"What are you smiling about, damn kid?!" the massive man with the gauntlets roared.
His fist came down again—this time aimed straight at Shiro's face.
The impact sent his body skipping across the courtyard like a stone skipping across water, bouncing once, twice, three times before sliding to a stop in a cloud of dust.
The hit was harder than last time. Way harder. His jaw dislocated with a sickening pop, hanging at an angle that was definitely not natural.
But as expected, the voice chimed again.
Shiro jumped to his feet and shoved his jaw back into place with his palm. Click. Good as new. Sort of.
"Okay," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "I'm ready now. Come on."
The man with the gauntlets didn't move. Instead, he just… pulled one of his fingers back like he was drawing a bowstring.
And suddenly Shiro was flying toward him.
'Wait—what?!'
Before he could process what was happening, the brute lunged forward and swung his fist like a freight train.
Shiro instantly crossed his arms to block—
"CRACK."
Both of his arms bent at horrible angles with a sickening snap. The force flung him backward like a ragdoll, and his brain was still trying to process the fact that his bones were now in several very wrong pieces.
But he managed to stop himself mid-air using his legs—but the second he did, the lancer came diving down, spear aimed right at his chest.
'Oh—'
Shiro kicked backward hard, launching himself away just as the spear slammed into the ground where he'd been a heartbeat before.
Lightning erupted from the impact, exploding outward in violent, crackling waves that tore through the ground.
The lancer shifted his stance and shot forward, spear aimed straight at him.
Shiro twisted midair, kicking the shaft of the spear aside to knock it off course. In the same motion, he caught one of his daggers that had just materialized between his teeth and bit down—
Ready to finish this.
Yank.
He was pulled backward. Again. Straight toward the gauntlet brute.
"Oh, come on! Not this again," he growled through his teeth.
His arms were mostly healed, but he really didn't want to go through the whole "bones snapping like twigs" thing again.
So he braced himself.
The brute's fist slammed into his stomach with enough force to crack stone. The air left his lungs in a brutal whoosh, and he went flying upward like a human cannonball.
As he expected, the lancer was waiting for him above, spear crackling with lightning—way more lightning this time, like the guy had dumped his entire mana pool into one attack.
Shiro didn't have time to recover. Didn't have time to think of something clever.
His barely-healed arms shrieked in protest—like someone was driving nails through the bones—but he tightened his grip on his dagger and spun midair, letting momentum do the work. His dagger kissed the spear tip, angling it just enough to send it off course.
The lightning-charged spear screamed past his shoulder, missing by a breath.
But it didn't matter.
The damn thing suddenly changed direction and came right back at him.
Gritting his teeth, he blocked the tip with his daggers, trying to redirect it again, but it didn't work.
The lightning spear latched onto him mid-air like a living thing, electricity crawling up his arms, spreading across his chest, frying every nerve it touched. His clothes shredded under the heat.
It kept surging, crackling with violent energy—then it yanked him upward.
He was dragged higher into the air, helpless, the spear pulling him like he weighed nothing. The spear refused to let go, trying to punch through his defenses.
And once it dragged him high enough—way too high, actually—the spear changed direction.
Downward. Fast.
'Oh, this is gonna hurt—'
Shiro braced himself as he slammed into the ground with crushing force, cratering the stone beneath him. Dust exploded outward in a thick cloud.
And even then, the damn thing refused to quit. It kept trying to pierce through to his heart—relentless, angry, like it had a personal grudge against him specifically. His arms were going numb, the tingling spreading up to his shoulders.
'Okay, seriously, this is getting really annoying—'
Then things got worse.
The same invisible force slammed down on him again—not physical, not something he could block or dodge—just pure, crushing pressure, like someone had dumped the entire mountain on his chest.
He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. He had no idea how it worked. No idea how to counter it.
To make thing worse, as he was dealing with the whole "shocking" situation, he noticed the gauntlet guy descending.
He pulled his fist back so far like he was putting everything into it.
Which was a problem. A big problem.
And somehow the pressure got worse the closer the man got to him. The air pressed down on him like a physical weight, crushing him into the ground.
The spear tip dug closer to his heart, lightning crackling.
He groaned under the crushing weight, teeth clenched so hard they might crack.
"Damn you and your weird ability."
He couldn't move. Couldn't dodge. Couldn't do anything except get crushed and electrocuted at the same time.
So he did the only thing he could.
"Fine," he growled. "Come out, big scary knight."
His shadow rippled beneath him, and the Black Knight's massive ebony sword shot upward like a spear launched from darkness itself. It pierced straight through the gauntlet man mid-descent.
The man's eyes went wide. Blood sprayed.
And in that instant, the spearman lost his focus.
The lightning flickered. Weakened just for a breath.
Shiro didn't waste the opening. He rolled to the side—his numb arms barely cooperating—and lunged at the spearman. He tried to materialize another spear, but Shiro closed the distance too fast. Before the weapon could even fully form,
He plunged his dagger into the man's shoulder, sinking it deep.
The man struggled, trying to wrench himself free, but Shiro held on, keeping the dagger buried deep in his shoulder.
His eyes went wide—panicked, confused—as his body started convulsing. The poison worked fast, flooding lancers veins like liquid fire.
His legs buckled.
The half-formed spear flickered and died in his grip.
Then collapsed.
Shiro limped forward, his legs barely cooperating.
"Struggling against lieutenants," he muttered through clenched teeth, "is really not a good look for me."
He looked down at his hands.
Burns covered the skin. Cuts crisscrossed his palms like a really aggressive game of tic-tac-toe. Bruises bloomed dark purple across his knuckles.
They were healing.
But barely.
Way slower than before.
'That's… not good.'
He tried flexing his fingers.
The pain that followed was instant and aggressive.
'OW. Okay. Bad idea. Very bad idea.'