This time, Jurgen had flipped the stakes on Blackwood. He tightened his grip around his neck while his legs worked in tandem to compress his ribs. There was no stochastic outcome anymore, only an inevitable victory resting firmly in Jurgen's grasp.
Blackwood raged violently as he struggled to escape the vicious chokehold he was trapped in, but it seemed impossible. Having experienced Jurgen, that grip was not coming loose — not until he passed out.
Two outcomes were certain for Jurgen to win inevitably: he either maintained the chokehold until Blackwood lost consciousness, or allowed him to exhaust his Reira completely. He was no philosopher, but it didn't take much to deduce that Blackwood had been continuously burning away his Reira in exchange for the state he maintained.
The scream that tore from Blackwood came out loud yet distorted, a testament to the punch that had shattered his jaw. He flailed wildly, his arms swinging back to strike Jurgen's ribs from behind with his elbows. Jurgen gritted his teeth as the sharp blows connected, but instead of loosening his hold, he tightened it further.
In a desperate attempt to escape, Blackwood hurled himself into the air with a feral scream, landing with his back facing the ground. This was perhaps the only coherent thought that had come from Blackwood since he entered that state; perhaps being forced into that merciless position beneath Jurgen's assault could bring someone like him slightly back to reality.
His back collided with the concrete, but Jurgen took the brunt of it instead. The ground splintered beneath him as the air was driven from his lungs. Jurgen's pupils threatened to roll back, but he snapped himself back to reality, tightening his grip even more.
"Burn away your fuel, you damn monster," Jurgen muttered into his ear in a mocking tone that carried a subtle edge of desperation.
Blackwood was already losing consciousness, no longer able to struggle. All he could do was claw at Jurgen's arm with what little force he had left. The steam around him gradually reduced, followed by a strained, gasping sound as he desperately tried to draw in whatever air he could through his lungs — but Jurgen showed no mercy, tightening his grip with full force.
Blackwood's body finally went limp. No further movement followed. It was decided— Jurgen had won.
Kimura appeared immediately, slicing his arm downward as he declared the match over, his commanding gaze landing on Jurgen. Jurgen, in turn, shot back a hateful look that clearly conveyed that Kimura would be next in line, though that, of course, was impossible not even in a hundred years.
He finally released Blackwood, a heavy thud following as his head collapsed exhaustedly onto the concrete. His chest rose and fell weakly in complete exhaustion, while Blackwood's body lay draped over him. Kimura quickly assessed the situation before lifting his arm and declaring the winner.
"WINNERS OF THE MATCH: JURGEN EINZELBERHT AND BUBBLES WILKES BOOTH."
Bubbles' name clicked in Jurgen's head. He lifted his gaze and scanned for him, eventually spotting him in the same place he had been before, completely unconscious. The shock was evident on Jurgen's face. What the hell was Bubbles passing out for? He hadn't even done anything.
Although he couldn't care less, he simply rested his head back. The relief of winning the match was overwhelming, and he wouldn't be angry at the one who had assisted in the best way possible. Still, he couldn't help but wonder how Bubbles had done it. Even earlier, when he was being attacked by Blackwood, he was certain Jiro had been engaging him — but from what he could see now, Bubbles had sustained no damage at all.
Even when Bubbles first stepped into the arena, he hadn't noticed any injury or mark of any kind. His skin was spotless, as though injury itself was a foreign concept to him.
With a deep breath, he finally forced himself into a sitting position. His hands rested calmly on his raised knees, his head dropping low as sweat poured profusely. The overwhelming wave of exhaustion that crashed over him once that strange adrenaline faded was almost suffocating.
He lifted his gaze to inspect his fingers. The bite marks that had once exposed bone beneath his flesh were completely healed, yet it seemed to be the only part of him restored. The rest of his body throbbed violently with exhaustion and the lingering pain he had endured throughout the match. It was evident that his fingers had healed because that was where the power had manifested.
The arena had fallen into a heavy silence. The prolonged brutality of the match and the sheer gore left everyone subdued.
Jurgen merely spared them a glance. He felt no guilt, nor did he care — beneath his composed exterior, he was quietly thrilled, a subtle excitement simmering within him. His gaze eventually lifted to Nemesio high above, their eyes locking briefly. There was something expectant in Jurgen's stare, as though awaiting acknowledgment or praise. He clicked his tongue before finally looking away.
He steadied himself, staggering slightly as he rose to his feet. His mouth instinctively suckled at his split lip — it was more a habit than any deliberate attempt to check the injury.
Each step he took felt heavier than the last. He walked past Kimura, who kept his gaze fixed on him, yet Jurgen didn't spare him a glance; he couldn't care less about the man before him. He soon reached where Bubbles lay sprawled on the ground, unconscious.
"Hey."
There was no response. He nudged him lightly with his foot, his demeanor noticeably less cold than before.
"Get up. We won."
Bubbles stirred and finally woke. He hadn't even been unconscious, he had simply fallen asleep. He lifted his head slightly, glancing around the arena with drowsy, unfocused eyes, blinking twice in slow confusion.
"Huh?"
Jurgen merely clicked his tongue, turning around as he began to walk out of the arena. There were still more fights to follow, but he doubted they would continue, not after everything that had happened, nor after how long his match had dragged on. Besides, evening had already set in.
Behind him, Kimura's voice rang out, announcing the continuation of the matches as he called the next participants onto the arena. The competition would go on to the very end. Jurgen cast a brief, surprised glance back before stepping off.
Nemesio appeared before him the moment he stepped off the arena, a soft, proud smile already spread across his face.
"That was an awesome display," Nemesio intoned.
He had taken note of the skill Jurgen displayed at the start of the match. Although it had not reached its full potential, it remained distinctly exceptional. Rather than feeling unsettled by the brutality of the fight, he found himself quietly pleased, taking it as confirmation that Jurgen was the kind of person one would consider real.
Jurgen, however, simply walked past him, one hand clutching his arm as the pain persisted.
"Spare me the glaze."
He could not fully discern what Nemesio meant by his words, yet somewhere beneath the discomfort, there remained a faint trace of amusement at the compliment.