The moment the wolf's howl echoed through the ruins, something inside Arata shifted. His chest loosened, his mind cleared. The foreigners were safe. That meant he no longer had to hold back.
He wiped the blood off the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "Alright," he muttered, staring at the hulking curse in front of him. "Now it's just you and me."
Cursed energy rippled around him, brighter and hotter than before. The Curse let out a guttural roar, stone plates grinding against each other as its massive arm swung down.
Arata didn't stand still this time.
His body blurred.
One second he was in front of the curse, the next his fist smashed into its jaw from the side, the impact sending a shockwave that blasted outward, scattering rubble and splitting walls. The curse's head snapped back violently, and its entire body staggered as if hit by a truck.
Before it could recover, Arata was already behind it, his heel slamming into the curse's spine with a loud crack. The ground shook as the curse was launched forward like a ragdoll, tumbling into the ruins, crushing an abandoned building under its weight.
Dust rose in thick clouds.
The island itself seemed to tremble.
The curse roared in frustration, trying to rise, but Arata was already above it. He crashed down with both fists, driving them into its chest. The impact was deafening, a thunderous boom that echoed across the entire island.
Shockwaves ripped outward, toppling whatever fragile structures were still standing. Waves surged against the shoreline, spraying white foam into the air.
From afar, the foreigners on the ship turned their heads. Even across the water, they could feel the island shaking.
Inside, the wife of the American sorcerer clutched her son tighter, her eyes widening. "What kind of power…" she whispered.
Her son, though scared, couldn't look away.
Back on the battlefield, Arata pressed the attack. He moved like a blur, fists and kicks striking with machine precision. Every blow carried crushing force, every impact blasting the curse back as if its huge body weighed nothing at all.
The Collapse Curse couldn't keep up. Each time it tried to swing, Arata was already gone. Each time it roared in rage, a kick or punch slammed into its side, sending it flying again.
It was like a storm beating down on a crumbling wall—endless, fast, unstoppable.
The ruins of Hashima shook with every clash. Walls shattered, the ground split, the air vibrated with the sound of shockwaves.
For a moment, it looked like Arata had the upper hand.
But then… the curse changed.
Its roar deepened, vibrating through the island itself. Chunks of stone from its body began to fall away, only to reform, growing larger. Its chest expanded, its arms stretched wider, its entire body swelling.
Arata landed lightly on a cracked street, eyes narrowing as he watched.
The curse kept growing. Ten meters tall… twenty… fifty… until its massive form towered like a skyscraper above the ruins. Its glowing red eyes stared down at him, and for the first time, Arata felt its true pressure.
From the ship far away, even the foreigners could see it. The child gasped, pointing at the skyline. The mother's jaw tightened. "So that's the real enemy…"
Back on the island, Arata clenched his fists. "So that's your true form, huh? A bigger punching bag"
The Collapse Curse lifted both of its skyscraper-sized arms and slammed them into the ground. The entire island quaked violently, cracks tearing through the streets, buildings crumbling like sandcastles.
Arata jumped, avoiding the sudden sinkhole that opened beneath his feet, but a wall of stone rose behind him instantly, closing in like a crushing trap.
He spun, punching through it with raw force, shards of rock flying everywhere.
So that's it, he thought grimly. This curse isn't just made of stone—it controls the island itself.
It was obvious now. The curse wasn't just swinging its arms at him. It was using the very ruins as weapons, shaping walls and floors at will.
A massive slab of concrete tilted up like a shield, trying to smash him flat. Arata braced, cursed energy surging into his fist, and shattered it with one punch. But the moment he broke through, the ground under him collapsed like a trapdoor, dropping him into a pit.
Arata kicked off the falling debris, launching himself upward, but the ceiling closed in from above, jagged with rebar. He twisted midair, heat flaring from his body, and burned through it before it crushed him.
Dust and rubble filled the air, and in the middle of it, the curse's massive hand swung down again.
Arata crossed his arms, taking the blow. The force drove him straight into the cracked street, leaving a massive crater behind.
He groaned, body aching. His punches and kicks from before—blows that had sent the curse flying like a ragdoll—barely left marks on its new body. The sheer density of stone and cursed energy it now carried made it harder, tougher, almost like he was hitting an entire island head-on.
Damn… Arata thought, wiping the sweat and blood from his forehead. It's not just stronger. The whole battlefield is its weapon now.
The curse pressed the advantage. Entire walls collapsed toward him from all sides, jagged chunks of concrete crashing down like waves. Arata moved fast, smashing, burning, weaving between them, but the sheer scale of destruction was overwhelming.
Every impact sent shockwaves to the edges of the island, waves rising higher and slamming into the rocky shore. From the distance, the foreigners' ship rocked hard, sailors struggling to keep it steady.
"Is that… all one battle?" one of the foreigners muttered, gripping the railing tight.
The mother didn't answer, her eyes locked on the island, her son clinging to her arm. She could feel the terror of the curse even from there—but mixed with it was awe. Awe at the lone figure standing against it.
Arata pushed back as best as he could. His fists glowed hotter, strikes landing with bursts of heat that melted through stone before sealing shut again. He blurred in and out of sight, striking the curse's joints, its arms, its chest.
But the Curse stood firm now.
It was like trying to punch down the whole island along with the sea beneath it.
The ground shook again as the curse slammed both fists down. This time, the shockwave ripped through the entire island. Buildings toppled in chain reactions, entire streets splitting apart.
Arata was thrown back, tumbling through the ruins, coughing through the dust. He forced himself up, body screaming from the strain.
He glared at the towering curse. His mind worked quickly even as he caught his breath.
This curse… it's the embodiment of fear of falling buildings, of ruins crushing people alive. Its technique is the manipulation of collapse itself. The whole island is its domain.
The truth was bitter. His raw strength wasn't enough anymore. His fists could break walls, but this curse was the walls. His punches and kicks weren't tearing it apart as before.
As the curse loomed over him, raising its skyscraper-sized arm again, Arata clenched his fists tighter.
The real fight was just beginning.