiding the strike. 

The sword smashed into the ground, and the sheer force of the impact sent debris flying as dirt and chunks of cement erupted into the air. The shockwave rattled the ground, momentarily throwing Toji off balance.

But Toji, aided by the supernatural reaction speed of his Heavenly Restriction, twisted his body mid-stumble. His katana flashed like lightning as he countered with a precise slash aimed at Veilhem's side. 

Veilhem raised his armored forearm just in time, the blade grazing against the metal and skittering off harmlessly as it created a few sparks.

Using the window on the deflection, Veilhem wrenched his Zweihänder free from the ground and pivoted, driving the pommel of his sword toward Toji's head. 

The assassin with his reflexes honed by years of battle, dropped into a crouch, the pommel swishing harmlessly above him. Without missing a beat, Toji swept his leg in a low arc, aiming to take Veilhem off his feet.

Anticipating the maneuver, Veilhem rolled to the side with surprising agility for his size, his heavy armor clanking as he moved. He grabbed a handful of dirt during the roll and flung it at Toji, but his opponent had already closed his eyes in advance. The dirt scattered harmlessly, failing to blind him.

Despite his closed eyes, Toji remained acutely aware of Veilhem's position. Relying on his heightened senses of hearing and smelling, he darted toward Veilhem with a grin that mixed both excitement and bloodlust. 

His blade slashed downward in a blur, but Veilhem intercepted it with the crossguard of his Zweihänder.

The clash of their weapons sent sparks flying, illuminating the determined gleam in Veilhem's eyes and the wild grin on Toji's face. The two locked in a fierce power struggle, muscles straining, each trying to overpower the other.

"Persistent, aren't you?" Toji muttered, chuckling low as the pressure mounted.

Veilhem didn't reply, his focus remained sharp. Suddenly, Toji swung his leg like an ax to Veilhem's side.

Instead of panicking, the knight shoved Toji's blade aside with brute force, breaking the stalemate and used his armor plate on his shoulder to take in the kick. With a fluid spin, he swung his greatsword in a wide arc, the heavy blade bearing down on Toji like a guillotine.

Toji instinctively stepped back, but his movement was abruptly halted. His pupils dilated in realization—Veilhem had stomped down on his foot, trapping him in place. The massive Zweihänder closed in, forcing Toji to raise his katana in a desperate block.

The impact of a full swing of such a weapon was bone-rattling. Toji's huge frame was launched backward, crashing through rubble with a deafening thud. Dust billowed into the air, shrouding his landing point in a hazy cloud.

Veilhem didn't wait for his opponent to catch his breath and immediately pursued. He charged forward, relentless in his pursuit, his sword poised to finish the job. But from the swirling dust emerged a spinning projectile—a black-and-red nunchaku adorned with flame-like patterns hurling at his face.

[Playful Cloud.]

Veilhem's instincts kicked in as the weapon hurtled toward him. He raised his Zweihänder and backed it with his other hand against the blade just in time to deflect it, the collision ringing out in a sharp clang and sending sparks into the air.

Emerging from the dust, Toji was grinning maniacally, his grip now firm on his nunchaku. Veilhem immediately noticed a shift in his opponent's aura. The power behind the strike felt different—stronger, heavier, more dangerous.

Veilhem scowled, his battle instincts noticing the massive shift in his aura. "Seriously?" he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the hilt of his battered Zweihänder.

Toji laughed, twirling the nunchaku effortlessly as he closed the gap. "Let's dance, shall we?"

The knight and the assassin clashed once more, their weapons dancing in a symphony of steel and sparks, the echoes of their struggle reverberating across the battlefield.

The tension between them simmered in the air as Veilhem and Toji faced off, their previous exchange leaving a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. 

Toji's Playful Cloud—a Special Grade Cursed Tool with the power to amplify his physical strength using Cursed Energy—was the reason he had managed to overpower Veilhem during their initial clash. 

But now, both fighters held back, standing still, their eyes locked, bodies subtly shifting as they analyzed every twitch of muscle and flicker of movement from the other.

Toji's lips curled into a smirk, a flicker of something deeper than amusement reignited in his expression. He thoroughly enjoyed this fight more than he had ever anticipated. The thrill of battle coursed through him like a wildfire in his veins, burning a sense of purpose he hadn't felt in years.

The knight before him—fighting with various tricks, but without Cursed Techniques or some sorcery—was the impeccable figure mirroring of something Toji had long craved. 

Strength. 

Pure and unrelenting strength born from will and effort, not the arbitrary gifts of Cursed Energy.

Toji thought back to the ridicule he endured, the constant dismissals from a world that valued Cursed Techniques above all else. That scorn had molded him into the man he was, but for the first time, it felt like more than anger was bubbling within him. 

In a way, Veilhem represented what Toji had always dreamed of becoming. No magic, no gimmicks, no bullshitnary—just a powerful, unyielding force in a world that tried to crush him.

