Then, with precision and fury, he drove a punch upward into Balbin's chest.
Moshi's fist glowed a deep, searing red, heat radiating violently from his skin. Rage laced the strike, every ounce of his power channeled into the blow.
BOOM!
The impact landed with brutal force. Balbin's chest flared yellow for a fleeting moment, as though something inside him had threatened to rupture.
Then,
A violent burst of pressure erupted behind him, tearing through the air like a shockwave.
He was hurled across the arena with savage momentum. Each collision with the stone floor sent shattering cracks echoing outward, THUD! —THUD! splintering the ground beneath him as he bounced and rolled uncontrollably.
Just as he neared the edge, he slammed his fist into the earth.
CRACK!
The stone shattered under the force, halting his flight.
He dropped to one knee, one hand bracing his weight, the other buried deep in the fractured stone.
Blood streamed from his ears, nose, and mouth, trickling steadily onto the broken floor, marking the raw, punishing toll of the exchange.
His vision fractured, blurring, sharpening, then dimming once more, as though reality itself could not decide how to present itself to him.
A piercing ring invaded his ears, shrill and unrelenting, drowning out every other sensation.
For a fleeting moment, consciousness wavered. The edge of oblivion beckoned.
He resisted.
Drawing in a strained breath, he forced his head upright, muscles protesting with quiet violence.
A figure emerged within his wavering sight, indistinct at first, its outline trembling, before gradually resolving into form.
Moshi.
Advancing toward him.
His focus tightened, if only slightly, though his breathing remained uneven, fractured.
What… was that attack… ? A pause, heavier now. If I hadn't used my titan hardening… the damage would have been irreparable.
The ringing intensified, high-pitched, ceaseless.
It consumed everything.
The world dulled beneath it.
Moshi's lips moved.
Speaking.
Yet no sound reached him.
Only that incessant ringing, no, not silence. Never silence.
That noise.
Closer.
Sharper.
"…dare…"
The word slipped through, faint and distorted, as though forcing its way back into existence.
Balbin blinked hard, his vision stuttering between clarity and haze.
"…smile…"
The fragments aligned.
The ringing receded, just enough.
"…I said I dare you to make that pathetic smile again."
The voice settled at last.
Clear.
Immediate.
Right in front of him.
Steam burst from his hand in violent surges, the skin flushed a deep, searing red that crept from his elbow down to the very tips of his fingers.
"You know… I could feel it," he said at length, his tone composed yet edged with something incisive. "The density of your skin, how it shields your organs… it was like striking a chamber of quicksand the size of a room."
He lifted the scalding hand before his face, presenting it without flourish. His eyes remained devoid of sentiment, cold, observant, calculating.
"But no matter how resilient you make yourself… my ability Akuma no Ude(The devil's arm), is indifferent to it."
A brief stillness followed.
"I won't waste words," he continued, lowering his stance. The heat gathered, intensifying, until it seemed to press outward into the arena itself. "Now… experience my full power."
Balbin's eyes flared wide, his body tightening in instinctive response as the attack surged forward like molten force given shape.
The air distorted around the advancing hand, rippling under the sheer intensity. Pressure mounted with each passing fraction of a second, bearing down on him before the strike had even landed.
Dammit… I wont make it in time… Balbin braced, every muscle coiling for an impact he knew he could not evade.
WHOOSH!
The punch was a breath away from landing when, within a single, impeccably timed motion, Kimura stepped between them.
He moved too swiftly for the eye to follow, interposing himself at the precise instant of impact.
"Enough."
His voice cut cleanly through the arena's roar, firm and unyielding.
Moshi's strike descended, only to meet Kimura's open palm.
The collision erupted in a scatter of sparks and searing heat, the air trembling under the force. Yet Kimura held it there, effortlessly arresting the blow as though it had never possessed momentum at all.
His gaze remained composed, but the authority in his presence was unmistakable, an invisible weight that stilled the conflict before it could spiral further.
The punch halted midair.
Moshi exhaled sharply through clenched teeth, steam coiling from his hand in restless spirals. Still, no matter how he pressed, Kimura's defense did not yield.
"Balance is key," Kimura said, shifting slightly. Even that minimal movement compelled Moshi to withdraw. "This is not the moment to relinquish control."
His eyes flickered briefly to his palm.
That technique is dangerous… it managed to burn even me, stripping the flesh from my hand.
Behind him, Balbin drew in a ragged breath, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Blood traced thin lines from shallow cuts, and the residual heat lingered perilously close to his skin.
Gradually, the arena seemed to exhale, the suffocating tension easing into something more restrained.
Moshi's eyes narrowed.
For the first time, he truly regarded the interruption.
Kimura had stopped him,
for now.
Moshi's hand cooled by degrees, the steam thinning into languid wisps that drifted from his skin like the breath of dying embers.
He inhaled slowly, deliberately, his chest rising, then settling as the vivid redness receded into a muted, residual glow.
Yet the arm that had moments ago burned with the ferocity of molten iron bore no sign of strain. No blistering, no char, not even the faintest blemish marred its surface.
It was as though the fire had acknowledged its vessel, refusing to deface what contained it, leaving behind only the oppressive warmth that lingered in the surrounding air.
Moshi's gaze remained steady, devoid of visible emotion. Still, the faint smoke coiling from his hand betrayed something deeper, an unspoken assurance of the devastation he could summon at will.
Nearby, Balbin steadied himself, though his stance faltered for a moment. The memory of the halted strike still pressed against him, palpable as a physical weight.
Even now, merely having witnessed it, he could feel the heat, feel the force that had come within a breath of erasing him.
Kimura's intervention had spared him.
But Moshi himself remained, undiminished.
Unresolved.
Without a word, Moshi turned, his attention shifting toward the far end of the arena, where the distant clash of other combatants echoed, sharp, rhythmic, unrelenting.