As Taro and Kazuishi trailed behind Fistman, the nexus air grew heavy, laced with a faint metallic tang that clung to their throats. Their boots crunched over shattered stone, the sound swallowed by the looming squad gates—massive slabs of weathered granite, scarred with deep gashes and etched with faded, jagged runes that pulsed faintly under the twilight glow. "We're here now," Fistman growled, his voice a gravelly rasp as he shoved the gates open. The stone groaned, grinding against the earth, and a wave of heat and chaos spilled out, leaving Taro and Kazuishi rooted, eyes wide with shock.
The air inside reeked of blood and sweat, a thick, coppery stench that coated their lungs, mingling with the earthy musk of churned dirt. Fists carved through the air like thunderbolts, each swing trailing arcs of crimson spray that splattered the dusty ground, turning it into a slick, red-stained canvas. The main spectacle dominated the arena—two squad members unleashed a storm of violence, their gloves and brass knuckles gleaming with fresh blood, eschewing swords or blasts for raw, unfiltered brutality. Dodging was a foreign concept here—no one flinched from a strike. Blocks were the only creed, a savage ballet of survival. Two Dremapols traded blows in a relentless rhythm—left, right, left, right—each impact a wet smack of flesh against metal, blood erupting in gouts from noses, cheeks, and guts. The strikes didn't falter; they pressed on, muscles bulging, sweat streaming down their faces, until both leapt back, chests heaving, grins splitting through the crimson masks.
One, Kenriki, boasted dark spiky hair that jutted like blackened quills, each strand matted with sweat and streaked with blood. His furious eyes burned with a wild, amber intensity, framed by a broad, scarred face that spoke of countless brawls—jagged cuts crisscrossing his jaw, a broken nose set at an odd angle. His gloved fists, wrapped in cracked leather stained red, flexed with coiled power. The other, Kentaisho, had flowing red hair that whipped like flames in the chaos, cascading over a sharp, angular face with piercing gray eyes that glinted with serious resolve beneath a thin layer of grime. His lean frame carried a quiet strength, his brass knuckles glinting with fresh blood, a faint smirk tugging at lips cracked from the fight.
"Wow, you've gotten better than before, Special Assistant Kenriki," Kentaisho panted, wiping a trickle of blood from his brow, his voice rough but laced with respect.
"I can't even believe you've gotten strong enough to match me this long, Kentaisho," Kenriki shot back, his grin widening as he shook out his aching fists. "Your fists carry more weight than usual." Without warning, he lunged, boots pounding the earth, gloved hands raised like hammers. He vaulted into the air, muscles rippling under his sweat-soaked tunic, and roared, "But no matter… 'cause there's nothing at all that I can't punch!!!" His descent was a blur, the full-force blow whistling downward, dark red aura flaring around his fists, faint lightning crackling like jagged veins across the surface.
Kentaisho, caught off guard, reacted on instinct—his arms snapped up, brass knuckles clashing against the strike just as the aura erupted. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the air, dust exploding outward, the ground trembling beneath their feet. Kenriki's fists, now wreathed in that dark red storm, pressed down with relentless force, the lightning snapping and hissing, singeing the air with a sharp ozone scent. Kentaisho's knees buckled, but he gritted his teeth, a faint yellow aura igniting across his body like a second skin, golden flickers dancing along his arms. "I'll never give up on my fists!" he bellowed, veins bulging in his neck as he shoved back, the clash of auras sending sparks flying like embers from a forge. "Haaaaaaaaaaah!" His scream tore through the arena, a raw cry of defiance.
Kenriki's resolve didn't waver. With a deft twist, he seized Kentaisho's arm, fingers digging into the muscle for leverage, and unleashed a guttural roar: "Half States Smash!!!!!" The lightning intensified, a jagged web of energy arcing across his frame, the dark red aura swelling to engulf his entire body and radiate outward, the heat warping the air around them. Kentaisho's resistance faltered under the crushing weight, a choked "Argh!" escaping as his strength gave way.
