"Hmph. Don't overdo it, Blut."
The voice came from behind, low, measured, and faintly amused.
A thin plume of steam escaped from Rudolph Blutmörder's mouth, curling lazily into the air as his pupils shifted toward the trembling Jurgen. His presence thickened, pressing outward with suffocating density, the sheer weight of it making Jurgen's heart feel as though it might claw its way out of his chest.
"Shut up…" Blut muttered flatly, brushing the warning aside.
He stepped forward, closing the distance with deliberate ease, eyes glinting with quiet amusement and something darker beneath. Jurgen's instincts screamed at him to run, to turn and flee while he still could, but he held his ground, jaw tightening stubbornly. Leaving Hana behind was not an option, even if death stood only a few steps away.
"Stop it! Leave him!"
Hana's voice cracked as she shouted, the plea tearing through the air. For a fleeting moment, she tried to lunge forward, driven by desperation, but her body refused to obey. It wasn't injury that held her back. The sheer malice pouring from Blut crushed her in place, forcing her down onto her knees. Her hands stretched out helplessly, trembling as though they could still reach him.
Blut moved without haste. His hand shot out — low, controlled, and unyielding, and closed around Jurgen's throat. The grip was immediate, absolute. Jurgen was lifted effortlessly off the ground, suspended as though his weight meant nothing.
His eyes widened as his muscles strained uselessly against the iron hold. His hands clawed at Blut's wrist, trying to pry it loose, but it didn't budge.
"Gghh—"
The sound forced its way out, choked and raw. Frustration burned in his narrowed gaze, his helplessness laid bare as a thin trail of blood slipped from the corner of his lips.
Footsteps approached from behind Blut, and another figure stepped into view with quiet composure. His presence was calm yet undeniably oppressive, carrying a colder, sharper danger.
"That attack earlier…" he began smoothly, almost conversational. "Quite something, wasn't it?"
Jurgen's gaze flickered toward him, pausing from his struggles as if trying to understand.
"Shōgeki Shō… Impact Palm," the man continued, voice soft and precise. "It concentrates a portion of Reira's flow into a single point within the body… then releases it upon contact."
He spoke like a lecturer, hands moving lightly as he explained. For a brief moment, Blut's grip slackened just enough for Jurgen to drag in a sharp, desperate breath, not out of mercy, but irritation simmering beneath the surface.
"A strike. A touch. Even a graze is enough," he went on, eyes narrowing slightly. "Bones shatter. The flow of Reira is disrupted. Organs begin to fail."
He paused briefly, as though considering his next words.
"Think of it as planting a bomb inside the body… and detonating it instantly."
A faint grin spread across his face, subtle yet unmistakably amused, as a sudden gust of wind swept through, tugging at their coats.
"Grrr… what a nasty attack. Even I dread it."
"Kimura… are you an idiot?"
Blut's voice cracked through the air like a whip, each word edged with restrained fury. His gaze didn't shift, but the tension around him sharpened.
Kimura blinked, genuinely puzzled, his head tilting slightly as though the accusation made no sense.
"Huh?"
Blut's eyes flared. Veins pulsed at his temples, and the air around him seemed to tremble with irritation. He snapped his head toward Kimura, the movement sharp and cutting, lips curling into a snarl.
"You go around explaining my abilities to whoever you please?" His voice surged, disbelief and anger tightly woven together. It was clear this wasn't the first time, and just as clear it had cost them before.
Kimura straightened, the casual innocence draining from his expression. He lifted a hand to his forehead and exhaled a quiet sigh.
"My, my… don't get so mad, Blut," he said lightly. "I mean, even if you did, I wouldn't blame you."
A smirk curled at his lips, this time unmistakably mocking.
"A mere random… dodging an attack you should have landed. A pathetic display."
His gaze sharpened, amusement fading into something colder.
"How far you've fallen… for a high commander of Mercedes."
The words carried weight — less fury than disappointment, but no less cutting.
Hana watched in silence, confusion threading through her fear as her tear-filled eyes darted back to Jurgen, catching the smear of blood on his lips. Blut's grip tightened again without warning, crushing the brief air Jurgen had managed to draw. His body writhed instinctively, but it was futile, he could barely move at all.
"Hmph!"
The sound slipped from Blut's lips as his expression sank into shadow, a low chuckle following as if drawn out by instinct rather than thought. His fist clenched tightly at his side, tension coiling through his frame as dust stirred faintly beneath his feet. Behind him, Kimura's voice faded into irrelevance, dismissed without so much as a glance.
The atmosphere shifted.
A crushing pressure descended, thick and suffocating, pressing down on everything in its reach. Jurgen thrashed frantically, kicking at Blut with what little strength he could muster, his hands clawing desperately at the iron grip around his throat. It was useless. His movements weakened against the overwhelming force, and then his gaze caught the clenched fist at Blut's side, drawn tight, trembling faintly with restrained fury.
His eyes widened.
That attack… it was meant for him.
Panic surged violently through his body. He writhed harder, forcing his arms forward in a desperate attempt to reach Blut's face, fingers stretching, straining, only to stop just inches short. No matter how he clawed, he couldn't close the distance, as though something unseen held him back.
"Hey, Blut!"
Kimura's voice rang out sharply, cutting through the suffocating tension. There was urgency in it now — command, even as he sensed the shift, the killing intent gathering within that single clenched fist. Blut didn't respond. His gaze remained forward, his grip unyielding.
Hana rushed in without hesitation. She grabbed at Blut's uniform, tugging with all her strength as she struck at him in frantic succession, each hit fueled by desperation. None of it made a difference. The pressure alone was enough to overwhelm her, and in the next instant she was thrown back, sent flying by the sheer force radiating from Blut's Reira.
Jurgen gasped weakly, the sight burning into him. Anger flared within his fading consciousness, but it meant nothing. Blut's hold only tightened, crushing the air from his lungs as more blood slipped past his lips, staining them in a grim testament to the force bearing down on him.
The shadows over Blut's face deepened further, swallowing any trace of humanity. Across from him, Kimura's expression shifted — subtle, but unmistakable. Unease crept in, threading through his otherwise composed demeanor. The world seemed to still, every movement suspended in a moment stretched too thin.
"Rudolph Blutmörder!"
Kimura's voice cut through the silence once more, sharp as a blade, an attempt to reach him, pull him back, but it fell on deaf ears.
Blut moved.
The punch came like lightning, tearing through the air with lethal precision, its intent absolute. In that same instant, Kimura reacted, faster than sight could follow.