A thick silence choked the air.
Then—without warning—No.1 pulled his arm back and launched a brutal punch forward.
The air around his fist shimmered as a black aura surged from it like smoke trailing a missile.
His face remained cold. Stoic. Unreadable.
But something shifted.
His eyes widened—only slightly—but enough to say: something went wrong.
From behind No.2, an unexpected power had awakened.
Their fists collided.
But the sound wasn't the clash of two opposing forces—it was the echo of unity.
In that instant, two fists became one.
No.2 had copied the punch.
A flashback played in the blink of an eye.
Just as No.1 launched his punch, No.2 mimicked it perfectly. He timed it with uncanny precision—
and added something else.
Brute force.
His fist, stronger in raw strength, sliced right through No.1's—shattering knuckles and tearing up the forearm like paper.
But No.1's regeneration snapped in.
The flesh rebuilt itself in real time, fusing the remains of his punch into a single brutal force with No.2's.
—Back to the present—
No.2 pulled his hand away.
Blood dripped from their fused strike as No.1 staggered slightly.
And just as he raised his other arm to counter—
his regenerated forearm sliced off, clean from the elbow down.
The severed limb dropped to the ground with a dull, wet sound.
No.1 blinked once.
"Huh… what the hell was that?" he muttered, looking at the stump. Then, calmly:
"So… it's war now, huh?"
Suddenly, a gust of wind swept past as a figure appeared atop a tall electric pole.
Wearing a long, tattered brown leather coat, the man stood like a hunter watching prey.
He leapt down with practiced grace, landing beside No.1.
The newcomer smirked, brushing dust off his sleeves.
"Yo… Pride."
No.1, also known as Pride, turned his head slightly.
"…Long time no see, Wrath."
Wrath crossed his arms. "So, what's going on here? A brotherly beatdown?"
Pride shrugged. "My dear little brother lost it again. Thought I'd play along."
Wrath grinned. "Isn't it kinda unfair? Being No.1 and also carrying the Sin of Pride? Beating your brother while flexing two titles?"
Pride glanced sideways. "Wanna join in?"
Wrath's smile widened—then vanished.
Without a word, he spun mid-air and launched a capoeira-style kick straight at Pride's head.
But Pride was faster.
He leapt into the air, flipped, and delivered a powerful double kick smashing into No.2's face, and blocking Wrath's attack mid-spin.
They all landed. None said a word for a moment.
Then Pride chuckled. "Now it's getting exciting."
Wrath cracked his neck. "Yep. Because now—it's my war too!"
Across the ruined street, No.2 began limping forward.
His back arched unnaturally, tongue lolling out, chest rising and falling in manic bursts.
He looked less like a warrior and more like a monster who had forgotten what sanity tasted like.
Wrath blinked. "…Eww. Bro, what the hell? You look like a demonic Golden Retriever with rabies."
No.2 didn't reply.
He charged.
His fist aimed straight for Wrath's stomach.
Wrath met him head-on—blocking the punch mid-air with one arm and spinning with the other, laughing through it.
"I'm on your side, psycho! Don't try to kill me!"
No.2's saliva flew, splashing onto Wrath's jacket.
Wrath recoiled. "Ahh! Gross! You slobbered on me, man! I ain't trying to get moistured like this!"
But before he could wipe himself off, a shadow loomed above him.
Pride had flash-stepped overhead, dropping a punishing kick onto Wrath's shoulder, smashing him downward.
Wrath hit the ground but landed perfectly on both feet.
He stood up, sliding one hand through his hair to fix it.
"Yo, MY HAIR," he muttered with mock seriousness.
Then he cracked his knuckles with a grin.
"Alright, enough fooling around. I'm done playing therapist."
He stepped forward.
"This is my war now… and I'm going to win it."
---
[Chapter Ends]