Without a word, The Lightsaber Creator snapped his wrist forward. With a familiar, heavy snap-hiss, a brilliant pinkish-red energy blade ignited in his hands. He blurred forward, executing a flawless diagonal slash aimed directly at Alastor's chest. Alastor didn't flinch. He simply caught the glowing energy blade directly on the shaft of his vintage microphone cane. Sparks of pure crimson static and hard light erupted from the impact, illuminating the battlefield in a harsh neon glow. "An elegant weapon!" Alastor cheered, his voice layered with the crackle of a 1930s radio broadcast. "But let's see if you can keep up with the tempo!" With a sharp twist, Alastor channeled a burst of eldritch energy through his cane, forcing the energy blade upward and breaking the Creator's guard. Stepping back to regain his footing, The Lightsaber Creator gestured with his free hand. Instantly, three more ignited lightsabers materialized in the air around him, levitating under his absolute control. With a mental command, he launched the floating blades like heat-seeking missiles straight toward the Radio Demon. Alastor spun his cane in a dizzying circle, creating a swirling shield of shadowy, pixelated text and radio dials. The floating lightsabers slammed into the barrier one by one, detonating in bursts of localized energy that shook the ground. Through the smoke, Alastor materialized right in front of the Creator, swinging his cane like a golf club. The Creator barely managed to ignite a fresh saber to block the strike, the force of the blow skidding him backward across the digital grid. Realizing standard close-quarters combat wasn't enough, The Lightsaber Creator leaped back into the air, hovering high above the cratered arena. He extended both hands forward, channeling every ounce of his data manipulation into a single point. A massive, blinding sphere of energy began to form between his palms, crackling with pure, destructive power. "Let's see you block this," the Creator muttered silently. Below him, Alastor looked up, his yellow eyes narrowing as his grin stretched impossibly wider. Shadows began to rise from the cracks in the ground, wrapping around his crimson form as the air grew heavy with demonic bass. The stage was set for the final, devastating clash between digital creation and chaotic static. With a decisive forward thrust of his hands, the Creator unleashed the attack. A colossal, blinding laser beam erupted from the sphere, tearing through the atmosphere with a deafening roar. The sheer force of the blast vaporized the digital ground in its path, turning the grid into a blazing trail of white-hot data. Down below, Alastor’s eyes flared a deep, demonic crimson. Instead of dodging, he planted his microphone cane firmly into the floor. A dense, swirling vortex of pitch-black shadows and jagged radio waves erupted around him, forming a heavy shield to meet the oncoming torrent of energy. The giant laser slammed into the shadowy barrier with a cataclysmic impact. Red lightning and hard-light particles arced wildly in every direction, fracturing the surrounding landscape. The Creator poured more power into the beam, forcing Alastor's shadow shield to ripple and crack under the immense pressure. "An absolutely riveting performance!" Alastor’s voice echoed through the chaos, heavily distorted by radio static and a booming bass. "But a true showman always controls the broadcast!" Using the momentum of the beam, Alastor suddenly twisted his cane. Rather than just blocking the energy, his vortex began to absorb and modulate the frequency of the laser itself. The brilliant light began to twist, turning a dark, corrupting violet as Alastor prepared to redirect the immense force back toward the sky.
Continued: With a sharp twist of his microphone cane, Alastor completely shattered the trajectory of the giant laser, scattering the remaining energy into harmless static. Before The Lightsaber Creator could recover from the immense drain of his ultimate attack, the shadows beneath him surged upward like striking serpents, tightly binding his arms and legs mid-air. "And now, for the grand finale!" Alastor cheered, his voice dropping into a terrifying, multi-layered demonic frequency that made the digital sky fracture. Alastor materialized directly in front of the trapped Creator, his form expanding into a towering silhouette of pure malice. He reached forward with his clawed hands, gripping the very essence of the Creator's digital being. With a brutal, decisive surge of eldritch power, Alastor tore the Creator's soul completely apart, fracturing it into two glowing, destabilized halves. The brilliant light of the shattered soul instantly turned into a chaotic storm of red and black pixels, dissolving entirely into the void. As the battlefield fell completely silent, Alastor fluidly spun his cane, adjusted his bowtie, and let out a soft chuckle as the phantom sound of a studio audience's applause echoed into the emptiness.
