Hayate’s shoulders shake.
Gun still trained on me, but he’s holding back laughter. Barely.
Then it bursts out.
“Ahaha! AHHAHAHA!”
He’s laughing so hard he can’t breathe, gasping like he’s been gut-punched, body wracked with convulsions.
A wide-open moment, gift-wrapped. Gun’s steady, but his mind’s not.
That’s all I need.
I kill my presence and explode forward.
First target: the gun. Can’t call it a fair fight if he’s packing heat.
He reacts—late. Fires. Bullet grazes my cheek, tears through empty space.
Right as he fires, he jerks back with freakish speed. Demon agility.
His movements still don’t sit right with me. I’m not used to them.
Need one more step to close the gap.
He whips out a sweeping middle kick—fluid, too long to read like a normal strike.
I catch it. Heavy. I redirect the force and lift off, using the kick’s momentum to spin through the air, landing clean on the upper floor.
“Partner, you really are the best. So humans can move like that. I’m genuinely touched. Ahaha.
That’s why this is all so damn tragic. You’ve honed your body to perfection… and someone like me, with a little magic, still stomps you flat. No reward. No salvation. Just pure despair.
Hah. Gives me chills. What a blasphemous little fight, don’t you think?”
Flames roar across the second floor. The heat’s brutal—air feels like knives in my lungs. Smoke stings my eyes. Breathing’s a chore.
But Hayate doesn’t care. Not even a cough.
He launches up after me and levels the gun again.
We’re thirty feet apart.
“Where is your God now? Why does He stay silent? My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?
...Well, this is your last chance, Ikaku. Said your prayers? Think you’ve earned that miracle yet? Better beg real hard—God’s picky with who He listens to.”
“I’m good. You?”
“Hah. I don’t need that crap. If I relied on Him for everything, He’d ditch me when it counts. You? You’re just a pest I can swat.”
He fires.
I read the shot using Sensing Force and sidestep closer.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Dodge. Dodge. Dodge. Dodge.
Five. Six.
Dodge. Dodge.
“Haha! Ahahaha! Keep it up, keep it up! If you make it here, I’ll give you that fistfight you love so much!”
Two more steps. Almost there.
Seventh shot—click.
Nothing.
Just the dry snap of a trigger and a jammed slide.
It’s not a miscount. Hayate’s no rookie, and I’m not stupid enough to rely on that.
We both knew there’d be a seventh shot. I dodged assuming it would fire.
That automatic pistol is a modern standard. Fire, eject, reload—repeat.
But that same complexity makes it vulnerable.
It’s an ejection failure.
Spent casing half-stuck in the chamber? Next round can’t load.
Gun locks up.
“—!”
“—!”
I react first because I knew. Deep down, I’d considered the possibility.
That’s the difference. Anticipation versus surprise.
That tiny edge? That’s what opens the gap.
Eightfold Soulfist Secret Technique—Supreme Step.
I hit my stride at six meters. The perfect speed zone.
I lunge.
Hayate swings with his severed forearm—trying to trigger his fire claws?
Too slow.
“Urgh—!”
“HAA!”
My fist slams into his solar plexus. Hard.
His body lifts, weightless, and crashes down the hall.
Blood flies from his mouth. His limbs spasm as he tries to rise.
“Guh! Damn it, Kung Fu again...!”
He fights to stand, but can’t.
Staggers and falls.
Crawls to his knees, then flops sideways. Props himself up—then collapses.
That hit was clean. Force and alignment were dead-on.
I pick up the jammed pistol.
“You should’ve said your prayers, Hayate.”
“Gugh, cough, shut up…!”
I clear the jam, pop the casing out, get the gun working again.
Hayate glares up at me, blood in his teeth, coughing, still trying to rise.
He snarls, “You should’ve taken care of your damned gun.”
“Idiot… You still don’t get it. The jam was your fault.”
“Huh? What? My fault?”
“When you grabbed it. You squeezed the hell out of it, remember? Got carried away with that demonic strength of yours. Bent the slide. I could feel it rattle. You clearly didn’t.”
“The slide… warped?”
“You couldn’t even control your own power. That’s what beat you.”
"But that’s just… just bad luck, isn't it?"
“Bad luck? No. This is what happens when arrogance meets reality. This is what inevitable looks like.”
“Heeheehee… Hahaha! Cocky bastard. Acting all high and mighty off one punch. Ahaha. I’m getting up right now. I’m gonna rip you to shreds, Ikaku. Game’s over. Now I’m bringing violence—pure spell-fueled violence!”
“…”
“Ngh! Move, damn it! Move!”
He strains his limbs.
Nothing happens. Just tremors.
“My body… won’t listen…!”
“Here. Let me quote my master: Ikaku requires no second strike. One is enough.
Your heart’s crushed. Organs are ruined. Spinal cord? Shattered. That hit was the end.
Hayate. You’re already dead.”
The traitor’s eyes widen—then go still. No more fight in them. Just disbelief and the slow spread of truth.
He stops struggling.