If you came here expecting a neat little step-by-step checklist — congrats, you’re adorable and probably new — but also wrong. V2 is not a boss you “beat” by reading three bullet points and holding down left click. V2 is a gauntlet, a particularly judgmental physics professor who throws you into an exam where the questions are lasers and the passing grade is not dying for thirty seconds. You will rage. You will laugh. You will discover an entirely new expletive you didn’t know your mouth could form. You will also, eventually, find a groove so filthy and beautiful it feels like cheating.
This guide is an invitation to that groove. It is a manifesto for folks who want more than a victory screen — who want to dance in Hell’s choreography studio and come out sweating, triumphant, and inexplicably proud of their reload animations. We’ll give you the nuts and bolts (positions, timings, weapon synergies), the tiny secrets the veterans mutter into their energy-drink cans, and the rituals to preserve your sanity when the run turns into a horror-comedy of deaths. By the end of this guide, you will either have slain V2 in ways that will make your palms ache from the adrenaline, or you’ll be three times better at the fight and significantly less likely to throw your keyboard through a wall. Either outcome is progress.

Step 1: beat v1

V1*

2*

And so, dear gladiator of gore and maestro of movement, we arrive at the end of this epic. If you’ve made it this far — whether by sheer determination, caffeine overdosing, or the stubborn belief that “this time for sure” — you’ve already proven something important: you are the kind of person who willingly stares into the neon abyss and shouts back “again.”
V2 is not just a boss. It’s a mirror. Every death you endured, every sloppy dodge, every misplaced parry — they weren’t failures, they were reflections. Reflections of your impatience, your bravado, your clumsy improvisations. But also reflections of your grit, your resilience, and your refusal to quit even when the arena had turned into a kaleidoscope of bullets and broken keyboards. Beating V2 isn’t about the screen flashing VICTORY — it’s about realizing you now read attack patterns like sheet music, that you parry on instinct, that you slide through chaos like a conductor sculpting a symphony.
Maybe you’ve slain V2 cleanly, your movements sharp and perfect, a flawless execution that would make even Gabriel nod in approval. Or maybe your victory was messy, a scrap of health left, frantic button mashing, and the haunting knowledge that luck had as much a role as skill. Both are valid. Both are beautiful. Because in Ultrakill, perfection is optional — but persistence is mandatory.