His blood boiled with excitement, his body yearning with an unrelenting desire to win. This was more than a fight for Toji, it was a chance to prove, not to anyone else but himself…

…that he was not a worthless monkey.

Veilhem, in stark contrast, exuded a quieter demeanor. While Toji burned with passion, Veilhem looked almost bored. His battle stance was solid, but his mind drifted elsewhere. 

This fight wasn't one he cared to win or lose. It was a mission, an obligation, a means to an end for his final rest.

The years of endless battles had eroded any zealous passion he once had for combat. The once fervent adherence to the holy combat was no one. 

Veilhem didn't seek to prove himself—he had nothing to prove. The weight of his undead existence, the curse that tethered him to an eternal, hollow life, had long since worn down his will to care.

'Ahh, I want a cold beer…' Veilhem thought dryly, his internal complaint laced with fatigue and annoyance as he measured his opponent.

The Curse of the Undead had robbed him of everything. He lived yet was labeled as the dead, stuck in a limbo where life would forsaken him and death would not claim him. 

Even gods had the privilege of dying, but not him, not any kind of them. He fought not for glory or some grand purpose, but because Makima—his last hope for relief from this wretched existence—had asked him to.

That was his sole reason for this fight. Pathetic right? But what can you do to a desperate man like himself?

The fight resumed abruptly. As if on cue, both warriors surged forward, disappearing in a blur of speed that left the air quaking in their wake.

The clash of weapons rang out, the heavy resonance of Veilhem's Zweihänder meeting Toji's Playful Cloud reverberating like a thunderclap. Toji was a whirlwind of ferocity, his strikes coming at Veilhem from impossible angles, his enhanced strength driving each blow with staggering force.

Yet Veilhem matched him, his greatsword moving with precision and efficiency, deflecting or parrying every attack. 

His strength wasn't flashy or brutish but methodical, honed through centuries of relentless combat. Every move Toji made was met with an equal and opposite reaction, Veilhem's blade dancing with surprising agility for its size and weight.

Toji pressed harder, increasing his pace, attempting to overwhelm Veilhem in a relentless onslaught. Slashes came from the left, right, above, below—but Veilhem seemed to read them all, countering with movements that defied any logical reason.

Toji gritted his teeth. Even with the Playful Cloud, he couldn't overpower Veilhem like before. The knight's raw strength wasn't just formidable; it was inexhaustible due to the fact that he was an undead.

"Not bad." Toji muttered under his breath, his smirk deepening as he twirled the Playful Cloud and lunged again.

Veilhem remained silent, his expression stoic as his Zweihänder met the nunchaku with a deafening clang. Sparks flew once again, illuminating the combatants' intense gazes in the dim light.

Toji feinted a low strike, spinning to bring the nunchaku around in a sweeping arc toward Veilhem's torso. This time, Veilhem didn't block outright—instead, he sidestepped, the swing narrowly missing his chest. In the same motion, he brought his pommel down toward Toji's temple with brutal efficiency.

Toji barely dodged, dropping into a roll to avoid the crushing blow. The ground cracked where the pommel struck, the force of Veilhem's attack leaving no doubt about its lethality.

Coming out of the roll, Toji grinned, his breath heavy but his spirit unyielding. "Damn it, old man." he chuckled. "You're tougher than you look."

Veilhem straightened, resting his Zweihänder across his shoulder with a weary sigh. "You talk too much." he replied, his voice gravelly and disinterested.

The two stared at each other once more, the brief lull in the fight only heightening the tension. Their stances shifted subtly, muscles coiling in anticipation. Both knew the next exchange would test not just their strength but their resolve.

The battlefield, silent but for the echoes of their clashes, seemed to hold its breath as the knight and the assassin prepared to strike again.

The battle between Toji and Veilhem wore on, a relentless storm of steel and strategy. Toji began to notice a disturbing pattern: Veilhem wasn't just reacting to his attacks—he was learning them. 

Every feint, every switch in rhythm or weapon, Veilhem adapted with almost mechanical precision, as if he had mapped out Toji's fighting style in real-time.

It infuriated Toji. His strength and versatility, which often overwhelmed his opponents, were being systematically unraveled. And as the fight dragged on, the strain began to show.

Unlike Veilhem, whose undead state allowed him to fight tirelessly, Toji was still flesh and blood. His breaths came in heavy gasps, his body drenched in sweat, his muscles screaming for respite. The exhaustion was a cruel reminder of his mortality.

Veilhem, by contrast, remained unnervingly composed. His movements carried the same weight and precision as they had at the start, his undead endurance unyielding. He pressed his advantage mercilessly, capitalizing on Toji's slowing reflexes and diminished stamina.

Realizing the inevitability of his body giving out, Toji decided to gamble. He intentionally exposed an opening, baiting Veilhem into taking the shot.

