Before Nagitsu's crumpled form had even settled, Kamo launched himself forward.
Kamo's analysis was automatic, almost bored, Nagitsu had been handled too easily. Meaning the margin for error was smaller than Kamo liked.
He shot forward to allow his tank time to recupperate, Shadows erupted from his feet, as twin columns of churning blackness. The darkness took shape, solidifying into two crude, humanoid forms. They were not perfect replicas, but rough effigies of men, moving with an eerie, disjointed purpose that mirrored Kamo's own cold focus.
They flanked Haruto from opposite sides, attacking simultaneously, coordination perfect in execution but mechanical in essence. Kamo slowed, leaving room for him to survey and adjust while he watched as Haruto ducked the high strike, and parried the low. A flick of his wrist sent one construct dissipating into darkness.
Kamo surged through the black mist created by the shadow's unraveling, fists poised to strike. Haruto glided away, deflecting yet again.
Haruto's palm shot downward. Kamo felt sudden weight, heavy and suffocating, slam onto his shoulders. His knee cracked into the obsidian. Pain was registered, and his own understanding of what he was up against left room for possible irritation, maybe even fear. Kamo refused to let it surface, burying it quickly beneath a cold logic: A minor obstacle.
But his fortitude did not stretch to that of his ally, and Nagitsu's expression was nothing short of incredulous. The shock on his face was loud enough to say 'Gravity? How does that even make sense?!' Or something synonymous.
Kamo grimaced at his partner's lack of composure.
Through his bewilderment, Nagitsu's hands slammed against the ground, and a jagged, stiff, iron chain erupted toward Haruto, forcing the guard to break concentration. The pressure lifted instantly, and Kamo stood, his shadows reforming. Nagitsu, along with Kamo's soldiers pressed the attack again. The threat of Nagitsu's raw power, as well as Kamo's distance allowed them to be more coordinated, forcing Haruto's guard lower and creating a brief opening.
Haruto blocked a pitch black fist, while also guiding the second shadow away from himself. With no hands left to protect himself, Nagitsu's fist found Haruto's cheek— Hardly causing his head to reel backward yet drawing the first mark on his pristine appearance.
"Oh?"
He paused, fingers delicately tracing the spot, more intrigued than irritated—like a sommelier finding a sour note in an otherwise ordinary vintage.
"A mark… how quaint. Surely this isn't the peak of your effort, is it?
The taunt slid harmlessly past Kamo's defenses. He wasn't fighting for Haruto's approval. He wasn't even fighting for his own pride—not yet. He glanced briefly toward Fūregen, whose rigid posture seemed to be tracking the battle with an analyzing expression.
Tilting his head upward in what can only be seen as boredom, he collapsed the space around the leftmost construct, compressing it into nothingness with a flick of his wrist. He spun, but a fraction too late. Kamo's punch, thrown from the heart of the chaos, connected squarely with his ribs. For a single, frozen moment, they stood locked, force against force, a stalemate of muscle and will.
Then the guard smiled, a thin, cruel curve of his lips.
And a pressure slammed into Kamo from six directions at once.
What is this? It's like every punch I throw slows down as it reaches him. Kamo's mind calmly raced.
The fight continued in disciplined silence from Kamo's end. His shadows moved fluidly, coordinating perfectly with Nagitsu's renewed, reckless charges. Haruto retreated under their combined pressure, his careful grace showing slight cracks.
So the team of four continued forward. Haruto's guard snapped toward the approaching construct in a defensive motion. With the distance, Kamo could see the shadow figure seemingly slow down mid-swing. The strength of his constructs where nearly seventy five percent of his own, so for a haymaker, it was odd for Kamo to see it swatted away so easily.
Kamo's thoughts were cut short as Nagitsu's own strike, from Haruto's blindside, landed in his peripheral. Haruto's head whipped to the side with a sickening crack.
The senior guard stumbled, touching his split lip with an expression of genuine, almost childlike surprise.
His laugh came light and polished, like a toast at someone else's expense.
He rolled his shoulder with casual flair, letting the stiffness fall away.
"Did you take that as a challenge? Very good." Haruto stammered while trying to recuperate. Behind his demeanor, it was obvious that Haruto was dizzy.
The brief triumph should have felt satisfying. Instead, it drew his attention again toward Fūre. His mentor was no longer watching, but engaged with Takumi –– Kamo couldn't yet put a name to his face, but could easily assume to be Haruto's junior.Tch, Kamo's thoughts began to tense in some emotion like jealousy rooted in respect—creating what he could only perceive as a splinter of frustration.
Haruto's voice cut through sharply. "Focus boy. Do not be so cocky as to think you can worry about your leader right now."
For the first time, Haruto sounded somewhat serious. Cocky as the comment was, he was right. Though Kamo never relieved Nagitsu of the support from his soldiers, Kamo wasn't all the way there. He couldn't be, and that was holding them both back even if only by a small amount.
Kamo's shadows required his careful mental oversight—each motion was a deliberate, calibrated choice using his own tactical understanding. He controlled every action of all three bodies simultaneously, making constant, precise decisions for each—down to the exact way each finger formed a fist. Kamo's emotions bled into each decision as their movements grew faster, more violent, yet losing some precision as the first signs of impatience crept into his decisions. The constructs struck harder, but landed fewer blows, becoming aggressive projections of Kamo's own simmering frustration.
"Your tactics are desperate," Haruto continued smoothly, reading Kamo with clinical ease. "Exactly what I'd expect from disposable fodder."
Kamo's expression hardened beneath the mask. Disposable was an accusation he didn't intend to tolerate. Yet, for just an instant, doubt invaded.
No, he corrected himself. That was impossible. Haruto's opinions didn't matter.
"You talk too much," Kamo said ever so calmly as he surged forward again, shadows swirling furiously at his heels, his focus sharpened to a razor's edge. It was Haruto who needed correction, not him.