Blackwood's Reira surged, rising, swelling beyond restraint,
Then,
it broke.
Something within him snapped loose.
What followed was no longer controlled power, but rupture.
A fist drove forward.
BOOM.
The arena split, stone and dust erupting outward as though struck by a falling star.
Jurgen twisted aside—barely.
Another strike came without warning.
CRACK.
The ground beneath him gave way, jagged fractures racing outward in violent lines.
There was no sequence to it.
No discernible rhythm.
Only chaos.
Jurgen's gaze flickered, searching, left, right, trying to anchor itself to something predictable.
Nothing came.
"…I can't read him."
The realization settled cold and immediate. Whatever restraint once governed Blackwood had vanished, replaced by something feral… something broken.
Blackwood lunged again.
Faster.
Closer.
The air shuddered under the force of his movement.
RUMBLE.
Jurgen slid back, his footing scraping against shattered stone, each step barely holding against the pressure bearing down on him. His breath came sharper now, thinner, edged with urgency.
Then,
a flicker.
Subtle.
Almost imperceptible.
But it was there.
Something shifted.
Silence fell—not across the arena, but within him.
His pupils widened.
"…this feeling…"
Heat bloomed beneath his skin.
Not external.
Not forced.
His own.
His fist trembled, not from strain—but from awakening.
A spark.
Purple.
Faint at first, yet undeniably alive.
It lingered for the briefest instant… before spreading, threading along his hand like living flame. It did not burn wildly, it coiled, deliberate, responsive, as though guided by something deeper than conscious thought.
It wrapped.
Tightened.
Then snapped inward.
WHOOM
Gone.
Not extinguished.
Contained.
A quiet glow remained along his fist, steady, restrained… waiting.
Above, Nemesio's composure broke, if only slightly.
A smile—genuine, unguarded, touched his features, eyes alight with rare delight.
"…amazing Jurgen . Show me more."
Jurgen exhaled slowly.
"There you are."
A faint smile traced Jurgen's lips, a subtle relief washed him as he felt that power he once felt at the ridge, the tension that had gripped him moments ago dissolving as that elusive power, once distant, barely within reach, now coursed through him with quiet certainty.
And for the first time since the chaos began,
he steadied.
His gaze lifted.
Blackwood moved.
But now, it was clear.
"…I see you."
The lunge came, violent as ever.
Jurgen stepped back.
Clean.
Effortless.
A shift had taken place, subtle, yet absolute.
This sudden surge… im not the same.
Another strike, evaded.
Another,
anticipated,
Seen.
Read.
Understood.
Blackwood's eyes narrowed, something uneasy flickering beneath the fury.
Jurgen created distance in a single motion, his body light, precise, untethered from the desperation that had defined him moments before.
Silence pressed in.
Then he dropped.
Low.
His foot drove into the fractured ground.
CRACK.
and he burst forward.
A blur skimming the surface.
Closing the gap in an instant.
Blackwood swung.
"…Too slow."
Jurgen's fist rose sharply, hooking beneath the broken terrain. With a violent heave, a massive slab of concrete tore free from the earth, lifted in one fluid motion, and hurled forward.
IMPACT.
The collision rang out like a detonation, the slab shattering against Blackwood's face in an explosion of stone and dust.
Blackwood staggered.
Fragments slid from his frame.
Steam followed.
It poured from him in thick, hissing waves.
SSSSHHH.
Jurgen stepped in, eyes narrowing as understanding settled.
…that steam…
He's burning it… burning through his Reira to sustain this state.…
…but it won't last
His stance shifted.
Sharper now.
Decisive.
He moved to press the advantage.
Fast.
Clean.
A direct counter.
His fist cut forward.
and met nothing.
…
Jurgen's eyes flicked, confusion threading through his focus.
"…what?"
Blackwood hadn't moved.
Not a step.
Not even a flinch.
Jurgen adjusted instantly, recalibrating mid-motion. A second strike followed, precise, controlled.
Again,
empty air.
A fracture appeared—not in the battlefield.
but in his rhythm.
A barely perceptible stutter.
His footing faltered.
His leg slipped.
just slightly.
But in a clash like this, slightly was everything.
"…no."
Blackwood stood there.
Watching.
Jurgen's brows tightened.
Impossible
This already happened before.
He surged forward.
A barrage.
Punch.
Punch.
Punch.
All clean.
All precise.
All….
Missing.
Not even close.
His fist cut through air
Again.
Again.
Again.
His footing broke.
A misstep.
His balance tilted.
Where he should stand, he slipped.
Where he should land, he faltered.
Jurgen's breath hitched.
"…what is this…"
Blackwood smiled.
Slow.
Crooked.
Steam rising around him.
Jurgen froze.
Just for a second.
A realization creeping in.
Not speed.
Not skill.
Something else.
Something wrong.
"…bad luck?"
Jurgen staggered.
Still off balance.
Breath uneven.
His eyes moved. Searching. Desperate.
"…think…"
His pupils dilated.
Straining.
Pushing.
Then,
He saw it.
Faint.
Barely visible.
Threads.
All around the arena.
Thin.
Invisible.
Laced through the air.
A soft glow.
"…strings?"
Reira, everywhere.
His eyes widened.
So thats it—
Blackwood moved.
Gone.
Jurgen's head snapped to the side.
Too late.
A blur tore through the space between them, closing the distance in an instant, far too fast, far too sudden for even his sharpened awareness to fully grasp.
Instinct took over.
His palm rose, steady and precise, the timing flawless, positioned to catch, to divert, to redirect the incoming force with calculated efficiency.
It should have worked.
It didn't.
His hand met nothing.
"… dammit!"
The attack passed straight through his guard as if it had never been there.
Impact followed.
Violent.
Absolute.
His body folded inward as the force drove into him, the air in his lungs expelled in a single, crushing burst.
BOOM.
The shock rippled through him, tearing through muscle and bone alike, leaving no room for thought, only sensation.
"…how—"
There was no time to finish.
Blackwood was already there.
A hand seized him, fingers locking around him with effortless strength, lifting him from the ground as though he weighed nothing at all.
For a brief moment, Jurgen hung suspended.
Then,
he was driven down.
CRASH.
The ground shattered beneath him, concrete fracturing outward as his body slammed into it, sinking into the impact zone as dust and debris erupted in all directions.
The world blurred.
A breath escaped him,
and didn't return.
Blackwood moved again.
No pause.
No hesitation.
His body twisted, fluid and violent in one seamless motion.
A kick followed.
THUD.
The force sent Jurgen flying, his body spinning uncontrollably through the fractured air, cutting through dust and broken stone before crashing and skidding across the arena floor.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Oppressive.
Jurgen twitched against the ground, his body slow to respond, breath shattered into uneven fragments. Pain lingered in every limb, dull yet overwhelming, dragging against his attempts to move.
He pushed.
Nothing.
Tried again.
His arm trembled violently under the strain, muscles resisting as though weighed down by something unseen.
Still,
he forced himself upward.
Slowly.
Unsteadily.
Dust fell from his frame in quiet streams as he rose, each motion deliberate, each breath sharp and uneven.
"…gh—"
Then,
a flicker.
A memory.
Not distant.
Recent.
That moment.
The counter.
The shift.
The pause.
His eyes widened as the pieces aligned.