Yami staggers to his feet, every muscle in his body screaming from the intensity of the battle and his previous transformations. His gaze is fierce and unwavering, though, as he forces himself upright. His breathing is ragged, his body trembling, but he knows what must be done. His Kusarigan blazes to life, scanning the battlefield with a predatory gleam. Vistago stands in the distance, waiting, his stance taunting, his eyes filled with disdain.
Summoning every ounce of his will, Yami begins to weave the hand seals for the Dream Demon Jutsu, his fingers moving with slow precision as he focuses his energy. As he completes the last seal, blood drips from his hand, and he draws the ancient, ritual markings across his own chest, a thick trail of crimson running down to his abdomen. The markings pulse with energy, and his skeletal Death Deity form begins to reappear around him, the bones elongating and contorting into their haunting shape. But this time, there is something different—something darker and far more potent. The blood sigils merge into the skeletal structure, warping it, enhancing it, creating a hybrid of form and energy like nothing seen before.
The transformation intensifies. Black and red chakra swirls around him in a torrent, thickening the air with its overwhelming power. Each pulse of chakra creates a shockwave that radiates outwards, causing the ground beneath him to tremble violently, small fissures spreading across the battlefield. His aura becomes so dense that it distorts the light around him, casting shadows that seem alive, stretching and writhing across the ground. Then, with one final surge, Yami's skeletal Death Deity form melds with the Dream Demon Jutsu's energy, resulting in a terrifying, godlike transformation.
As the chakra storm begins to settle, his new form is revealed—a true God of Destruction.
His body, though still skeletal, now appears encased in black and dark crimson armor, fused with the structure of his bones. Long, jagged extensions run along his spine, giving him an almost dragon-like silhouette, his ribs curling around his torso with spikes protruding outward. His arms are muscular, but lean, with dark, intricate markings that trace along every inch of his skin, pulsating with a life of their own. Each hand is clawed, the fingers tipped with sharp, bone-like extensions, glinting under the dim light with a lethal shine.
His face is hidden behind an obsidian mask, its edges serrated, resembling a fearsome skull fused with ethereal energy. His eyes are visible through the mask—two piercing orbs of burning red, intense and unyielding. Trails of dark energy emanate from the eye sockets, giving him a sinister, haunted appearance. Above his mask, long, dark locks of hair flow downward like wisps of smoke, each strand shimmering with dark energy as it moves. A curved, horn-like extension on each side of his head adds to his demonic, godlike visage, enhancing the dread that radiates from his entire being.
Black, jagged wings erupt from his back, seemingly made of pure, concentrated energy interwoven with bone fragments, each wing crackling with small sparks of black and red chakra. The wings appear heavy, but they hover weightlessly, shifting in sync with his every movement. Beneath the wings, a ghostly, tattered cloak forms around him, trailing along the ground and fraying at the edges, as if it's made of shadows rather than fabric.
And then, he moves.
The ground quakes with his every step, each footfall cracking the earth as if it cannot bear his weight. His energy is so vast and oppressive that the very air around him distorts, warping the battlefield in strange, otherworldly ripples. Small stones and debris float around him, caught in the powerful, unyielding field of his chakra. His Kusarigan spins with an even greater intensity, the chains of fate glowing in vivid detail, visible to him in ways they never were before. He can see not only his own path but those of every life form around him, each fate line fragile yet vivid, like threads ready to snap at his touch.
For a moment, silence hangs in the air. His new form exudes an aura that is neither fully alive nor dead—a being caught between realms, yet transcending both. He has become something ancient, something feared—a god of both life's end and its violent preservation. Every soul nearby feels his energy deep in their core, a presence that defies reason and invokes primal terror. Yami, now the God of Destruction, has ascended to a form that even legends could not describe.