Veilhem's keen eyes caught the opportunity, and he brought his Zweihänder crashing down with brutal force. Toji narrowly dodged, the blade carving deep into the ground where he had stood moments before, splitting the earth in two with a deafening crack.

A wicked grin spread across Toji's face. "I win," he said through labored breaths, and with a swift motion, he stomped on the tip of Veilhem's blade, pinning it in place. In the same instant, he swung the Playful Cloud with all his might, striking the Zweihänder with a force that reverberated through the battlefield.

The impact was catastrophic. Veilhem's sword, weathered and battered from countless battles, finally gave way. The blade shattered under tremendous force, fragments scattering as the broken weapon fell to the ground with a metallic clatter.

Toji's victorious grin widened as he stood over the defeated blade. But the triumph was short-lived.

Without hesitation, Veilhem tightened his grip on the hilt of his broken sword and lunged forward. His movements were swift and unrelenting, a testament to his battle-hardened instincts.

The broken remnants of the blade were thrust toward Toji's face. With lightning-fast reflexes, Toji tilted his head to the side, the jagged edge grazing past his cheek.

"Fucking monster." Toji spat out a low curse, clicking his tongue in frustration. He retaliated immediately, swinging the Playful Cloud upward in a vicious arc aimed directly at Veilhem's jaw.

But Veilhem was already a step ahead. Adjusting his grip on the sword's hilt, he yanked it backward with all his might.

The crossguard, designed with the protruding quillons, hooked onto Toji's neck like a hanger. Veilhem's iron grip pulled the blade back with brutal force, jerking Toji off balance. His body lurched forward uncontrollably, momentum betraying him as he stumbled, his footing slipping like sand beneath his feet.

Seizing the opportunity, Veilhem lunged forward with cold precision. The knight's empty, unyielding eyes burned with a singular purpose as he swung the broken hilt in a vicious arc, aiming to end the clash in one decisive strike.

The pommel arced through the air, its trajectory mercilessly aimed at Toji's head. But the assassin's instincts flared up at the last moment.

Toji was nothing if not unpredictable. As the blow closed in, his instincts kicked in. Dropping his weight, he braced a hand against the ground, twisting his body in a seemingly impossible motion. In a dazzling counter, he unleashed a spinning kick as he fell, the strike connecting cleanly and sending the broken hilt flying from Veilhem's grasp.

Before Toji could recover, Veilhem struck again, this time with a brutal kick directly at his torso. The impact was monstrous, a single blow that drove the assassin down hard. The ground cracked beneath the force as Toji let out a strained grunt, his body absorbing the devastating power.

Dazed but not yet defeated, Toji's eyes widened as he caught sight of Veilhem's outstretched hand—ominously open, surging forward like a steel predator. He reacted instinctively, tilting his head to avoid what he thought was a strike aimed at his face. But Veilhem's intent was never on him.

The knight's hand bypassed Toji entirely and clamped onto the worm-like Cursed Spirit coiled around his torso—the creature that housed his deadly arsenal. Realization struck too late, a surge of panic flashing across Toji's face as he watched Veilhem's fingers dig into the Curse's grotesque flesh.

With monstrous strength, Veilhem tore the Curse apart.

"WoMmY…" A blood-curdling, guttural screech erupted from the creature as its segmented body was ripped in two. Though the Curse wasn't truly dead, its dismemberment rendered Toji defenseless. 

Veilhem discarded the mutilated spirit without a second thought, flinging its broken body aside like useless trash.

Toji clenched his fists, his breathing ragged as the gravity of his situation settled in. He glanced at the remnants of his arsenal, his lips twisting into a bitter, self-deprecating smile. His mind calculated the odds—without his weapons, victory was a distant dream.

"You see." Veilhem said, his tone casual yet cutting. "I don't really want to turn this place into a battlefield. But, uh... there's another problem for you." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "That guy over there is almost awake. That means you can't beat both of us."

Toji's gaze flicked to the figure behind Veilhem. There, sprawled on the cold stone floor, was Gojo Satoru, his head still bearing the remnants of Toji's earlier strike.

A flicker of disbelief and irritation crossed Toji's face. "Tch. What's wrong with bastards these days? Is it a trend not to die after getting stabbed in the head?" Toji's voice dripped with exasperation, his scowl twisted into an almost comical grimace that earned a faint smirk from Veilhem.

Without wasting another moment, Toji snatched up the broken remains of his Cursed Spirit and retreated into the woods. His figure disappeared into the distance, leaving Veilhem standing amidst the aftermath of their clash.

Turning toward the Star Corridor, Veilhem began his next task, his footsteps echoing through the now silent hall. He wondered if Makima was done with her scheme or something. She never told him about it. After all, there was still much to be done.

_________

(A/N: Urghh, this fight scene is tedious for me to write. Anyways, I save our homeless bum from being an apple icon, yayy.

Idk if I should break the couple relationship if he finds out what she did to our boy Geto though. But that is peak plot so I'm kinda tempting.)