"Hansen" turned toward the other beast. His body was completely smeared with blood, with strands of entrails hanging from him—like the long filament of intestine he was chewing in his mouth, pierced through by teeth from which blood dripped steadily through the gaps.
He fixed his gaze on the creature. For the first few seconds, he remained perfectly still, emitting the usual wet, guttural gurgles, all while intent on crushing between his jaws the tender, putrid flesh he had torn away. Bakunin stood several meters away from his opponent. Its body twitched with small spasms, and from it seemed to emanate a constant vibration. The air around it trembled, as if even it were afraid of the creature. Meanwhile, more dark, malformed bone mass continued to grow, ripping through the overlying skin. Intense heat leaked from those torn openings—likely the very source of those vibrations.
The man roared. His cry was so unbearably grating that the surrounding soldiers collapsed to the ground in agony, clutching their ears as tightly as they could, pressing down with desperate force.
Abner, on the other hand, did not move a single muscle.
Bakunin answered almost immediately, matching the intensity. Its roar shook the earth. From its body burst a heat so extreme that even the metal of nearby vehicles and structures began to melt, engines sparking wildly before erupting into explosions.
Bakunin lunged at "Hansen." Its movements were swift and agile despite its immense mass; with every step, the ground trembled and fractured, and even the air itself seemed to be displaced—shattered—by its advance.
Hansen attacked with equal ferocity. He threw his jaws wide open, from which blood poured like thick waterfalls, viscous and heavy, mixed with gastric fluids from the dead Ijo's stomach and other substances—likely melted fat from the intense heat—which were flung outward by the force of his roar. The man, just like Bakunin, showed no trace of rational intent. They looked like maddened animals. Hansen dropped to all fours, his claws of metal and bone digging into the ground with every step. His posture curved forward, resembling something between a jaguar and a gorilla. He moved almost like a crawl, his arms bending in unnatural, grotesque ways.
Something had held them back from clashing—until now. At last, they could unleash their rage.
They collided midair. The impact generated a massive shockwave that hurled debris in all directions, crashing into soldiers and vehicles alike, causing death upon death. Many soldiers were struck so suddenly, so violently, that they had no chance to comprehend what was happening. For many, everything simply went black—crushed mercilessly beneath debris that tore through their bodies as if they were made of butter.
Some lost their heads in an instant—cleanly severed at the neck, or diagonally across the face, or from the side—falling to the ground as blood poured endlessly, mixing with flesh and fragments of brain matter. Others lost limbs—arms or legs—cleanly torn away, collapsing as they writhed in unbearable pain, blood gushing out and draining them of both life and the capacity to endure the agony. Others still were split in half entirely, their bodies flung like rag dolls before crashing back to the ground, their entrails spilling out around them. Among them were many young soldiers who would never even reach twenty years of age. Not even nineteen.
The few who survived did not know how to react. They didn't know whether to rejoice at having escaped death or to curse the two monsters—though one of them technically wasn't one. And yet… he was. "Hansen" was a monster. So why were they cheering him on? Why were they urging him to fight? The only emotion saturating the air was pure hatred. Hatred toward a life that should never have existed—a life that had destroyed another that deserved to live far more.
The soldiers hated all of it.
And yet, it had to happen.
"Hansen" was a soldier. Just like them.
They had to accept it… or become the next victims of fear.
Then "Hansen" began to assault Bakunin with overwhelming speed. His movements grew faster, more savage with each passing second. For a brief moment, the creature seemed unable to react, merely raising its armored forearms to shield itself while slowly retreating as "Hansen" pressed forward.
…LESS THAN 23 SECONDS…
The man seemed to tear through the creature's armored body with every strike. Each blow produced bursts of incandescent sparks and thick shards of bone. Despite regenerating rapidly, those grotesque bone structures—seemingly so resilient—were consumed effortlessly under the relentless frenzy of the soldier's assault.
Soon after, Bakunin managed to counterattack. It began biting and tearing at the suit's metal plating. Its strength was so immense that not even armor weighing nearly 994 kilograms could withstand it.
The metal bent like paper.
Its fangs and claws pierced through to flesh. The man was torn apart by pain. In response, he drove his hand straight into Bakunin's stomach. The creature screamed in agony. In that instant, the fight ceased to be a contest of dominance.
Every wound Bakunin inflicted was returned twofold by "Hansen."
As the creature continued to rip apart his body—already drenched in blood, further mangled and burned by fragments of his own armor embedding themselves into his shoulders and back, causing blood to gush out with sickening, wet sounds—"Hansen" pushed deeper into the creature's wounds, grabbing entire masses of viscera and tearing them free.
At one point, when "Hansen" was on the verge of collapse—his upper body nearly destroyed, shredded and soaked entirely in red, practically unusable—he ripped strands of stomach from the beast, which writhed in absolute torment. The intestines stretched grotesquely, resisting separation as if they refused to be torn away.
The soldier broke free as the creature's grip weakened, overcome by pain and despair. With a powerful kick, he sent it flying. The intestines slipped free, sliding out like oil, slick with the creature's internal fluids. For a brief moment, "Hansen" held a massive, pulsating tangle of entrails in his hand—wet, heavy, and laced with fragments of bone.
Bakunin collapsed to the ground, unable to rise.
That was the perfect moment.
…LESS THAN 16 SECONDS…
He lunged at Bakunin. With brutal force, he tore it apart completely. From the small opening he had created, a vast, horrifying cavity spread—nothing but shredded flesh and splintered bone. The creature's already deformed skeletal structure lost any remaining semblance of form. Its insides were reduced to ruin, consumed by "Hansen," who seemed to revel not only in the feast but also in the twisted "music" of Bakunin's agonized screams—cries filled with rage, refusing to accept such a humiliating defeat.
Bakunin did not want to lose.
And yet, it could do nothing else.
It became little more than a playground for the soldier. "Hansen" resembled a capricious child, driven to destroy his toys purely for the pleasure of it—tearing off limbs, gutting them, beating them, pretending to suffocate them. It didn't matter whether they looked innocent or monstrous.
He wanted to cause pain.
Bakunin lay completely open, barely alive—a miracle it still breathed at all. Most likely, this was "Hansen's" final act of wrath.
One last roar echoed into the sky, under the horrified gaze of the witnesses, as he stood triumphant over the dying, defeated body of the beast.
Hansen had won.
At least, that's what it felt like.