Humaitá quickly positioned his right fist in front of his body, like a kind of "threat" to Kura. The man then swiftly pulled his fist back and charged at the boy with all his speed. He aimed straight at the young man's head—it would be a top-down strike with all his force and speed, a "skull-crusher." Kura was surprised by the move but noticed that the indigenous man had lost the balance and rhythm he had before, most likely due to that earlier attack from the soldier, which disrupted part of that control. This allowed the boy to dodge with a sidestep to his opponent's right.
Even after missing his target badly, Humaitá simply turned back and tried the same strike again. This time, not only did Kura dodge the attack, but he also landed a solid left punch right on Humaitá's chin.
— Don't you think it's better to surrender now? Fighting for your criminal companions won't get you anywhere in this duel.
Kura spoke calmly and serenely, expecting his opponent to fall to the ground, unable to fight anymore. However, the man recovered before falling, a smile forming on his face. He threw another powerful punch at the boy, who defended himself by crossing both arms in front of the target area. Of course, the force of the impact made him stumble back, but it wasn't too damaging in terms of the fight.
— Fighting for those animals?! Don't speak that kind of bullshit in front of me. I'm not fighting for them—I'm fighting for something made by them!
The dancing warrior said this with a face full of rage—pure hatred and disgust—that someone would think he was fighting for those damn terrorists. In Humaitá's mind, memories of his poor and isolated tribe deep in the forest surfaced, along with the image of a child around twelve years old and an unknown animal. Slowly, he moved the arm that could still function toward the pocket of his loose and comfortable pants, pulling out a kind of necklace that looked like a tribute to someone close or beloved. Another smile appeared on his face as he held that necklace tightly and thought:
"Exactly… I don't fight for those people or their survival. I fight for my people and their survival!"
He advanced again, delivering a flurry of powerful right jabs at Kura. Even though the boy defended himself, Humaitá's pure force and determination seemed even stronger than before—as if more people were fighting alongside him. Kura responded with two punches to the indigenous man's chest, forcing him to step back. But what looked like a stumble was actually a calculated move: the criminal used the momentum to land a strong headbutt on Kura, who staggered back and responded with an equally powerful headbutt. Humaitá grabbed Kura's head—he had just regained use of his arm—and with both hands, he held on tight. Kura responded the same way, and the two began landing headbutts on each other in a brutal and powerful sequence.
"It's been years since I had such an exciting fight in my life!"
The tribal warrior thought as he stared into Kura's eyes. Rain poured down hard on both of them, water mixing with blood and running down their bodies. During the sequence of headbutts, Humaitá saw the soldier face-to-face. Despite the difference in physical size, the tribal recognized the army boy as a warrior on equal footing.
"Isn't that right, brother?!"
The indigenous man thought this as his mind flashed back to an old memory, where a much younger Humaitá was seen with someone of similar age. In that lost memory, the young tribal pressed his fist against his supposed opponent's, a gesture of greeting, which quickly turned into fists clashing at full speed and force, signaling the start of a deadly duel.
"Ah yes… there was that. How did we end up at the point of trying to kill each other, brother Itararé?"
Going far back in time, we see the same boy—a younger, more carefree Humaitá. He was lying on a flowery cliffside, resting at the entrance of a dark cave, with the stem of a flower in his mouth.
— So sleepy… nothing interesting to do.
Suddenly, a fierce animal appeared on the field—a large, aggressive jaguar. That excited the boy, who thought he'd finally do something fun to escape the boredom. But all he heard was:
— Quarup Taturana!
The jaguar's head was suddenly sliced off by a fiery blow delivered by another person: Humaitá's twin brother, Itararé. He stole the scene, as he had been tracking the beast for some time. Young Humaitá lost interest and lay back on the stone, sighing.
— Way to ruin it. There's already nothing to do, and now you steal the perfect prey too!
Itararé calmly turned toward his brother as the flames from his dance faded. The smell of roasted meat—clearly the jaguar—began to fill the air.
— You wouldn't be so bored if you actually trained your dance power. All our ancestors did it—only you don't!
Humaitá tried to throw a rock at his seemingly distracted brother, but Itararé just tilted his head, dodging it effortlessly. A teasing smile appeared on his face as he mimed playing a musical instrument.
— You know, I don't really like dancing. I think being a musician is way more interesting.
A rock finally hit Humaitá's head—his brother had landed a hit at last. The two burst into laughter. Their bond seemed "perfect": one was the other's friend and partner. Even though Humaitá didn't train as much, he occasionally did some light training just so their father wouldn't say he was slacking.
— Man, how can you like training so much? Our family's power being tied to it is kinda boring.
Humaitá said that during another one of his rare training sessions. Itararé concentrated for about two and a half minutes before stopping and responding.
— Maybe. But I still feel special, knowing we're one of the rare cases of "family-inherited power."
His brother's words only made Humaitá more skeptical, pressing him further.
— But why train so hard that you sometimes pass out?
Itararé gave a joyful, inspiring smile. He looked his brother straight in the eyes and said:
— I want to lead our village like our father. But I know I need to be strong like him for that. That's why I'll keep training, to be strong like our dad!
Humaitá looked at his brother, getting a little emotional and inspired by the dream. He knew his brother hadn't finished his thought, so he waited.
— That's my dream. A dream I've carried since I was a kid! And I… I hope my younger brother will be with me in this, as my second-in-command or something like that.
Itararé held out his hand to his brother. The response was a firm handshake.
— Of course I'll be with you! But don't call me the younger brother—you were born just a few seconds earlier!
Both brothers smiled at each other warmly. The future looked bright and full of promise for these two dreamers.
— Brother Humaitá, our future looks amazing!
Humaitá agreed. That moment—and many others—would stay in his memory forever. Over time, they trained together daily, fighting not just animals, but each other too—from dawn to dusk, no breaks, not even to eat or drink. Years passed quickly. When they started, they were thirteen. After four years of intense training in strength, endurance, and combat strategy, they were seventeen and physically well-built. Their spiritual power had also grown significantly during that time in the forest.
Then their father called them for a serious private talk. When they arrived at the hut, he told them to come in and began:
— As you both know, in a few days the Marabá Jaci will take place, to decide the next leader of our village. As my sons, I want you to fight in the tournament and keep this title in our family—just like it has been for the past hundred years!
He said this with a voice full of rage, slamming the ground with all his might. He locked eyes with both sons, as if pressuring them to accept. Itararé quickly looked his father in the eye and spoke with firm determination:
— I'll do it with great honor, Father!
Humaitá watched his brother speak. Even though he didn't like battles and just wanted to enjoy life, he looked at his father and said with the same resolve:
— I'll do it too, Father! If Itararé is going, then I'm going too!
And so it was decided: both would fight in this "war" for the title of village leader. Itararé for his dream—and Humaitá, for the dream of his twin brother born just seconds earlier.