*Boom!* The explosion of force slammed Kentaisho into the dirt, a crater forming beneath him, dust and blood misting the air. Kenriki staggered back, chest heaving, and slowly raised his fist skyward, a faint, triumphant smile creasing his battered face. "I win again," he rasped, his voice thick with exertion as he glanced down at his fallen rival.
Kentaisho coughed, a weak chuckle bubbling up as he turned his blood-streaked face away, the red hair plastered to his scalp. "Hehe, you bastard and those strong fists of yours… You won again today." He twisted his head back, gray eyes blazing with fierce determination, undimmed by the defeat. "But I will definitely defeat you—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe next month or the one after, but a day will come when you'll fall to my fists… slowly but surely."
Kenriki's smirk widened, a glint of respect in his amber eyes. He extended a gloved hand, calluses scraping against the dirt. "I look forward to it. But I don't think one of the best ways to do that is on the ground—so get up, my friend."
Kentaisho gripped the offered hand, leveraging himself up with a groan, his yellow aura fading to a faint shimmer. "Yeah, thanks," he muttered, brushing dirt from his bruised chest.
Suddenly, Fistman strode forward, his crimson-scarred face splitting into a wide, approving grin, the white trunks and robe stained with the arena's grime. "Now that's what I love to see—it couldn't have been doing any better!"
"Oh, hey, thanks, Fistman," Kenriki replied, nodding with a weary smile, his spiky hair still dripping sweat.
"Nice work… you make me proud as a captain to have a Special Assistant like you," Fistman said, clapping Kenriki's shoulder, the impact sending a faint thud through the air.
"Hehe, thanks, man, I appreciate it a lot," Kenriki responded, bowing his head slightly before straightening, his amber eyes gleaming with pride.
Fistman's gaze shifted to Kentaisho, his expression hardening, voice dropping to a low, serious timbre. "But as for you…"
He stepped closer and dapped Kentaisho, his tone flipping to its usual rough cheer. "That was frickin' awesome—your fire never dies out. You outdid yourself, Kentaisho, but just know you lost today. It doesn't mean you will tomorrow, as long as you follow the path your fists take you to."
Kentaisho pressed his hand into the dap, a spark of resolve in his gray eyes. "Thank you, sir. Rest assured, I'll surely win against him next time."
Kenriki smirked, leaning in with a tease. "Feel free to dream, man, but we're kinda already in the Dream World, so…"
"Why, I oughta—" Kentaisho grunted, his fist clenching, but Kenriki cut in, still taunting, "You want another duel? I just beat you—are you addicted to an ass-whooping or what?"
"Argh!" Kentaisho lunged, his lean frame surging forward, but Kenriki darted away, circling with a mocking laugh. "How do you suck at running too? At this rate, you're gonna drop to Secondary Assistant!"
"Ahhhh!" Kenriki yelped, feigning a stumble as Kentaisho gave chase, the arena echoing with their playful chaos.
Fistman chuckled, his scarred face creasing with amusement, arms crossed over his broad chest.
Suddenly, Taro stepped up,still mussed up from the gate shock, green eyes narrowing as he surveyed the scene. "You sure seem to get along with your squad members. Didn't expect you of all people to be that kinda guy."
"What the hell does that mean?" Fistman snapped, his scar twitching, crimson eyes locking onto Taro with a flicker of irritation.
Kenriki and Kentaisho halted, flanking Fistman as they whispered—in an exaggerated, audible tone. "Hey, Fistman, who the hell is this?" Kentaisho asked, his gray eyes sizing Taro up, a skeptical sneer curling his bloodied lips.
"I think he's the guy," Kenriki added, tilting his head, amber eyes glinting with curiosity, his spiky hair bouncing slightly.
"He's the guy?"
"I think so."
Taro raised his brows, a concerned frown creasing his forehead. "Do you dumbasses know I can hear you?"
But then Kenriki's gaze snagged on Taro's Reibone, the blade glinting at his side, and his expression darkened. "But Fistman, why does he have a sword? I thought he was a—"
Fistman closed the distance to Taro, his towering frame casting a shadow, crimson eyes narrowing with a mix of disappointment and challenge. "I thought so too."
The two locked eyes, the air thickening with intense silence, the squad's chaos fading into a distant hum as the tension crackled between them.