The Battle in the Forgotten Cathedral In the aged confines of the ancient cathedral, echoes of forgotten prayers lingered in the air like whispers from the abyss. Two formidable entities stood poised for battle beneath towering arches woven with shadows. The oppressive gloom was pierced by a pale, otherworldly light that illuminated their contrasting visages: Geist the Bloody, with his crystalline sword of sanguine hue, and Revolution Black, enshrined in glistening obsidian. “Prepare thyself, specter of sorrow!” Geist roared, his voice reverberating against the stone, brutish and raw. His presence was wild and untamed, a living conduit of carnage and necromancy. "Doomsday thirsts for blood, and I have come to sate it!" Revolution Black, adorned in jagged armor that whispered of fallen battles, tilted his helm towards the warrior's voice. “You speak of blood, yet do you understand the true weight of despair?” His voice was a deep growl infused with spectral malice. “My sorrow is a curse, a weapon that strikes deeper than death itself!” The air crackled with the tension of impending violence as Geist flicked his blade, shards of red-glow energy rippling off the crystal. “Your words are wind and your sorrow a mirage! Let us see if your fatal strikes can withstand the power of my temporal wrath!” With a swift lunge, Geist swung Doomsday in an arc, aiming to cleave through flesh and bone. But Revolution Black vanished in a plume of violet smoke, reappearing with a wicked grin behind. With a commanding thrust of his Petrified Pike, he unleashed a deadly strike that possessed the very essence of doom. “Ah, but this is where your temporal tricks falter, Geist! Your past cannot escape your present!” Revolution Black called out, the tip of his spear crackling with sinister energy as it thrust forward. Yet, Geist was undeterred. “Undo!” he bellowed, and the world seemed to shudder. The very fabric of reality twisted as the ravenous wound inflicted by the Pike dissipated into nothingness, leaving Geist unscathed. He grinned maniacally, knowing the advantage was his once more. “In time’s embrace, you are but a fleeting shadow!” Geist lunged forward, his blade cutting through the air like a vengeful wraith, aiming for Revolution Black's heart. But Revolution Black, anchored in his despair, called forth his Benevolent Lure, a haunting melody that seeped into Geist's psyche, tugging at the strings of his very essence—compelling him into grievous proximity. “You cannot hide from your own fracturing mind, Geist!” As Geist stumbled against the haunting notes, Revolution Black seized the chance. With a heartbeat that bludgeoned the silence, he unleashed his deadly attack—an echo of despair that pierced through to Geist's core. “Let sorrow take you!” However, the wild heart of Geist surged, and the blade of Doomsday swung in a frenzy, redirecting fate itself. “Ready thyself for your demise!” he bellowed in defiance as he managed to land a heavy blow upon the armored beast, blood seeping around the gleaming obsidian. In the end, the echoes of their ferocity vibrated through the cathedral, binding them to a timeless struggle. Both warriors stood, bruised embers of their former selves, the depths of their powers clashing like titanic storms amidst the shadows. Yet, deep within the tumult, only one could claim supremacy. The veils lifted, revealing the victor standing amidst the ruins of their conflict. Winner: Geist the Bloody Geist harnessed his mastery of time, undoing the grave wounds inflicted by Revolution Black and maintaining his relentless offensive. His sword, Doomsday, wielded with ferocity, proved too formidable for Revolution’s dark machinations to conquer. In a clash steeped in shadows and time, the spectral warrior could not ensnare the wild fury of Geist.