The storm grew even more violent, the floodwaters at Jagalchi Market now swirling around their ankles.
Without a word of warning, Kitae swung his axe in a savage downward arc. The blade cut through the rain with a lethal whistle, aimed straight for the center of Baki's skull. It was a blow heavy enough to split a man in two.
Baki didn't flinch. He reached up, his fingers clamping onto the edge of the axe like steel talons.
Squelch—
The razor-sharp steel bit into his palm, drawing a spray of crimson, but the heavy weapon couldn't descend another inch.
"Is this all the strength you've got?" Baki asked, a grin splitting his face.
Kitae's knuckles turned bone-white, the muscles in his forearms coiling like thick, straining cables. He let out a low, guttural growl, his boots grinding into the asphalt as he wrenched the axe upward with enough force to flip a car.
Baki's own frame swelled, his shirt stitching beginning to pop. His feet stayed glued to the pavement, his shoulder locked in a rigid, unwavering line. The only movement was the slow, steady drip of blood from his palm, sizzling against the cold steel of the axe.
Creak—
The wooden handle began to groan. Tiny splinters of oak hissed as they snapped under the opposing pressures. Kitae shifted his weight, his entire frame vibrating with the effort to reclaim his weapon. Baki met the surge, his own jaw tightening as he channeled every ounce of his weight into his grip.
Creeeak—
The metal of the axe head began to warp. A high-pitched, metallic whine pierced through the roar of the rain as the steel itself started to scream under the dual-sided pressure.
Neither man gave an inch.
"Hnnng!" Kitae's teeth ground together, the veins in his neck bulging like whipcords.
Baki's eyes remained locked on Kitae's, his face crowned a monstrous grin. He wasn't just holding the axe; he was matching Kitae's monstrous strength pound for pound, turning the weapon into the focal point of a hurricane.
The ground beneath their feet shattered, spider-webbing outward in every direction.
CRACK!
The tension snapped. The axe head splintered right down the middle, sending shards of steel whistling into the rain like shrapnel.
'This guy's power... it's barely human.'
Kitae looked at the weapon remaining in his hand, showing no sign of surprise. He kept his head low, his voice a deep rumble. "You truly stand above the Kings."
He slowly looked up, his eyes narrowing with a newfound seriousness. "What will it take for you to—"
BOOM!
Before Kitae could finish the sentence, a heavy, cannon-like punch exploded against his guard.
Kitae had reacted instantly, crossing his arms to block, but the moment the fist connected, his defense caved in. The sheer force of the impact sent him hurtling backward. He crashed into the concrete wall at the edge of the arena, sending a cloud of dust and debris into the air.
Baki pulled his fist back, watching the faint trail of steam rising from his knuckles. He gave them a soft blow.
"What's the point of talking so much?" Baki said. "It just ruins the fun, doesn't it?"
As the dust settled, Kitae pushed himself up. This time, the blood on his face was his own. He wiped a smear of red from his lip, his expression darkening into something predatory.
"I was going to invite you to my side," Kitae said, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Once I become the King of the Underworld, you could have been my left hand. But you're far too dangerous."
Baki studied him, his mind racing.
'I landed a solid Goutaijutsu, but the effect wasn't what I wanted... his durability is an absolute enigma.'
Kitae didn't waste any more words. He exploded from his spot, his fist cocked back with devastating intent. Baki matched him, lunging forward with equal ferocity.
THWACK! THWACK!
Kitae's right hook slammed into Baki's jaw at the exact moment Baki's left cross buried itself in Kitae's cheek.
Crack.
Their heads snapped back, necks straining against the whiplash, but their feet didn't budge. Before the blood could even spray into the rain, Baki drove a straight punch into Kitae's solar plexus. Kitae didn't flinch; he answered with a crushing blow to Baki's ribs.
Thud.
Baki's knuckles split against Kitae's forehead. Kitae's fist crunched into Baki's nose.
Smack. Thwack. Crack.
There was no guard. No footwork. Just the rhythmic, sickening sound of meat colliding with bone. A spray of red mist erupted between them, hung in the humid air for a split second, and was immediately washed away by the downpour.
Baki swung again, his fist glancing off Kitae's temple. Kitae roared, swinging a heavy overhand that sent a glob of blood flying from Baki's lip. They stayed chest-to-chest, the sheer volume of their strikes turning into a frantic, blurred cacophony.
Pum-pum-pum-pum!
Every strike was a kill-shot. Every impact sounded like a wet leather bag being hit with a sledgehammer.
Suddenly, Kitae stopped. He lurched backward, his boots sliding through the bloody slush for several feet. He bent over, clutching his chest, and spat a thick, dark glob of blood onto the pavement. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his chest heaving as he shook his head.
"As I thought..." Kitae rasped, his voice bubbling with phlegm. "You're not 'tasty' at all."
Baki stood his ground, his face a mess of swelling and cuts, but his eyes were wider than ever. He let out a jagged, breathless laugh and beckoned with a blood-slicked hand.
"Man up, Kitae! It's just the beginning!"