CRASH.
Blackwood's blow met him with merciless force, the impact rippling through bone and sinew alike. Air fled his lungs as his body was cast backward, distance opening in a blur while he struggled to gather himself against the searing recoil.
There was no reprieve.
They closed in at once.
Jurgen forced himself forward, striking into the oncoming pressure, only for the attack to cut through empty space.
Jiro's head inclined mid-step, a subtle motion, almost contemplative, as though observing a minor curiosity rather than a life-or-death exchange.
"You ever wonder…"
The words slipped between clashes, unhurried, as fists met and parted in a relentless rhythm. Jurgen yielded ground despite himself, each step drawn back under mounting pressure.
"…why your timing's off?"
The barrage did not cease.
Jaw tightening, Jurgen answered with a counter, the motion sharp, deliberate—yet the instant fractured. His footing betrayed him. Another slight slip, barely perceptible, was enough.
His strike veered.
Balance faltered.
Jiro's voice threaded through the unraveling moment, precise as a blade.
"Your feet slip."
A measured shift.
"Your aim drifts."
He advanced, seamless, inevitable, his fist driving forward with unerring certainty. It connected.
Jurgen's head snapped back, the force sending him reeling as blood burst from his nose, scattering in a crimson arc.
"Your balance… collapses."
A faint smile touched Jiro's lips, cold, assured, devoid of haste.
"That's not coincidence."
He stepped in again, closing the remaining distance as though tightening a noose, his presence pressing in from all sides, inescapable.
"It's my design!"
The words broke into a sharp exhale of amusement.
Then—movement.
Both he and Blackwood surged at once.
From either side, the strike descended.
Jurgen raised his arm on instinct alone, locking it into place, elbow braced, guard drawn tight across his frame.
The collision was devastating.
IMPACT.
Force crashed into him, heavy and absolute. The ground tore beneath his feet as he was driven back, heels carving jagged lines into the earth.
SKREEE!
His arm trembled under the strain, darkened, the flesh already betraying the toll. Pain surged through it in violent waves, twisting his features despite his effort to contain it.
"…gh—"
Blackwood's smile lingered, thin and unkind, as steam coiled from his frame in a constant, whispering hiss.
Jiro advanced a single step, every motion composed, measured—inevitable.
"Yaku no Ito."
Silence followed, brief yet deliberate.
Across the arena, faint threads began to shimmer into view, flickering at the edges of perception as though reality itself had grown thin enough to reveal them. They wove through the space in delicate, almost elegant patterns, subtle, yet suffocating.
"Thread of Calamity… that's my power."
Jurgen's gaze sharpened. No surprise, only confirmation settling behind his eyes, a quiet acknowledgment that the unseen hand behind his missteps had finally taken form.
Jiro's smile shifted, warmth draining from it until nothing remained but something cold, something certain.
"You can't win."
Another step brought him closer.
"Not in a place where I control misfortune."
The air itself seemed to constrict, drawn taut like a net pulled closed. Jiro's head tilted slightly, as though observing an outcome already decided.
"That's why you're going to lose, Jurgen."
A pause, sharp, deliberate.
"Or rather…"
His eyes darkened. One hand rose, extending forward in a slow, almost inviting gesture.
"I'll make you lose."
Jurgen said nothing.
His breathing steadied despite the pain still coursing through him, each pulse of it echoing from the earlier strike.
His arms remained crossed before him, held in place more by will than strength, the slightest shift sending fresh waves of strain through muscle and bone.
"Both Emperors…"
Jiro's voice returned, edged now with something harsher.
"…have had their eyes on you since the beginning of this match."
A faint chuckle surfaced, brushing briefly against the disdain in his expression.
"Why is that, Jurgen-kun?"
The question lingered, unanswered.
"…maybe because you're special?"
For a moment, his face stilled.
Then it broke.
Twisted.
Something raw surged through him, abrupt and unrestrained.
"I hate people who stand out!"
The shout tore through the arena, jagged and full of venom.
"Jurgen!!"
He moved in the same instant, no hesitation, no restraint. Blackwood surged alongside him, their advance perfectly aligned, a closing vice from both sides.
Fast.
Too fast.
Jurgen reacted, but his body betrayed him. His arm lagged, heavy, unresponsive, agony flaring as his muscles refused to obey.
"…damn—"
The pain sharpened, cutting through his focus. His limbs resisted, locked in the aftermath of the damage he had already endured.
Jiro's voice cleaved through the moment, stripped of all composure.
"Die!"
And then.
The ground shifted.
Subtle at first. Almost imperceptible.
Then unmistakable.
Too soft.
Their footing gave way.
Jiro's eyes widened, shock breaking through his certainty.
"…what?!"
His body dipped—then sank, dragged downward as though the earth itself had turned against him. Resistance was futile; it swallowed him in a single, fluid motion, rising to his neck before halting just short of complete submersion.
Blackwood reacted on instinct alone.
Before the ground could claim him, he launched upward, steam erupting violently as his body cut through the air. His gaze snapped toward Jiro's trapped form, fury simmering beneath the surface.
Suddenly.
The earth answered.
HARDEN.
What had been fluid turned absolute.
Jiro froze where he was, the ground locking around him like iron, his body entombed beneath the surface with only his head left exposed. He strained against it, but the hold did not yield.
A voice rang out from behind them.
"Jurgen-san!"
Jurgen tilted his head, slow but deliberate, eyes tracking toward the far end of the arena,
and finding Bubbles.
His palm met the ground, fingers splayed as though grasping for purchase within something unseen. Strain carved itself into every line of his posture, shoulders taut, breath uneven.
His teeth clenched.
Not from pain alone, but from the pressure of forcing forth something unfamiliar, something that resisted him even as it answered.
"It's up to you!"
The call carried across the arena, firm despite the effort behind it. Beneath its urgency lay something quieter, trust, unspoken yet unmistakable.
Around him, the softened earth responded.
What had once threatened to give way now steadied, firming beneath deliberate control. Not absolute, never rigid enough to disrupt what had already been set in motion, but precise. The ground held where it needed to, yielding only in careful measure.
Jiro remained sunk, immobilized where the hardened earth had claimed him, yet the surrounding terrain retained a subtle give—just enough to keep him trapped at that exact depth, neither swallowed nor freed.
A delicate balance.
One maintained entirely by Bubbles.
Jurgen watched, and for the first time since the clash began, something in his expression eased. A faint smile touched his lips, not of relief, but recognition.
Useful.
Decisively so.
"Ah!… leave the rest to me, fatty."
The words carried a familiar edge, yet the tone beneath them had shifted, lightly, almost imperceptibly. Something warmer lingered there, a restrained trace of satisfaction breaking through the strain of battle.