Out of the corner of his eye, Na kept trying to glimpse the fight taking place just beyond him. He knew Chrono was locked in a battle with Max. From what Na had seen earlier, when Max fought alongside Wolf, Chrono should have been able to best him. At least, that was the logical conclusion.
But there were always factors Na couldn’t account for.
The strength Max might have gained through hardship. The possibility that he had been holding back his true ability until now.
Unfortunately for Na, both of those things were true. Max had grown stronger with every fight he survived, every hardship endured, every vow he carried. And on top of that, he had never once revealed the full extent of his power.
If Na had been able to keep his attention on the duel between Max and Chrono, he might have recognized the danger sooner and moved to intervene. But that was a luxury he did not have.
"Do you really think you can fight without giving your full attention?" Aron’s voice cut through sharply. His batons flashed as he swung them down with precision.
Na t the attack head-on, thrusting his fist forward and punching directly into the baton. The impact echoed, and Aron’s hand was knocked back slightly from the force.
Na’s strength was greater than Aron’s, raw, unyielding. That was the one advantage he had to seize if he wanted to win.
But Aron adapted instantly. As one baton was flung aside, Na cocked his other fist to strike again. Yet before he could land it, Aron’s second baton shot upward, catching Na’s arm and forcing it off course. In a blur of movent, Aron shifted, his weapons crossing into strange, twisting shapes that locked Na’s arms in place.
Na’s eyes widened. His hand was trapped.
With a sudden jerk, Aron yanked him forward and drove a powerful kick into his stomach. Air burst from Na’s lungs as Aron imdiately released the hold, his batons already moving for the next strike.
Na braced for a blow to the head, but at the last second Aron shifted his aim. The batons cracked hard against Na’s thighs and then his knees, the strikes landing with punishing accuracy. Pain shot through Na’s legs, forcing him to stumble.
Before he could reset, Aron’s body blurred again. He slipped behind Na, his baton slamming against the side of his neck before sweeping low once more, striking his thigh in the exact sa spot as before.
Na roared, swinging an arm backward in retaliation. But his strike hit nothing but air. Aron had already stepped away, his movents quick, precise, and untouchable.
The difference between them was clear: Na had overwhelming strength, but Aron had speed, technique, and flawless control.
And in this kind of fight, control ant everything.
"You’ve got strength," Aron said coolly, circling as his batons spun in his hands, "but compared to , you’re relatively slow. So fighters might choose to take you head-on because of that... but not . For , the key is simple, make you even slower."
He moved in again, his strikes hamring downward, this ti targeting Na’s legs.
Na anticipated the attack and managed to block one of the baton strikes, but the second slipped through. Desperation surged through him, and he lashed out with a wild punch, only to cut through empty air again. Aron was already gone.
Before Na could reset, pain exploded across the top of his hand as one of the batons cracked against it, the blow landing on the non-tallic section but still sharp enough to sting and rattle his fingers.
Na gritted his teeth, his thoughts flashing bitterly. The way he fights... was he military too? Out on the field, hardened like ? How the hell did Max find soone like this?
Aron pressed the attack. Both batons ca swinging down together from above. This ti, Na abandoned defense. Instead of trying to block, he lowered his body and surged forward, aiming to tackle Aron to the ground.
But Aron was faster.
He drove his knee upward at the sa ti one baton ca crashing down. The double strike smashed into Na’s head from both above and below, the impact reverberating through his skull. His vision swam, his balance wavering, but sheer stubbornness kept him pushing forward enough to shove Aron back a step.
"A rcenary...? Special forces...? Just what the hell are you?" Na growled, blood dripping from his lip.
He couldn’t make sense of it. By skill alone, they shouldn’t have been so far apart. Wolf’s evaluation of Aron hadn’t placed him this much higher. So why was he being overwheld?
The truth was the sa as Max’s.
Experience.
Aron carried years of it, hard-earned through battles fought from a young age, battles where survival was the only reward. His movents weren’t just trained, they were sharpened by necessity. He knew which risks he could take, when to move and when to stay still, how to exploit openings against stronger opponents without hesitation.
And unlike Na, he didn’t hesitate.
"We are the hands... that close your eyes."
The words slipped from Aron’s lips, and the mont they registered in Na’s ears, pain followed. A baton smashed brutally across his face, snapping his head to the side. His vision blurred again, blood streaming into one eye. Then another punishing strike cracked against his thigh.
When he tried to put weight on it, his leg buckled. He collapsed, crashing down to the ground.
His eyes opened weakly, blood dripping down across his vision as he looked up at Aron, who stood tall above him, a shadow frad by the chaos of the fight.
"Those words..." Na muttered hoarsely. "I’ve heard them before. I thought it was just a rumor... but I guess they’re real. You’re one of them, aren’t you? The Black Hand Unit. With you on their side... we never stood a chance." His lips curled into a twisted grin despite the blood. "...We’re f*cked."
Before he could say another word, Aron’s batons struck again, both slamming into the back of Na’s head with ruthless precision. Na dropped hard to the ground, unmoving.
"I’m no longer one of them," Aron said quietly, his voice firm, resolute. He twirled his batons before lowering them to his sides. "And I’m not the one who will finish this."
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