Chapter Eighty-Seven: Strangulation

The curve kick is a technique that utilizes the flexibility of the hip and knee joints, transitioning directly from a mid-level rising knee to a high-level sweeping kick. It arcs from the upper outside to bypass the opponent’s guard, striking the neck or head with the instep or shin. Owing to the strange, fluid trajectory of the toes, it is sometimes called the “Crescent Moonsaber.”

The curve kick is inherently difficult to defend against, and Tokisakiohma compounded the error by choosing the wrong counter in response to a tactical feint. The instep was about to slash across his neck like a curved blade.

But Shirado Kyo’s kick missed!

In that instant, Ouma’s skin flushed with a blood-red hue, and veins swollen with increased blood flow bulged across his body. His physique underwent a drastic transformation, and with it, his fundamental attributes seemed to surge as well. Unlike previous matches, this time Ouma managed to employ the intricate techniques of the Niko Style even in this empowered state.

At the instant the kick should have landed—when it should have been impossible to react—he surged forward.

[Fiery Heaven: Extreme Earth Compression!]

He pushed the martial principle of “standing by the bones” to its utmost. By switching his center of gravity in an instant, he executed a movement so brief and sharp it defied the senses. This footwork, shifting the center of gravity, could create the illusion of warped space in the eyes of the enemy—like the mythical art of shrinking the earth beneath one’s feet.

This step, swift to the point of eeriness, not only allowed Ouma to escape the range of Shirado’s curve kick, but also let him cross the space of three bodies in a flash, appearing directly behind the youth.

Even with blood pooling so heavily in his arm that it threatened to burst through the skin, Ouma did not pause for an instant. His bruised, purple arm glowed with an almost demonic red in this secret state. His iron-hard, crimson arm locked around the youth’s neck from behind, while his other hand seized Shirado’s hair.

Not only did he use the strength of his muscles, but he pressed down with the weight of his entire body, forcing the youth’s frame to bend backward. Yet the youth did not fall. His toes gripped the ground, the powerful muscles of waist and back still supporting his body in this awkward posture.

But this technique did not require the opponent to collapse. With the neck muscles compressed, the body forced to bend forward, and the internal organs obstructed, the person locked in would rapidly descend into cerebral hypoxia. Even a monster like Shirado Kyo would not be an exception—or so Ouma thought.

To render the body supple, then entwine and suffocate—using a technique akin to a naked choke, plunging the opponent into hypoxic unconsciousness, or even death by asphyxiation.

[Watery Heaven: Sea Moon Constriction!]

From the moment he activated this secret art that amplified his physical prowess, to the footwork burst, to the application of the choke—Ouma’s actions flowed seamlessly, like a sequence straight out of a textbook, pleasing to the eye. It was a far cry from earlier bouts, where, once this secret art was triggered, he could no longer use refined techniques and fought like a wild beast.

His neck felt as though it would be crushed, the suffocating sensation rushing to his head. Yet there was not a trace of panic in Shirado’s eyes. On the contrary, forced to stare up at the arena ceiling, the youth’s gaze seemed full of melancholy and loss.

“You know... what it means... to use this technique, don’t you?” His words came in broken gasps, breathless, but because of the choke their faces were close—close enough to see every nuance of expression. Ouma caught every bit of meaning.

He gave his reply.

“Yes, I understand.” Now that he could perfectly employ this secret art, Ouma’s expression was marked by a transcendental calm. “It means I’ve rejected a pure technical contest with you. Now, it’s your time without restrictions.”

But that transcendent calm was soon shattered, replaced by a face twisted with brutality, like a demon from the underworld.

“But you little brat, I don’t give a damn about your ‘fist games’!” The neck constricted in his arms gave a sickening crunch as he tightened his grip. “I came to this match only to prove my own strength!” “Whatever self-imposed limits you have, that’s none of my business!” “But anyone who gets in my way—I’ll crush them all!”

“Is that so?” The youth, his neck forced back to a dangerous angle, began to smile unconsciously, a smile that grew and grew until it was almost savage—a smile that called to mind the grim visage of a man-eating great white shark.

“Even if my heart is about to stop beating, I’ll still crawl forward on this narrow path called ‘the strongest.’ Ouma, a guy like you, it’s impossible not to like.”

As Shirado’s final word fell, Ouma suddenly felt the body tangled in his arms turn icy cold, as if all the warmth and heat from the youth’s skin was being drawn away into some hidden place.

“Is this some kind of secret art, too?” Ouma was inwardly alarmed.

As the heat from his skin was converted by psychic energy, a slender but undeniably real superhuman energy began to circulate within Shirado’s body. And as the dragon-blood inner force transformed from heat surged through him, Shirado began to exert his strength.

Beneath that fearsome smile, the youth’s muscles bulged across his entire body—arms, back, all crisscrossed with engorged veins. One after another, the muscles swelled. Ouma, entwined with Shirado, could feel clearly that the muscles beneath his arm were advancing irrepressibly toward another realm.

In the blink of an eye, Tokisakiohma felt as if he was not grappling a man—but an entire mountain range: solid, unyielding, and with an endless wrath buried deep within.

The powerful core muscles of the back responded to the call, tightening and swelling, and began to wrench the body upright from a position where it should have been impossible to exert force. Even just the neck muscles alone were enough to raise Ouma’s arms, even with his full weight pressing down.

Feeling the tremendous force on his arms, Ouma furrowed his brow. He hadn’t expected that, even using [Sea Moon Constriction], in such a posture disadvantageous for back muscles to exert force, he still could not gain the upper hand in strength, even burning the last reserves of his secret art.

If Shirado managed to restore his posture, with such a gap in power, a single punch might be enough to end the fight.

Just as Ouma was thinking this, a stabbing pain shot through his arm. The arm that gripped Shirado’s hair and the arm that locked his neck were each seized by Shirado’s hands. The youth’s grip, as strong as hydraulic pliers, drove his fingers deep into Ouma’s flesh, crushing muscle and splattering blood.

The blood and ruined muscle squeezed out by that grip were now fully exposed to the air.