"This is all you've got?" Sasa asked mid-duck, tilting his head as Dirga's heel passed over him.
"You've touched the void, Dirga."
"You're not just human anymore."
Dirga's breath came heavy, but not from exhaustion — from realization.
He froze.
Why was he still fighting like a man…
…when he had become something else?
He closed his eyes for a split second.
Gravity.
A force born of mass.
Of collapse.
Of devouring.
Not motion — attraction.
He could feel it — the core, pulsing inside his chest like a second heart.
The Black Hole.
And he understood.
It wasn't just energy.
It was command.
He didn't need to chase Sasa.
He could bring him in.
Dirga opened his eyes.
Everything changed.
He stepped forward with purpose, threw a feinting jab — left side, fast and wide. A move designed to be dodged.
And Sasa took the bait — shifting his weight to sidestep.
Now.
Dirga focused.
"Pull."
The space between them warped.
A pulse of invisible force surged from his chest, tugging reality inward.
Sasa's movement skewed — caught mid-dodge, his center of gravity bent, pulled straight toward Dirga's waiting fist.
But the devil wasn't slow.
Sasa's hand snapped up like lightning, blocking the blow with his forearm — the sound like stone striking steel.
Dirga's knuckles stung instantly.
"You blocked that?!" he growled.
Sasa grinned. "The rule was 'hit me.'"
"Blocking isn't the same as getting hit."
He winked.
"Try again."
When Sasa blocked the punch… it didn't feel like flesh.
It felt like metal — no, denser.
Like trying to punch the surface of a collapsed star.
And yet the sparring continued.
Dirga launched forward again, fists like hammerfall, kicks carving arcs through the air. His movements were sharper, faster. Each strike honed with intent — and each dodge by Sasa dodged by thread-thin margins.
But something shifted.
Dirga was learning.
The rhythm of Sasa's evasions. The micro-movements in his posture.
And more than that — Dirga was growing more comfortable with his gravity. He began pulling subtly — tugging Sasa into paths he shouldn't be, forcing him to adjust just a little too late.
The fight became more intense. More precise.
And Sasa?
He smiled wider.
Like a musician watching a student finally feel the rhythm.
"Not bad," the devil said, twirling mid-dodge. "You're starting to dance."
But it wasn't enough.
Dirga growled inwardly. "I need more."
Then it struck him — telekinesis. He hadn't touched it yet in this fight, too focused on gravity. But how could he use it here? There were no weapons. No debris. The arena was empty.
No — not empty.
Sasa's clothes.
That was enough.
Dirga ducked low, planting a kick — this time pulling not just Sasa's body, but his coat. Gravity gripped his core while telekinesis yanked the outer layer, distorting balance from two vectors.
Sasa's eyes flickered in surprise.
Perfect.
Dirga's strike was coming in—
CRACK.
Pain exploded across Dirga's face.
A punch landed before his hit connected.
The world twisted.
Dirga flew backward like a broken comet, crashing across the arena floor with a deep, bone-vibrating thud.
He sat up, dazed. His vision swam.
"Gods…" he muttered, blinking at the pain.
His face stung — but there was no blood. No bruising. His body had changed too much for that.
Sasa stood across the void, rolling his shoulder.
"Ouch. Better stay focused, Dirga."
He winked.
"Now I start attacking."
What followed wasn't sparring.
It was survival.
Sasa moved like lightning wrapped in silk — and Dirga was the earth beneath it. Every blow he dodged cost him willpower, not just stamina. His mind strained to bend space around him, to slow punches mid-air, to pull them off course by mere millimeters.
His telekinesis became his shield, gravity his sword.
But the toll was brutal.
Every second drained him. His thoughts frayed. Sweat beaded on skin that didn't need to sweat anymore. His hands trembled — not from fear, but from sheer mental exhaustion.
Dirga stepped back.
Panting. Thinking.
He needed one hit.
One perfect hit.
And he had it.
A strike that wasn't thrown at a target — but thrown at a point in time. A moment in space. A punch delivered not to chase…
…but to meet.
Dirga centered himself.
Stilled everything.
Then he reached out — his gravity roaring silently from the black hole in his chest. His telekinesis gripped Sasa's clothing again, locking onto every fiber.
And he pulled.
Sasa's body lurched forward.
Dirga didn't move.
He waited — coiled like a predator at the bottom of a gravity well.
Everything came together.
The timing.
The weight.
The pull.
The angle.
The inevitability.
He drew his fist back.
His whole body aligned.
And when Sasa crossed the threshold—
"Punch Style: Collapsing One Point."
Dirga's fist exploded forward.
It wasn't speed.
It was gravity.
It was fate.
The moment they collided — space cracked.
The air howled.
Sound vanished.
A void opened between them — a rupture in reality — like a miniature black hole had tried to exist for just one impossible second.
And then—
Silence.
Dirga exhaled, staggering backward. His body ached. His bones hummed.
But he was smiling.
A slow clap echoed from across the arena.
He turned.
From the far edge, another Sasa emerged — this one real.
"Nice," the devil said, eyes gleaming.
He pointed at the crumbling puppet now fading to ash.
"You beat my clown."
Dirga blinked. "That wasn't even you?"
"Nope." Sasa laughed.
"That was maybe... what? 0.01% of my actual power?"
He gave a long, slow stretch.
"But still. You landed it."
"And now, you're ready."