"I'm going to crush you! Come at me, Ryuga!"
Zaraki answered Ryuga’s roar with a feral howl of his own.
His claws, now sharper than ever thanks to his transformation, were shrouded in swirling wind. With a violent sweep of his arms, he unleashed a barrage of wind sickles.
"Hah...!"
Ryuga tracked the whistling blades of wind as they tore through the air. He wove through the projectiles, closing the distance to Zaraki with calculated precision. Occasionally, he swung Ryuo-ga to parry a stray sickle, never breaking his stride as he narrowed the gap.
"Hyaaaaah!"
"Hmph! Is that the best you can do!?"
Zaraki likely hadn't expected to end the fight with long-range attacks alone. He ceased his wind-blasts and caught Ryuga's incoming slash with his heavily armored forearms. As Ryuga narrowed his eyes—noting that the very flesh he had sliced through so easily moments ago now held firm against his strike—Zaraki sneered.
"I was careless before, but that won't happen again! Bow down before my true power!"
"......!"
Zaraki rotated his arms, knocking the katana aside before lunging forward with a piercing strike. Ryuga evaded the blow by a hair's breadth, only to immediately block a following knifehand strike with the length of Ryuo-ga.
"Come on, come on, come on! What’s wrong!? You’re never going to win if you do nothing but run!"
Zaraki pressed his advantage, his words punctuated by a flurry of attacks. He delivered thrusts wrapped in miniature tornados and knifehand strikes that generated blades of wind at his fingertips. Every strike was a potential death sentence, and Zaraki screamed with delight as he drove Ryuga back.
"How pathetic! Did you really think you could win with a body that’s falling apart!? I’ve grown stronger, while you’ve only grown weaker! There isn’t a one-in-a-million chance you can stand against me now!"
The gap between them was undeniable. Zaraki was empowered by Raiha’s stolen energy, while Ryuga was still reeling from the exhaustion and wounds of his previous battles. This disparity in their physical conditions was now clearly reflected in the flow of the fight.
Drunk on his own explosive momentum, Zaraki savored the thrill of systematically beating down the man who had previously humiliated him. He was relishing the opportunity to test the limits of his newfound strength when Ryuga suddenly leapt backward, dropping into a deep, low stance.
"Phew..."
With a soft exhale, Ryuga shifted his grip, holding the hilt with only his right hand. He rested his left hand along the spine of the blade, which he had turned upward. Drawing his right arm back, he leveled the point of Ryuo-ga at Zaraki and charged.
(A thrust! You're gambling everything on one move, Ryuga!)
A thrust bolstered by the full momentum of a charge could deliver far more power than a standard slash. However, it was a high-risk tactic; if it was parried or evaded, the attacker would be left completely defenseless.
Zaraki assumed Ryuga had realized his body was reaching its limit and was throwing a final, desperate Hail Mary. Accepting the risk of a counterattack, Zaraki flooded his arms with magic power and crossed them in a defensive guard.
(Your blade might be able to hurt me, but I’m not just going to stand here and take it!)
With his body reinforced by magic power and a mantle of raging wind serving as invisible armor, Zaraki intended to take the hit head-on and then crush his opponent. He was confident his reinforced arms could stop the strike.
He would catch Ryuo-ga, shatter the blade with his bare hands, and watch the light of hope die in Ryuga’s eyes. Only then would the stain on his pride finally be washed away. Zaraki bared his teeth and roared at the incoming swordsman.
"Come on! No one can take me down!"
Between his naturally iron-hard flesh and the storm armor that repelled incoming attacks, Zaraki felt invincible. Anything that hit that gale would be knocked off course, losing all its piercing power. Zaraki braced himself, pouring all his will into his arms-turned-shields as Ryuga’s thrust closed in, but...
"What...?"
The expected impact never reached his arms.
For a split second, Zaraki wondered if his defense had become so absolute that he couldn't even feel the sensation of a blade hitting him. Then, he saw the tip of Ryuo-ga continue its path toward his chest.
The blade had slipped perfectly through the narrow gap between his crossed forearms. Zaraki’s blood ran cold as he realized Ryuga had turned the sword sideways.
(No way! A flat thrust!?)
Unlike a traditional vertical or diagonal thrust, the flat thrust was delivered with the blade turned horizontally. It was a technique designed to slide between a target’s ribs for maximum lethality, but it also allowed for a quick transition into a horizontal sweep if blocked. Zaraki had never imagined Ryuga would use it to thread the needle of his guard.
To pick out that tiny opening while charging at full speed and then drive the blade through—it required a terrifying level of precision.
With the power to cut through the raging wind and the technical mastery to hit his mark, Ryuga’s desperate strike slammed into Zaraki’s torso, the force of the blow sending the villain flying.
"Nngh! Gwaaaaaah!?"
(Tch... I didn't get him!)
Just before the tip of Ryuo-ga could sink deep into his chest, Zaraki had thrown himself backward to dissipate the force. Ryuga had reacted instantly, channeling magic power through his sword to release a gale from the tip, but while the blast scorched the dragon-man's chest, it was far from a fatal wound.
Zaraki wiped a smear of blood from his lip. He looked down at the shredded scales on his chest and the blood leaking from the shallow wound with a look of pure loathing. Then, his face twisted into a jagged, mocking grin.
"That was a close one. But the same trick won't work twice. I'm done being careless."
"...I wonder. I’ll tell you this much: you’re exactly the kind of fool who falls for the same trick twice."
Ryuga settled back into a low stance, the tip of his blade nearly grazing the dirt. He stared down the opponent who had supposedly erased all his openings, his grip tightening on the hilt of his katana as he began to refine his spirit for the next exchange.